LOREN FRIESEN GALLERY

FARMERS: the artist's view

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Originally, the top of the picture was flat with a larger amount of cloudy sky. But connecting the top and bottom of the composition was awkward. So I lowered the top of the picture by adding the arch. Greater connection was still needed, so I added the shafts of sunlight. The arch and the sunbeams not only altered the composition, but also affected the psychological impact of the picture. But analyzing the composition of a picture is much more objective* than describing the psychology of a picture, so I will leave that subjective** part to you and focus on the composition.

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So now, the curves of the farmers' backs echo the arch–while the soft shafts of sunlight reach down to tighten the considerable distance between the arch and the couple. The evergreens and electric pole reach up, pulling the lower part of the composition back up toward the sky. And the undulating silhouette of the couple's backs is intentionally complemented by the undulating hills and mountains. Adding the top ridge seemed similar to matching a line of harmony to a line of melody in music. (This is one example of the correlation between art and music.) So the top half of the picture is carefully woven together.

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The downward direction of the beams of light is countered from below by the upward angle of the rows of plants. The plant rows draw your eye up toward the farmer's face–and up the right side toward the wife. But the light beams and the plant rows do not converge on the same spot. The shafts of light primarily point down the left side of the picture and down the legs and arms of the farmer–while the rows of plants point up the right side through the legs of the wife to the tall pine tree on the right. So the light beams and the plant rows are offset from each other, giving greater complexity to the composition.

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This picture also goes from near to far–from the plant rows and bamboo poles at the very bottom of the picture, where you stand, to the hazy mountains in the far distance.

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The bottom half of the picture is much more dynamic than the top half–a challenging combination to unify. The division between the two halves is marked by the white, plastic, vegetable canopy that runs horizontally across the middle of the picture. There are other horizontals in this vertical picture–particularly the layers of clouds which counteract the downward direction of the sunbeams. Near the end of the process, the horizontal gaps between the plastic sheets on the bottom half seemed weak, so I accentuated some and added others. They are just obvious enough to moderate the upward rush of the rows of plants.

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A Japanese color scheme puts cranberry, purple and pinkish-lavender together–three warm colors that are close to each other on the color wheel–something you will see in kimono colors but is generally avoided in how westerners dress.

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The soft textures of the original pastel painting remain, despite many changes to this picture, and can be seen throughout.

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​The most prominent element of the composition is yet to be mentioned: the solid pose of the farmer strongly anchored on his feet–a stable, upside-down triangle spreading upward. He is immovable, with a self-contained patience and perseverance, with restrained power and resolve–as is his wife. He and she are tied together visually and in their mutual commitment to the task. So you can see that composition is linked to the psychological, which I'm beginning to stray into…

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The farmer's stooped pose, downward gaze, bent arm, and bill of his cap point the viewer's eyes back toward the lower-right corner. From there you are guided upward again, aided by the swirl of the yellow bowl, four carefully placed stones, and the wife's feet. These are a few of the small shapes that float on or in the structure of the overall composition. Even the angle of the farmer's belt-loop slants upward as his body stoops down. This, of course, was not an intentional choice, but something I noticed just now. It is one of the many givens in this picture that subconsciously influenced my intentional choices–an example of how one part always plays off another.