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But what is the difference really between a study and a painting?  Maybe my language isn’t as clear as it could be.  When I say a painting, I ‘m talking about a work of art.  When I say a study, I’m not negating the works beauty or sophistication.  I’m not even necessarily negating it as a work of art – because all a work of art really needs to do in order to achieve the title of ‘work of art’ is find an audience that appreciates it.  But it’s how I define these works to myself that I’m specifically speaking about.
 
I often have collectors and artists in my studio.  And anyone who has been to my studio knows that it is full of paintings.  Lots and lots of paintings everywhere.  And as people look around the studio, there inevitably follows some complimentary comments about specific works they admire.  In these moments, I often find myself feeling apologetic, and making common statements, such as, “Well that’s just a study”, or “Oh, that was just a quick sketch I did to learn this or that”. 

Why in the world do I feel this need to apologize for a work that someone just expressed an appreciation for?  Why can’t I just let them enjoy whatever they’re looking at, graciously accept their compliments and be grateful for their appreciation of my work?

Here’s where my personal distinctions between works really play a role.  I know my purpose and intent for any particular work.  Some are just for fun, a break from whatever else I’ve been working on at the time.  Some are to learn something specific.  Some are demonstration pieces for students.  Some are compositional sketches.  Some are completely invented scenes to test out ideas.  Some are made because I need money (paintings made like this almost never work for me and are always my worst works.  I don’t make works like this anymore because they’re so insincere).  And some works around the studio are works I just loved too much to sell.  So depending on which work someone decides they like, I feel an explanation is required about why the work exists.  Should I feel like this?  I don’t know.  But I do, and here’s why.

When I think about painting, I think about great works of art.  I think about works that I revere and would hope to emulate.  I think about lasting works that serve a public and enrich society.  I think about the works that the artists labored over, that were well thought out, well planned and finally, masterfully executed.  When I hear a great song for the first time, it feels like that song always existed and that it needed to exist.  When I see a great work of art, there is a distinct feeling that that work always existed, because……well, because it had to.  It’s so good that the world couldn’t function without it.  Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but that’s how I feel.  That’s how it makes sense to me.  So making a painting, or making a work of art becomes a much more serious, deeply involved and highly evolved pursuit.  

This pursuit of creating great works of art comes attached to a myriad of concerns, both technical and aesthetic, that I don’t believe can be completely worked out when working directly from life.  When I walk through a museum, I rarely see quickly dashed off works.  I rarely see accidental decisions.  And I rarely see works that aren’t masterfully designed and executed.  There is almost always a distinct purpose and absolute reason for being behind the works.  When I compare much of what I have done to these great works, I realize how artistically immature I have been in the past.  And for the last few years, one thing I have felt an urgent need to do in order to make more mature decisions as an artist is to be far more purposeful in my day to day decision making.  The questions I now ask myself before approaching any work are, why would I spend time on this?  With the abundance of ideas and potential projects I could work on, why this one?  Does this need to exist?  Is this important enough to demand my time?  Is it important enough, once completed, to demand someone else’s time? 
 
These thoughts make all the difference for me when in the studio.  And they have a great effect on my working process.  They are the reason that leads me away from working directly from life, directly from photos or completely from imagination.  A great work of art needs more than any one source of information can provide.  It also requires time.  Time to execute, and time for an idea to mature.  If I am serious about creating something lasting, something I feel is pertinent enough to exist, than I need to be very disciplined in spending the time on it that the work deserves.  And not only does the work deserve that time, but so do those with whom I hope to share the work.  The viewer deserves every bit of discipline, expertise and mastery I am capable of exercising at the time I create a particular work. 

​This creates an absolute definable difference between the pieces I consider studies and the pieces I consider works of art. 
 
When I work directly from life, my focus is on understanding.  When I work in the studio, I may surround myself with studies, drawings, photos, etc. to help inform the work, but my focus is on creating.  None of my reference is nearly as important as the final piece.  Everything has a role to play, and must be considered subservient to the final work.  Each consideration throughout the process of making a work of art must be made in reference to my vision for the final piece.  For me this requires a lot of planning and deliberation.  Sometimes it requires that I set the piece aside for a while until I can negotiate a solution to a complex problem.  And life, whether it be models, landscape, or otherwise, doesn’t wait around for me to deliberate over these things. 
 
So my point is, finally, that working from life is essential. Working from imagination is essential.  Working from photos is often helpful.  But how I solve a problem is far less important than making sure that the problem is solved and that the problem being solved and the solution is being applied to something worth making.  I want to make works of art.  Lasting, nurturing works that need to exist.  It’s hard, and it takes a long time and it’s a serious business.  And it requires more of me than just my response to an immediate impression.  It requires far more diligence, design aesthetic and maturation time.  It requires a refined sensitivity to what a great work of art is and what makes it great.  And that’s my life.  It’s all I think about.