The Method, The Madness and The Mystery—Part 4

Welcome back again to The Method, The Madness and The Mystery, a sculpting series that follows the creation of Himmy, a Dutch Draft Stallion in approximate 1:12 scale. It's been a bit longer than I planned to post this Part 4, so if you need to come up to speed vamoose over to Part 1 to restart.

So, onward…in this installment, we're going to delve into more sculpting concepts so you'll understand my creative choices as we go along. I promise the actual hands–on sculpting is right around the corner, but I work so fast and get so absorbed, I figure it's better to get all this on the table now before things get really crazy. Let's dive in…

The Three Ps

As we'll explore in greater detail throughout the series, I rely on three primary elements I call the Three Ps ("3Ps" for short). They kick in the moment I envision a new piece and remain front and center until completion…and they are, in order of importance:

1. Proportion: The dimensions characteristic of the species we're sculpting, factoring in breed or type, gender, age, individual, and posture. 
2. Placement: The anatomical orientation of each body feature consistent with the species we're sculpting, factoring in breed or type, gender, age, individual, and posture.
3. Planes: The angle, slant, curve, or twist of each body feature characteristic of of the species we're sculpting, factoring in breed, gender, age, individual, and posture.

Using the 3Ps to block in the big ideas, they create a kind of sculptural map of the figure. In this way, Proportion can be thought of as the point–to–point layout, like the roads, Placement pertains to where towns or cities cluster while Planes refer to the mountains, hills, plateaus, valleys and rivers of the landscape. Indeed, a piece can register as "horse" with just these three components. Take the work of Herbert Haseltine, for instance—his horses were pretty much just studies in the 3Ps and they're lovely! [You can learn a little bit more about Planes in Part 1 of my anatomy series.]

Considering this then, my first priority with Himmy will be to lay out the 3Ps correctly. I'll pay close attention to them throughout the process, too, only because the problem with something as fundamental as the 3Ps is that when they go haywire, they tend to do so in ways so subtle and systemic, they'll contaminate just about every aspect of the piece. And that means their ensuing complications take on that elusive "I can't put my finger on it" quality, and that's no place I want to be. There's an upswing to this, however: if such a problem does arise, it's a sure sign an error lies within the 3Ps, and so immediately rechecking them usually pinpoints the problem without excess hassle. We'll get to all that as it comes in this series though, since this kind of hiccup tends to be situational.

Now About Proportion…Again

Proportion has the #1 slot and a second mention here, because…well—yes—it's really that important. Big Picturing all this, recreating a realistic horse in clay is actually about recreating a series of specific proportional relationships, isn't it? Every length and bend of our armature, every stroke of our tool, every dollop of clay, every point we decide "that's enough," and even "I like that," are all actually manifestations of Proportion. It's no surprise then that Proportion exists within a built–in trip circuit, one that can bust our illusion right from the get–go if it's off. Like if we were to make our piece 5x life–size, make one hock 2x smaller than its pair, make the head a 2x bigger than natural, or any other Proportional anomaly, the believability of our sculpture will be trumped almost immediately, and even before our brain gets to anatomy, motion, expression, etc.

With that in mind, there are a few curious aspects of Proportion definitely worth mentioning now. For one, certain Proportional skews can become habitual, either as a by–product of our aesthetic or as an outcome of inadequate technique. For another, the effects of Proportion can change as a function of scale.

We each have our own aesthetic, our own unique artistic style that happily makes our work distinctive. So if a sculpture is a manifestation of a specific set of Proportional relationships, then our aesthetic can be thought of as our own set of habitual Proportional relationships, yes? Contained within that set, of course, are our strengths and quirks, but also our deficiencies, most commonly in the form of blind spots and biases—and it's here where our Proportional skews reside. And being biases and blind spots, these skews persist right under our radar—we think we're doing it correctly—but which only reiterates the importance of our Proportional tools and techniques. This gets back to the recalibration of our Reality Filter we discussed in Part 2 and Part 3, and we'll get to how all that works as we go.

Now while some of these skews may be caused by a glitchy Reality Filter, interestingly enough some can be shared. This is likely due to certain ideas about conformation getting exaggerated in clay, as sculptors attempt to perfect their visuals. Some examples are "fine bone" turning into spindly legs, a "long neck" becoming more giraffe–like, and "well muscled" resembling more a Marvel® character than equine athlete. Many sculptures also possess backs so alarmingly short, one wonders where a saddle would fit if it were a real horse! Yet despite the want for a "short" back," equine torsos are far longer in life—by design—than what many sculptures would have us believe. The truth is, indulging the "more is better" philosophy may work for chocolate, but for realistic equine sculpture…not so much. All things are relative.

Another plausible reason is simply this: our subject is a complicated form to interpret let alone sculpt, and we may distort things—even unconsciously—to make them more familiar. For instance, I've seen pieces with humanized features, like eyes that face more forwards, nostrils with a more funnel–like configuration, and gaskins muscled more like human thighs. Similarly, I've seen sculptures imbued with features from companion animals such as the eyebrows of a dog or the ears of a cat.

In particular, humans have an inborn penchant for neotenous characteristics. Constant and unconscious, this tendency influences what we judge to be endearing, attractive, and even beautiful. We even breed companion animals to more resemble our babies. Ask any group which is cuter—a Papillon or a Desert Tortoise—and the winner is an easy prediction, and all simply due to instinctive drives to favor infantile features. (For the record, I'll take the tortoise!)

But when it comes to equines, neotenous features are diametrically opposed to the well–being of the animal. For instance, short heads, small muzzles, deep profiles that create a "stop," inordinately large or bulging eyes, or any other feature neoteny would convince us is "more attractive" are questionable at best. The long, robust and purely functional head of the equine is a result of 65 million years of practical evolution, so attempting to force this efficiently engineered non–human design to align with our neotenous proclivities doesn't make much sense, does it? But being instinctive, neoteny will find its way into our work regardless, so we must be "ever vigilant," as my…fiend…er …friend, Laurie, once described her eternally watchful blenny. If it does seep in, a common example is making our sculpted eyes notably large, "soft" and "liquid," to the point of being unnaturally large. It may be appealing, since it triggers that instinct, but nevertheless we should still recognize this is our equivalent of a big–eyed child velvet painting.

Now as for how scale influences Proportion—here's where things get funky. On large pieces, like monuments, Proportional errors can go undetected more readily because our brain is forced to scan over a piece to then reintegrate that patchwork into a cohesive whole. Compound that with perspective distortions, and scale alone can mask just about any Proportional error. Imagine trying to determine the overall Proportions of The Da Vinci Horse at Meijer Gardens when standing by the sculpture's knee. We stand well back from a monument to "get a better look," don't we?  And there's good reason we point–up a maquette.

Yet the opposite kicks in with small scales—when our brain can process the entire piece at once, Proportional errors can pop out front and center. Even more, Proportion becomes an ever–increasing issue as scale diminishes, for some key reasons. For one, absolute precision gains greater importance the smaller the scale, since even the tiniest of Proportional errors become massive deviations. Take Dante for instance, sculpted in 1:16 scale. Being that the average length of a Murgese head is about 20", Dante's head is 16x smaller at 1.25". So imagine the equivalent of 1" on Dante—an equivalent measurement that makes a world of difference with nearly every aspect of his structure at that scale. There's little room for error. The smaller the piece, the greater the precision.

It also means we cannot apply the same sculpting ideas to smaller scales as we would to larger ones. For example, sculpting the coronet ridge on a 1:32 scale actually equates to extreme ringbone, and becomes increasingly extreme as size diminishes. Or defining the eyelids and zygomatic arches on a small scale in the same way we would a larger piece can result in Frankenstein–like effects produced by excessive definition. When it comes to detailing, too, such as moles and veins, hinting at them becomes increasingly effective as scale decreases. This can even impact which tools we use and how we use them. I've seen small scale pieces with disproportionally enormous eyes, ears, joints, cannons, hooves, or muzzles simply because the tools used were mechanically unable to manipulate the clay in scale. Our tools must shrink with our sculptures!

Put all this together and it's evident that scale matters more than literal definition when it comes to realism. Put another way, scaling up and scaling down doesn't apply only to the mean size of the sculpture; it applies to every feature of the piece. Since realism demands no discernible difference between scales, our thinking and tools also have to adjust to the size of our piece, and our only ally in this is an effective application of Proportion. It alone brings the issue of scale to the forefront and, in so doing, asks us not only to sculpt with absolute precision but to also rethink how we're sculpting in order to maintain the sense of scale.

Subsequently, I'll be making very different decisions for Himmy in his 1:12 size than I would if he were 1:9 or even life–size, and yet even different decisions for Zuggie in 1:64 than with Himmy…and all due entirely to scale. In many ways, sculpting convincing small scales is a real test of our abilities by forcing key elements to the fore. Practically speaking, any developmental deficiencies will become increasingly obvious the smaller the scale we attempt. So if our teeny pieces appear disproportionate, clunkier, coarser, less detailed—less believable overall—then we have some clear ideas on what to amend in our skillset.

And there's more good news in all this: being so fundamental, if we get the Proportional relationships correct on our piece, then Placement and Planes simply fall into place as a natural and inevitable outcome. And being tangible and objective—we can measure Proportion, remember—necessary corrections become self–revealing when we know how to correctly determine those measurements. See, sculpting realism isn't so impossible! We just need to understand the fundamentals and their practical applications, that's all.

The Equuscape

But to effectively apply the 3Ps, we gotta be able to recognize anatomical landmarks as well. Landmarks? On the body? OK…let's backtrack a bit. What's the defining characteristic of any map? What makes a map a map? Yes—fixed points of relative position to each other. We use these points to determine where we are to then decide where we want to go and how to get there.

Well, anatomical landmarks work much the same way. These palpable points of the skeleton and key muscle groups act much like constellations to guide us over the animal's body whether it be life study, our references, or our sculpture. And though we may be talking about a gooey living body, a 2D static photo, or a lump of wire and clay, anatomical landmarks are still just fixed points of relative position to each other. Together then, they create a kind of topographical equine map, or Equuscape. 

Just as a conventional map gives our feet freedom and direction, so does the equine map for our hands. The beauty here, of course, is that all these coordinates are directly transferable between the living animal, anatomical charts, reference images, and our sculpture. And being as how the Equuscape applies to the entire genus, any equine subject can thus be extrapolated using the very same map. It also means that no posture is beyond our capabilities either, since we can orient, measure, and predict our progress from any point to any other point with that same map, too.

Here are some skeletal landmarks you can use to orient yourself on your map.

Here are some fleshy alignments related to those skeletal landmarks.

And that's nothing to sneeze at. The equine is a creature defined by motion and rich in variation, providing an abundance of inspiration to keep any artist busy for a lifetime. But remember that those of us who chose to work in realism are obliged to specific boundaries, all those precise biological rules set down by Equus. So despite all the creative ideas this animal generates in our head, we still can't just make it up.

How does this impact our work in practical terms? It means we have to mentally project where our clay has to go before we get there, or put another way, we always have to know exactly where we are in order to decide where we need to go—and at any point in our process. This ability to project forwards, to predict the boundaries and influence of the rules well before we get to that point, is perhaps the most difficult skill specific to realism we're asked to master. Luckily for us, it's right here where the equine map can be extra helpful. 

Stepping back a bit, all those boundaries seem constraining at first, don't they? It's easy to interpret them as a series of "no," as unwelcome limitations to our creativity. Yet when framed within the concept of the Equuscape, of projection across the equine map, don't they instead become an indispensable boon? For if there are boundaries, we can anticipate them, can't we? Much like how our autopilot learns our neighborhoods and home turf, letting us navigate our familiar roads almost as second nature, so we can apply that mechanism to sculpting this animal. Learn the map well enough, in fact, and going "point to point" comes as naturally as driving to the grocery store. Learn to use the map well enough then, and our ability to predict forthcoming coordinates, no matter their configuration, comes just as easily. The end result is a faster process and more varied work, created in more confidence and clarity. See, limits aren't so bad!

In tandem, our ability to recognize how movement changes the 3Ps is a natural outcome. As discussed in Part 3, horses don't move like paper doll anatomy charts, or like jointed action figures. Our subject is a living, organic, fleshy creature, and his body is as changeable as the moment. If we cannot capture this quality in our work then, all we're really doing is just sculpting anatomy charts articulated into different positions, aren't we? This is representational art, work that is of something rather than about something. Realistic art is often criticized from this perspective, and for good reason. So if we want to achieve more in our own work, it may be time to rethink our approach and hopefully this series will provide some ideas.

Symmetry

But it doesn't end there! Being a sculptor, working in 3D, requires we account for all sides and all angles, and this ushers in some new steps…one of the trickiest being Symmetry. This refers to the bilateral halves of the animal, specifically those paired features that should be matched in dimension, orientation, and composition. That makes Symmetry not only an element of Viability (which we'll discuss next time), but also a perfect example of that idea introduced in Part 2 of how "my brain cannot take anything for granted so that yours can." 

So let's consider the equine skeleton from that perspective: all those paired skeletal features, with all their tuberosities, condyles, shapes, ridges, planes, curves, pointy bits, dimensions, orientations, angles—each and every one of their characteristics—aren't all cattywompus, are they? No. They have structure—order, alignments, infrastructure. They have paired relationships; they mirror each other. They have Symmetry. If I haven't attended to Symmetry then, I've made a technical error all the same. 

However, Symmetry is one of those components of realistic sculpture that tends to get overlooked the most, for two primary and connected reasons. First, we can simply become blind to it, typically induced by the "wow factor." As sculptors, we can get so immersed in our work that we just lose sight of the rules and boundaries. We've all been there, done that. It's an easy slip. On the flip side too, we may be so blown away by the appeal of a piece, we just don't recognize its mismatched deviations. We've all been there and done that, too. Sometimes flawed molding techniques can skew an otherwise Symmetrical sculpture as well, such as when flexible molds are strapped too tightly.

It all boils down to this: our brain can only process one view at a time. We don't have a second pair of eyes (ideally those on stalks) that would allow us to wrap around the piece for a simultaneous second view. Instead, our brain interprets each new view as an isolated event, as a discreet package of data, a "snapshot" of sorts. To perceive a sculpture en toto then, it must link these separate views into a continuum, connect these "frames" back–to–back into a "movie." And as we discussed, the larger the piece, the more of these frames it must connect.

But the wow factor seems to steer our brain's movie–making magnificence right into the skids, causing it to either connect the frames improperly or to create errors in each frame to force consistency. Do we see every continuity flaw in a movie we're thoroughly enjoying? No. Well, it's the same here, too. It's in the skips "between" the frames where asymmetries persist, and…again…it's our tools—our calipers, compasses and protractors—that provide the means to address them. As we become more skilled, the better able our brain gets at making those movies, allowing us to detect discrepancies more intuitively. With experience, we simply become better at detecting continuity errors, and with even more, our little movie–making machine can even prevent us from making many of them in the first place.

All this distills down even further into the real reason why Symmetry is such a universal trouble spot: the uninitiated eye simply takes it for granted. It's one of those aspects of mental processing that just gets disregarded. Let's face it, we didn't pay attention to Symmetry when admiring a real horse before we got into sculpting equine realism, did we? Why? Because we never had to. Symmetry was already present in the living animal by default. DNA took care of it for us! So we didn't even think about it, enjoying the personality, mannerisms, movement, type, color, the way the mane or tail swished, or any number of more obvious features instead. Honestly, when you watched The Black Stallion, one of the many mesmerizing things that struck you about the lovely Shetan wasn't Symmetry, was it? 

Not so with realistic sculpture! I don't get to sit back and focus on cherry–picked aspects of the subject. No—I have to recreate the entirety of the animal completely from scratch; I have to focus on everything. Nothing can be taken for granted only because DNA isn't involved in the creation of my sculpture. In practical terms then, my struggle with Symmetry exists on two fronts: not only is it a non–given with its own challenges, but the mere act of sculpting introduces totally new asymmetries unique to the creative process. Referring back to the previous discussion, we each have a unique set of habitual asymmetries that reside in our blindspots, or are integrated into our process or aesthetic. That makes them even harder to detect being so nestled within a conflict of interest loop, but we'll get to methods on how to spot and fix them as we go. Suffice to say that no matter how experienced we may be, these pesky little quirks linger. It's just that human element.

So…back to Symmetry…for instance, I have to make sure the sculpted eyes are matched, level and angled symmetrically, the fore cannons are of equal dimensions, the humeri are the same length and set, the pelvic girdle is intact, the teardrop bones match in length, angle and dimension, the ears are the same size and set, the Atlas "wings" mirror each other, the ichii are the same length and angles, the pasterns match in length, width and structure, muscle structure is consistent on either side of the neck…along with a multitude of other physical relationships inherent in any equine subject, and regardless of motion or posture. Indeed, if I listed the actual number of Symmetrical relationships I have to account for with every single piece, you'd be reading for quite some time.

And don't forget any errors the sculpting or molding process may introduce! Artistically generated asymmetries can range from blatantly obvious to painfully subtle, but they won't reveal themselves in movement, as one would pinpoint lameness in a living horse. Being embedded in a static sculpture, I have to assess them in situ, and that too is a learned skill (which we'll get to later on). A couple of obvious artistic asymmetries, for example, are flounder–like eyes or mismatched cannons, but subtler errors are an asymmetrical loin, mismatched sacral tuberosities, disparate radial features, or divergent elbows. When it comes to realistic equine sculpture then, no feature has less importance than another—every aspect of the piece is of equal merit.

All this is why Symmetry is so hard to achieve in clay and harder still to perceive in sculpture—not only are we asking our brain to switch to analysis mode when gorging on a visual feast, but we're asking our brain to put equal emphasis onto something it habitually interpreted as irrelevant in life. And that's trickier than it sounds. Going back to The Black Stallion, next time you watch the movie, give cranial Symmetry equal attention to more artistically obvious aspects such as Shetan's head type, expression, ear movement, eye motion, nostril dilation, whisker bump organization, eyelid wrinkling, venous structures, chin pooching, jaw action, or forelock wisping while enjoying the film. Not easy, is it? 

That's not because we're incompetent, however, it's because this kind of artistic acuity isn't natural—it's not how our brain evolved to process an image, as we discussed in Part 2. Asking our brain to afford the same consideration to the Symmetry of the ilia, for example, or the zygomatic arches, the femoral joints, the pisiforms, the mandible joints, the lateral cartilages, the nasal bone, the rib cage…and everything else…as it would dedicate to conformation, type, coat texture, movement, gesture, the twist of the neck, curve of a muscle, lifting of a foreleg, or any more obvious element is making it work in new ways.

And so like most things in realistic equine sculpture, dealing with Symmetry is a learned skill. It's not one that comes automatically in life study, analyzing references, or working clay. As such, it's yet another skill unique to realism, and one of those invisible attributes of a convincing realistic sculpture because if it's well executed, you'll never notice it.

I got these puppies from MVS.

In all fairness, though, horses do have slight asymmetries to their faces and bodies just like us, some being inborn and others the result of injury, poor horsemanship, deficient nutrition, or problematic development. All this is fine for our clay, of course, given that these asymmetries are necessary (as with portraiture) or intended (as with a narrative). To invoke fairness again—Symmetry is tough to achieve, isn't it? We all have our "good side" and "bad side" of working, and some of us may also have a hard time flipping over a visual in our head. (Photo editing software is sure handy in the studio!) Some sculptors have also been known to distort Symmetry to manipulate the composition for artistic reasons. For example, some have arbitrarily lengthened a body part so that a piece will stand properly on a flat surface, or lengthen a flexed long bone so that leg doesn't appear shorter than its standing pair. 

Lucky for us, unintended asymmetries are avoided with technique (which we'll explore as we go) and with casting methods that don't cause distortion. We can also use the 3Ps and the Equuscape to guide us towards Symmetry, since they organize all those reference points into more predictable order. Stepping back and thinking about it then, Symmetry is a natural outcome of their application, isn't it? Indeed, if any aspect of our sculpture's topography is off, how could Symmetry even be possible? Therefore, rechecking our map as we work is an invaluable habit to adopt—just don't forget to check it from all angles. Our work is 3D and so requires a 3D inspection!

I say that the art of sculpture is eight times as great as any other art based on drawing, because a statue has eight views and they must all be equally good. Benvenuto Cellini

For more discussion on topography, download my article, "Mapping Out Success; Equine Topography for Sculpture" I wrote in 2007 for The Boat here.

Trouble Shooting

I'm going to make mistakes. A lot of them. It's inevitable. Himmy may also change his mind and demand tweaks throughout the process. It happens. So here's the deal: I don't believe the main characteristic of a skilled realistic sculptor is necessarily an ability to avoid mistakes. Rather, I believe it's the ability to problem solve one's way through the impending challenges presented by any sculpture.

A painting is a series of corrected mistakes. Robert Bisset

Mistakes aren't the enemy. In fact, I welcome them. They reveal a lot more than what I get ballpark right, and so provide stepping stones for further advancement. They also reveal a lot about me as an artist, and may illuminate areas I need to address personally.

Where you stumble, there lies your treasure. Joseph Campbell

What's the enemy then? Ourselves. If we interpret a mistake as a failure, as an indication that we're incapable, we betray ourselves. If a failure compels us to quit out of frustration, that's a learning opportunity lost. And if we believe we're so adept and knowledgeable that we're no longer capable of making mistakes, a new set of emperor's clothes are in the making for us.

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep. Scott Adams

So you're going to watch me stumble and deduce my way through Himmy like a crazy person. We'll discuss various strategies and logic for all that as we go because, suffice to say, I have legions to share!

The higher up you go, the more mistakes you are allowed. Right at the top, if you make enough of them, it's considered to be your style. Fred Astaire

And I freely admit that I feel paralyzed by intimidation at times. Despite my 20+ years sculpting this critter, some pieces are so overwhelming in scope and novelty, it's hard not to be. I'm human. I often expect so much of myself, that I become my own most demanding critic. I've chosen perhaps one of the most difficult subjects on the planet to sculpt, since I not only have to juggle the technical specs, but all the variations, hidden nuances, and value judgments that go along with this animal, too.

Who says Excalibur is embedded in a rock? My impossible challenge is embedded in clay! Each new piece isn't just a new sculpture—it's a new journey, a new endeavor that will require my full investment of focus, emotion, dedication, discipline, and hard work. It will ask 100% of my commitment. I'll be exhausted afterwards and hopefully by the end, I'll be satisfied with how all that investment panned out. I cannot stop this journey until I am.

So chew on all that while I prepare… 

NEXT TIME: Part 5: Three Critical Realizations

"When you slow down enough to sculpt, you discover all kinds of things you never noticed before." ~ Karen Jobe

The Method, The Madness and The Mystery—Part 4

The Method, The Madness and The Mystery—Part 3

With me, creativity and chaos go hand in hand.

We're now at Part 3 of The Method, The Madness, and The Mystery, a blog series that follows the sculpting of "Himmy," a Dutch Draft stallion. If you've missed the previous parts, you can start at Part 1.

Materials and Tools

In this part, I'm going to introduce the media and tools I'll be using to bring this guy to life. At first I wasn't going to include this information, but then I realized that the "stuff" an artist uses is as personal as her subject matter. So it's interesting to take a moment to contemplate why we use the stuff we do—they speak of us and our method, don't they? I mean, the nature of whatever we choose to use is a reflection of our nature, too.

For example, I'm a ridiculously impatient artist. Waiting is something I definitely don't do well at all. I get bored, restless, and anxious very quickly, which is a real challenge for me, creatively speaking. Just ask my family—getting me to focus on anything that simply doesn't interest me is like trying to herd crazed, greased piglets hopped up on Red Bull and Cinnabons. Predictably then, I can lose interest in a piece almost instantly if there isn't something constantly tugging at my interest. It also means that if I'm having to wait too long for something to cure, dry or congeal, that piece can be in real trouble of never being finished. Now you'll understand the media I use and why I work the way I do when we get to those sections. What does your media and tools say about you?

But all this also provides a good bit of advice: while I may be sharing my stuff here, keep in mind that doesn't mean you should jettison what you use. If your stuff works for you, go ahead and keep using it and simply incorporate some of my ideas as you see fit. As I mentioned in Part 1, there's no way you can achieve what I do, even with the same stuff because you aren't me—and visa versa. That's the awesome thing about art!

One caveat I've got to mention, though. The primary sculpting medium I use—Gapoxio®—definitely isn't for everyone. In fact, most artists seem to really dislike the stuff. Even more, it has some health issues so it's not to be trifled with or used casually. Personally, I love the stuff because it cures quickly (remember that impatience bit) and its "feel" dovetails perfectly with two things I already love (it's like a cross between pastry dough and ceramic clay). Nonetheless, its short working time is something many artists find antagonizing, among other things, so if your personality does better with a more open media, find one or stick to what your using.

And there are other epoxy clays. Apoxie Sculpt®, Apoxie Clay®, or Magic Sculp®, or Amazing Sculpt® each have their own properties, and most tend to be far more open than Gapoxio (I haven't used Amazing Sculpt personally, but I hear it has a nice workability). There are plenty of other modeling two–part clays out there, too, often used by the miniature or modeling industries, but I'll leave all that for a different post. And, of course, there are the ceramic and oil clays. Wax counts here, as do oil clay/wax combos, polymer clay and PMC. Finding what works for you is simply a matter of using it. No amount of description is going to communicate "which wand wants you," so ya just gotta get your hands dirty.

Regardless, one quirk you may notice about my armature "system" (if you can even call it that) is that it's unattached to a base. This is due to using epoxy, which cures quickly and so allows me to manhandle the piece as I sculpt. Non–curing oil clays are going to need support scaffolding, and for some ideas on that, check out the handy tutorial on Lynn's website. So just keep in mind that my armature system is specifically designed for what I use and may not be directly transferable to other media, especially non–hardening media. Despite all this, however, almost all of the sculpting ideas I describe in this series can be applied to any type clay, or any type of sculpture for that matter, even ice sculptures, fabric sculptures, animation, prototyping, and 3D rendering. So…onward!

The Stuff

ARMATURE

Clothes hangers: Yep, I like their stiffer mettle. But traditionally, you'd use aluminum wire which you can get at just about any home improvement store, and usually for far less than at a sculpture supply. I'm a collector of wire, actually, because you just never know when some gauge or characteristic will come in handy.

Thin wire: To wrap around the primary armature wire to provide tooth for the epoxy. I simply use beading wire, usually of 22 or 18 gauge.

Aluminum foil: To help bulk up the piece since epoxy is heavy.

Masking tape: To fix down the aluminum foil to provide a more stabilized surface to start sculpting. I borrowed this idea from Kerri Pujatee.

Aluminum Mesh Wire: Great for creating support "nets" for manes and tails.

MEDIA
Apoxie Sculpt®: To bulk up the armature just below the "sculpting theater," the layer where I do the real sculpting in…

Gapoxio®:  This is what I use to actually sculpt. For my purposes, it holds detail and accepts nuances like no other media, its only equal being porcelain.

Isopropl Rubbing Alcohol: A solvent for the epoxies. You can use water, too.

Messo: A 30/70 mixture of Liquitex® Gesso and Liquitex® Modeling Paste, which I mix together and thin a bit with water to paint on veins, moles, chestnuts, ergots and other teensy tidbits with a plucked liner brush. We'll get to that in more detail in the final stages.

TOOLS
I started out sculpting with pencils, of various sharpness, and my fingers. But after going through all sorts of tools, I still came back to those designs that were essentially glorified pencils and fingers. Curious how simple is best. Anyway, I've provided images where needed because perhaps you may find something of similar shape already on hand.

Main Sculpting Tools

These are the types of shapes I tend to use most often for the epoxy clay. I have plenty more for various things, though. The third one from the top, currently encrusted with epoxy and oil clay, is the one I use most. 'Tis my trusty pal! I bought it from Sculpture House and find it immensely helpful despite its simplicity. Perhaps because of its simplicity. For clarity, it kinda started like this, though that isn't the same tool. The one I have has been handcrafted from steel, and I don't see it in their current inventory. But you get the picture. I also cut the handle ends off the paint brushes I've destroyed from cold–painting or epoxy smoothing before I throw them out. Those rounded and pointed ends are super handy, too!

Ball Styluses 

I wrote about these in a recent newsletter post. I find them very helpful! 

Lockable Compasses: These work great for me since I portion out a sculpture based on the head length, and so all I have to do is measure and lock, and then I'm all set. You can get plastic ones pretty cheap from office supply stores or store sections, too, so you can get a bunch, label them with painter's tape, and lock them to the head lengths of various sculptures currently underway.

Prospek® calipers: I use these all the time for taking incremental measurements and a multitude of quick comparisons. You can get them here. I actually have four pair all over the place because I use them that often! What makes these better than other calipers I've used is that they work like chopsticks, allowing me to gauge proportion quickly with just one hand.

Protractor: I use these to measure angles, like for the the hip, shoulder, and eye (we'll get to that later). And don't forget the footsies! Using this gizmo to measure the angles of the hoof walls compared to the coronets helps along symmetry and preferred structure. Even in a moving piece, with hooves off the ground, I can still make sure I hit the angles I want. More on that later, too.

Brushes: Yes—brushes! I use brushes with rubbing alcohol to smooth, soften the tool sculpting, and add nuance to the curing Gapoxio. But I also use them for oil clay, ceramic clay, wax, and PMC. Be sure they're artificial fibers and soft, though I use stencil brushes for specific textures (we can visit that later on). Just keep in mind they're going to be destroyed eventually so if you find them for sale, scoop 'em up! I tend to use filberts, angles, and rounds of various sizes (scale the size of the brush to the scale of the piece), but use what works for you.

Shop rags: I use shop rags for all sorts of predictable things in the studio, but mostly to dab my alcohol–soaked brush before applying it to the epoxy. I prefer old T–shirts and old socks due to their lack of "shed," but if I'm pressed, I'll use paper towels or those blue shop towels, too.

Sandpaper: I typically smooth out my sculptures with the brushes and alcohol to such a extent that I don't really need to sand after curing. As such, I tend to use fine textures, though coarse is handy for flattening hooves (we'll get to that later) and for some textures. I also like manicure emery boards for hooves, and they're available at beauty supply stores, or store beauty sections. Regardless, I tend to only use wet/dry sandpaper to cut down on dust.

Files: An assortment of fine miniature files can be useful at times, and they're available in many craft and hobby stores, and even some hardware stores. 

Rio Rondo Carbide Scrapers: Like the files, these are handy for strategic shaping or material removal for resculpting.

My Hands: Our fingers are really our best tools after all!

My Brain: Remember what we talked about last time in Part 2.

Dremel®: Since epoxy clays harden as they cure, I can't simply remove bits I don't like as with non-hardening clays. I need for a power tool to do that job for me.

Dremel FlexShaft Attachment: Cuts down on the vibration and is much lighter and easier to use rather than holding the actual Dremel in your hand, and that can be a big deal for delicate work, or if you have carpal tunnel problems.

Tool Bits: For my Dremel, I like using shaping grinder bits like these (I got them from Harbor Freight) and some of the Dremel grinding stones (especially the conical ones), sanding drums, and shaper drill bits. But I don't use these bits to shape and carve, but to strategically remove cured epoxy to resculpt over that area in an improved way.

Epoxy Dust Recommendations
I use protective glasses and a high-grade respirator. You'll also need some sort of system that sucks up the epoxy dust and debris that's generated because you do not want epoxy dust laying round and tracking into your home. I like to use a high-powered ShopVac with a blue micro filter to catch every teensy bit, but an industrial filtered intake would be even better. I also wear a smock that stays in the Dremel area (to keep my clothes clean), I wipe down everything with a damp cloth afterwards, I wash my piece thoroughly, and then wipe my soles before coming back into the studio (which is in the house). Epoxy dust of all kinds needs to be disposed of very carefully, like ceramic dust.  Every sculpting media has its own perks and hazards, so use common sense and heed all tool and media instructions and warnings.

References: Yes, our references are tools, too! This includes life study, education, workshops, critiques, photos, diagrams, illustrations, our mental library, or anything we refer to as we work. We'll get to those in just a sec. Just in case you've missed it, though, you may want to scoot on over to my blog post on how to take your own reference photos for some additional insights.

PRIMER COAT
RustOLeum Painter's Touch Primer®: I like to create a consistent finish and to lock in the messo additions after sculpting is completed. I prefer the grey color since it's neutral and tends to photograph best when against a white background, also making it easier to "cut out" of photos in Photoshop for promotional purposes.

The Plan

Every realistic sculpture needs a Plan, a blueprint for construction; otherwise known as the set of proportions used to plot out the piece. As both a material and a tool then, here's The Plan I'll be using for Himmy.

   

    

Created in Photoshop® and stored on my iPad (which comes with me into the studio), this outline represents the target body type Himmy wants to be, and those proportional relationships will show me how to get there.

The Plan is essentially a map, a point–to–point direction of how to get where I want my clay to be. Because think about it—when I'm sculpting atop a "skinny" armature, how am I going to get my clay out to, say, the point of the shoulder, the tip of the stifle, or to create the breadth of the cannon bone, brow, or barrel? Before Himmy is bulked up, those points are just air, so I have to project my Eye to that outermost point and take my epoxy clay to that point. But I can't do that effectively if I don't have some means to objectively measure where that point is in relation to my current coordinates—and "objectively" is key here. As we discussed in Part 2, our Reality Filter works to skew reality, which is why compasses, calipers, and protractors are necessary to provide fixed, objective measurements.

The Plan isn't just a one–time reference, either. I'll refer to it continually to recheck my measurements until Himmy is complete because it's uncanny how things can go way off–track if not reined in constantly by fixed points. That darned Reality Filter just wants to see what it wants to see rather than what actually is…but it can't argue with a compass! BOOYAH.

I also find that three "core" measurements of particular importance exist, those being the shoulder, hip, and the girth (the patterned measurements, above). For my method, these serve as The Pillars that form the foundation around which the rest of the body is built. So if any of those three are off, the structures "emanating" from them—the forelegs and neck from the shoulder, the torso from the girth, and the hindquarter and hindlegs  from the hip—will also be off. And that's a lot of work to fix later…bleah. I should also note here that one of my quirks is to always make the back way too short in these initial stages. I've tried all sorts of workarounds and…well, they don't work for me. At this point, I've accepted this annoying little hiccup and simply leave the barrel as one of the last features to finish so I can chop the torso in half while it's still pretty much in armature form. Trust me then—we'll get to this later as well.

But have you noticed what aspect of The Plan isn't shown? Yes—the front and the back views (also the top view, but we'll get to that further along). The equine scapula isn't attached to the torso by bone, but only by a sling of muscles and other flesh. This gives the foreleg very fluid motion while also protecting a large herbivore dependent on running escape and bucking removal of attackers from breaking a collar bone every time he plants a foreleg. It also means that chest width changes depending on muscle quality and development. This is why Quarterhorses have such wide chests—their muscle quality simply orients their scapulae further away from the body. It's also why Big Lick Walkers have such wide chests—all that weight from the pads and stacks build up so much muscle on the forehand, like a weightlifter, he begins to resemble a bulldog. On the other hand, it's why horses rescued from starvation are so narrow and scrawny—all that muscle loss orients their scapulae closer to their rib cages.

But even so, it also means chest width will change depending on motion, and in Himmy's case, his galloping forelegs and "rolling" drafter movement will be an influence. I've tried different kinds of chest measurements for this, but still haven't found anything as good as simply eye–balling it and making a value judgment, using a hefty pile of references as guides, of course. Sometimes Nature just can't be pinned down and we just have to go with a trained sense of proportion and structure as our best guess.

Another thing to notice about The Plan, above: it's of a standing horse, but Himmy is galloping. This is where a functional understanding of anatomy comes in. Because I know how those joints move and how the skeleton and musculature change as they do, I know how proportion also changes. Equines don't move like articulated anatomy charts, like jointed paper dolls, or like action figures. Muscles don't function like cables or bungee cords, either, and flesh isn't static. Instead, joints have unique articulations and cumulative effects, making them far more organic than at first glance, while muscles contract and change shape, making them amoebic and gooey.

On top of all this, equine design is programmed with certain aspects of natural coordination and structural cooperation that, being unique in the animal kingdom, help to define equine motion. If I don't account for them as well then, no amount of realism elsewhere is going to compensate for that error. Quite literally, Himmy won't be depicting a realistic horse because he won't be moving like a real horse. Anatomy and biomechanics are truly synonymous. That means I can't bend my armature according to my whims—I obliged to follow specific anatomical rules dictated by Equus, by definition.

For more tidbits on some of those necessary equine coordinations, you can download my article, "Anatomy Analysis: Legs, Basic Mechanics of the Equine Limbs," I wrote for the RESS Technique Booklet 2 in 2003.

Altogether, this knowledge will help to keep Himmy from appearing stiff and contrived and also allow me to make educated judgments for projecting where proportional points would be if Himmy were standing. In other words, I'll be able to "unravel" his galloping position into a standing one, or "curl" it into a galloping one from a standing position. There's a big difference between knowing anatomy and understanding anatomy.

Now About Those References

Perhaps just as important is this idea: the proportions contained in The Plan are an amalgamation of measurements I've chosen for Himmy (or rather those he's chosen for himself). The two key words in that sentence are "amalgamation" and "chosen." The former implies a meshing of many and the latter suggests a series of value judgments. 

Unless we're sculpting a portrait, we have complete freedom with our clay. But all too often I've watched as many sculptors draw from only a few reference photos, diagrams or sketches in the belief that's all they need. It's not. In fact, that tactic is going to sabotage their efforts right from the get–go. Why? Nature is all about diversity and change. Nothing in Nature is static, but a chaotic burst of variety, choices and options—a grand, glorious experiment in DNA, physics, and chemistry. It's truly mind–boggling if you really try and wrap your head around it.

And the point is—you can't.

There's no way we could ever conceive of most of Nature's manifestations. Our imagination is simply far too limited. Don't we tend to design most of our sci–fi sentient aliens based on a humanoid design, for example? And though we may create fantasy animals of wilder characteristics, all the same, we're still bound by what's familiar to us. Crack open just about any sci–fi how–to and we find it still applies basic anatomy of Earth's creatures to creating new alien species. Even scientists apply a narrow spectrum of circumstances by which to predict life on other worlds without really considering that this framework has no real basis in objectivity. Let's face it, we really don't know all the parameters for life only because we're living on a sphere of limited options, and that prejudices our perspective. So know it or not, your imagination is automatically biased by presumptions, judgments, filtering, preferences, and preconceptions about what reality is—and about what it could be. That darned Reality Filter, again. It even applies to our imagination!

That's key. Why? Because that's precisely where the problem lies when we use too few references. When we do so, what we're really doing is making an assumption that's all we'll need to realistically recreate the target visual. That's to say our brain is tricking us into believing we already "know enough" by formulating preconceptions about how our sculpture should look.

But it's wrong.

Equines move fast and moments are fleeting. Things change, and change quickly. But our brains aren't designed to recognize all those minute changes and details contained within those seconds. Just watch any HD slo–mo video for proof. Instead, our brains are designed to simplify the visual into The Big Ideas and to filter out all those "fiddly bits" it deems unnecessary, or isn't fast enough to prioritize and process. Our brain isn't a conveyor of reality, but an interpreter of reality—that Reality Filter again. In this way, our brain is much like Lucy in the chocolate factory when it comes to deciphering things second–by–second. No wonder then why it gets us into so much trouble when it comes to realism—it's precisely all that second–by–second stuff we need!

Put it all together and it means we're just not going to know the true reality of the moment or the full kaleidoscope of possibilities no matter how keen our observational skills and with just a few images to guide us. It also means we need to find a way to put back in what our brain has filtered out. So we do this by studying and comparing dozens, even hundreds, of images depicting the same body part in the same position among many different individuals to amass a mental library of options and to create a new trip circuit that reminds us to look for those options. All of this keeps us guessing and searching, keeping our mind open about the nature of things, and also gets back to Living Moment as we discussed in Part 2. 

"Compare," in particular, is an important concept here. Comparing similar circumstances allows us to pinpoint both the anatomical necessities in that circumstance along with the differences—those fleeting, situational changes that propel our work beyond a sterile anatomical diagram. Over time, all this comparison trains our brains to learn the anatomical patterns more meaningfully while, at the same time, guides it to distinguish the individual characteristics of the Living Moment, recalibrating our Reality Filter to take in more information. When we return to our clay then, we don't only have a better grasp of the rules, but just as importantly, we better know how and when to tweak them. 

Your Mental Library—A Indispensable Resource

Now getting to that concept of a "mental library"—don't take it for granted! Each time we look away from our references to use our tool, or imagine how we want our piece or section to look, we're drawing on our mental library, that collection of assumptions, preconceptions, and concepts we employ to shape our clay. So though our hands actually smoosh the clay, it's our mental library that guides them how to do it. Just like how all the best libraries have lots and lots of books then, so our mental library needs lots and lots of guides. We stock our "shelves" through hours of field study, research, practice, artistic exercises, and all those comparisons.

This never ends, mind you. Just as more books are being written every year to fill library shelves, so our mental library should stay current and ever–growing. Nature is far too diverse and changeable for us to ever believe "we know enough," or that any of our assumptions remain adequate. Our work will begin to homogenize the moment we fall into that trap as we unconsciously lapse into rigid habits and formulas when sculpting a creature far more organic than our preconceived notions.

What The Heck Does All This Mean Already?

So getting back to those proportions in The Plan for Himmy, "amalgamation" and "chosen" indicate that I've carefully studied gobs of Dutch Draft stallions and have chosen specific proportional relationships for Himmy, or rather he chose them for himself (wink). I'm not simply taking a photo then of a Dutch Draft Stallion I like to use as inspiration or as direct reference. Instead, I've created a composite individual carefully constructed from many examples, like Frankenstein's Monster…only without the bolts in the neck, and all that bellowing and lumbering around. This makes Himmy a singular individual, a unique representation that cannot be singled out as a copy, making Himmy my own work, my own art—my Voice. Being so, he ceases to be a rote duplication, but an expressive narrative of a believable soul, and that's just as important to me as the technical specs of this artform.

Indeed, no other artform can squish our Voice more than realism because having to follow those rules asks us to dampen our aesthetics. Luckily we can still let our Voice out, and we'll discuss those tactics later, but meanwhile you can download my article, "Artistic Authenticity; Using Your Voice," I wrote for The Boat in 2009 here. 

Phew, that's a lot to chew on! Gnaw on all this and then we'll get to…

NEXT TIME: Part 4: The Three Ps

"My basic view of things is—not to have any basic view of things. From having been exceedingly dogmatic, my views on life have gradually dissolved. They don't exist any longer…"  ~Ingmar Bergman

The Method, The Madness and The Mystery—Part 3