Old Masters painting SHORTCUT method video tutorial

Hello dear mates, welcome to this video workshop dedicated to the timeless art of layered oil painting. Here you'll discover how to build a still life step by step, using the same method once practiced by the old masters. When you stand before their masterpieces, have you ever asked yourself, how did they achieve such a depth, such a light, such a realism? Even with the far fewer materials than we have today, they created works that still take our breath away. Their secret was not in magic, but in knowledge, discipline, and relentless passion for a painting. And that's exactly what this course is all about, learning the principles, applying them with patience, and experiencing for yourself how classical painting unfolds, layer after layer. So, are you ready to step back into the time of the old masters and uncover their secrets? Let's dive in. The very first step in creating a still life painting begins long before any paint touches the canvas. It starts with setting up the scene. In this case I chose a traditional still life, which meant carefully gathering antique objects that bring character to the composition. Small pitchers, decanters, or vintage glassware are perfect choices. If you're lucky enough to have a garden, it's a wonderful source for fresh flowers and fruits. Since flowers and fruits tend to lose their freshness pretty fast, and they don't exactly keep up appearances for long, I find myself painting a lot from the pictures I snap. I'm always experimenting with different twists and options, depending on the subjects I've got on hand. I end up whipping up dozens of versions each time, and then on the computer I cherry-pick the one that's closest to my original vision. I created the painting on an oil-primed canvas stretched on an aluminum frame. The canvas is a 325 GSM Claessens linen canvas with a very fine surface. Unfortunately, the sizing layer is not made of traditional lead white, but consists of a layer of zinc and titanium white bound in linseed oil. The color of the first underpainting should have a warm olive tint. I achieve this hue by mixing flake white, yellow ochre burnt umber, and ivory black. My palette also includes a grayscale to gauge the value of the colors I'm mixing. The value of the imprimatura should match the lightest area of the final artwork, which in this case is the central point of the composition, a white rose. Every time before I start applying paint to the canvas, I saturate its surface with linseed oil. This thin layer of oil allows the paint to glide better, making it spread more easily and evenly across the canvas. You can apply the oil with a brush, but personally I prefer using my palm for this purpose. Rubbing my palm against the canvas generates warmth, helping the oil to be better absorbed into the surface of the oil primer. Next, I carefully scrape off the excess oil from the canvas using a regular razor blade. This step also removes any tiny specks of dust that might settle on the canvas. Simultaneously, this process lightly smoothens the entire canvas, providing a perfect base for the future underpaintings to flourish. After scraping the canvas, I wipe the entire surface with a dry cloth. Using an excessive amount of oil in underpaintings is undesirable, so I ensure that the oil is wiped in a way that leaves only a thin oil film on the canvas surface. Diluting the paint with turpentine, I apply it to the canvas using a large flat bristle brush. Right from the first strokes of the brush, you can notice how the color becomes lighter as I've mentioned before. I strive to apply the paint as evenly as possible. Finally, I use a big dry brush with natural bristles to blend any remaining uneven brush strokes. I began the process with a sketch on paper, which I then transferred onto the canvas using oil paint. After letting it dry for about a week, the drawing was set firmly enough to proceed without losing its strong outlines. As always, the next step is oiling out the surface. If the canvas is extremely absorbent, I use pure linseed oil. In this case, however, I applied a 50-50 mix of linseed oil and turpentine. Let's first define what underpainting is and what we use it for in classical painting. The burnt umber underpainting plays a vital role in the traditional oil painting process, especially when using the layering technique. Realistic creation and classical painting are based on certain principles. Imagine a simple still life with an apple and a white base for greater clarity. If you want to paint these subjects, you must know precisely what color, tonality, temperature and saturation they should have. These essential attributes are related to color theory and the basic properties of color. More about this has been said in my painting books. If you want to paint something, you first need to know how light or dark the object is. Value is the most crucial element of realistic depiction in the initial phase of creation. If you have correctly laid out values, you have a foundation on which you can build in other parts of the design. If you paint with a direct technique, you must deal with the issues of tonality, temperature, saturation and hue at once. This means that the color you mix for the moment must have the correct hue, tonality, saturation and temperature. Direct painting seems more challenging since it takes some experience and practice to determine the listed attributes simultaneously. And precisely for this reason, all kinds of underpaintings were taken out, which divided the whole painting procedure into individual steps. Now, before we continue, I'd like to let you know that what you're watching right now is only a shortened preview of my full 2-hour painting workshop. The complete workshop is available on my Patreon eShop for $80, giving you access to an entire video library divided into chapters. Each chapter goes in-depth into every step of the process, from underpaintings and layered colors to the finest details. If you truly want to discover how the old masters created their masterpieces, this workshop is your key. Another great way to access the full workshop is by joining my third tier, Brush With Greatness, for the same price of $80. By becoming a Patreon member, you'll not only unlock this complete 2-hour workshop, but also gain access to my entire library of nearly 90 painting videos covering a wide range of techniques. On top of that, you'll enjoy all the exclusive benefits of this tier, including the chance to join me once a week for a live online call, where we can discuss your questions, explore your progress, and I'll even give you a behind-the-scenes look into my studio and all the good stuff that makes the art come alive. Okay, let's back to our painting. The way this layer is crafted is quite distinct from the customary idea of oil painting. While the substance you work with is oil paint, approach it as though you were handling watercolor. This entails that the interplay of light and shadow is contingent upon the level of see-through quality in the amalgamation you apply. The more pigment you introduce into the medium, the deeper its hue will become. This approach veers from the conventional method, inviting a harmonious dance between transparency and pigmentation. When I'm working on that first layer of umber, you can see I'm doing things a bit differently. First, I take my brush and put on some paint that I've thinned out a lot with turpentine. I put this watery mix onto the canvas. Then I use another brush that's dry to mix it, blend it, and move it around on the canvas, depending on what I need. The whole back and forth between the brushes I use to put on the paint and the ones I use to blend it is what makes this layering technique work. I never really make up my mind beforehand about the number of umber layers I'm going to use. This choice really relies on how much intricate detail you're looking to bring out in the finished painting. You can approach the initial umber layer with an incredibly meticulous touch, or you might opt for a more loosely defined style. It's all about what you're aiming for in the end. Sometimes it happens that I come back to a certain spot in the painting multiple times, whereas there are also places that I paint with just one layer of umber. When I'm done, to put it more vividly, I can say that two layers of umber suffice for the underpainting, just like in the instance of this painting. When I start with the first umber layer, I always commence by painting the smaller details, and when feasible, applying colors to larger areas that depict the shaded portions of the subject being painted. If a detail I'm currently painting is overly intricate to tackle in a single layer, I leave that area somewhat unfinished, as if it's partially done, and shift my focus to another section of the composition. After the first layer of the preliminary coat has dried, I can revisit the partially worked on areas and finalize them according to my intentions. Please remember that when creating the underpainting with umbers, we can only apply darkening. The lightest value, which in this case is the illuminated part of the rose, is formed by the value of the imprimatura. In the brightest areas, therefore, the imprimatura will remain visible, teaching value and forming the foundation for subsequent layers. Nevertheless, if necessary, a specific area can be lightened with lead white. However, by doing this, you will deviate closer to the technical Baroque approach rather than the Flemish technique, which was, for instance, employed by Peter Paul Rubens for underpaintings. The first umber layer serves as the foundation for the entire structure of the painting. It establishes the values, the overall mood, and prepares the surface for the color layers that will follow. This layer usually takes about a week to dry completely, and it's important not to rush this stage. Once it's fully dry, you can confidently move on to the next phase of the process. Just like always, I begin by oiling out the canvas. I apply the oil only to the part I'm planning to paint. Since I've got to enhance every bit of this composition, and it's going to take me a few sittings, I'll be working on this picture one piece at a time. And remember to gently scrape that canvas with a razor blade to get rid of dust and any excess texture from the brush strokes after each layer. After this scrape, the surface should feel as smooth as silk. Be cautious while scraping, but don't fret if you accidentally take off a tad more than intended. Those spots can be easily fixed. If you prepped the primer properly, and made sure there are no uneven spots after priming, you won't scrape all the way down to that white canvas when you do this. Now as I move into the second part of the umber underpainting, I refer to it as the summarizing stage. Here, I find myself reaching for larger brushes compared to the ones I used in the previous phase. In that earlier step, I painstakingly addressed all the intricate details of my composition. But right here in this particular juncture, my sole focus narrows down to capturing the nuanced tonal variations between the objects on my canvas. For instance, as I meticulously work on the wine inside the glass, my goal is to make it distinctly darker than the vibrant strawberry nearby, yet it should maintain a subtle luminosity, lighter than the darkest shadows of the background. Likewise, when I turn my attention to the delicate rose, my aim is to render it with a delicate touch, making it appear lighter than the uppermost part of the tabletop where it delicately rests. I carefully selected the brightest spot within the painting, and that spot happened to be the white rose. It took its place in the very first layer of the underpainting. Given that the other elements in the composition lean towards the darker side, I knew I had to significantly deepen the tones in those areas. This adjustment was crucial to create a strong tonal contrast within the artwork. As a result, the white rose naturally emerged as the central focus, drawing the viewer's attention and anchoring the entire composition. In my artistic process, I stick to a method that mirrors the initial layer. This method hinges on a delicate interplay between two crucial brushes, the application brush and the blending brush. With the former, I gently lay down paint that's been thinned to just the right consistency onto the canvas. The latter, a dry brush, serves as my instrument to merge and meld the hues directly on the canvas itself. When it comes to blending, my primary objective is to eradicate any trace of harshness in the composition. In the next phase, I deepened the background, which appeared too light in value after the first umber layer. Since I revisited the background a week later, after the rest of the composition had dried, I had to reapply oil to the canvas surface and prepare it as I usually do. When I'm tackling a larger piece, I almost always find myself engaged in this method of painting in sections. The downside of this approach can be its time-consuming nature, as I must patiently wait for at least a week before adding a new layer, ensuring that the previous umber layer has dried sufficiently. As I approached the culmination of the second layer of underpainting, I allowed the white rose's underpainting to reach its completion. In the initial layer of umber, I delicately insinuated the finer intricacies, occasionally hinting at the tonal qualities of the cast shadows. In this layer, my task primarily involves refining what had been laid down during the first underpainting. This stage is devoid of space for any substantial alterations or modifications to the composition. The logic here lies in the nature of the white rose itself. By virtue of its alabaster complexion, it inherently possesses a luminous character. During the initial underpainting, it demanded little effort to delineate its fundamental contours, including the pivotal shadows. Essentially, the groundwork for the rose's depiction was sufficiently laid in the first layer. However, for the sake of elucidating the creative process, I have undertaken the task of completing the rose with a second underpainting. My focus now converges on the refinement of minutiae, with a primary emphasis on perfecting the intricate details of each individual petal and their gracefully undulating folds. My approach is characterized by meticulous sculpting, as I aspire to accentuate the three-dimensional essence inherent in the floral bloom. Towards the end, I'll add some shading to the lower part of the table, completing the second layer of the painting. I'll then let this layer dry for around 14 days before moving on to the color stages. This drying time is essential, as it allows the paint to fully settle and ensures that the surface will be stable for the next applications. I begin the color layer by using the local white shade of the rose, which, thanks to the tonal contrast, takes center stage in the composition. This is a technique I employ quite frequently. Typically, I create a mixture of the local color on the light side, and then proceed to refine and blend it to generate additional tones. Since there will be a lack of cool gray-grisaille tones in the halftone areas, I must adjust my color mixing process accordingly. The lighting, as always, is natural and warm. Therefore, the local white shade carries a warm essence with hints of cadmium yellow and sea-dread deep. Conversely, the halftone lean towards a bluish hue, and due to the absence of grisaille, where cool visible semi-shadows pierce through the colored layers, I have to mix and apply them directly onto the canvas, dealing with halftones simultaneously with the local color. In the shadows, I aim to make the color as subtle and transparent as possible, avoiding the concealment of the previous warm umber tones. I ensure these tones remain visible to the greatest extent, even through the all-color layers. This approach enhances the depth of the shadows, and the backlighting effect makes them appear more vivid. The lit-up part of the rose gets heavy doses of paint, while the shadowy areas get thin, transparent layers. For this artwork, I tweaked the color consistency using two different mediums. I mixed Oleores Gel from Roublev into the lead white. Oleores Gel, a thixotropic gel with linseed oil, alkyd resin, and fumed silica, thickens colors for creating impasto effects without sinking. Conversely, I thinned the shadow color with another medium for added transparency. In this case, I went with Galkyd Light from Gamblin. These mediums make working with paint a breeze, compared to using it straight from the tube. When I sculpt shapes, I always have the direction of light in mind. Light is the key element in any painting, defining how objects look and their three-dimensional aspects. It also significantly influences color appearance, acting as the source of color harmony. That's why it's crucial while painting to be mindful of all light characteristics, and align the color mixing and painting process accordingly. As usual, I like to start painting from the back plane, and gradually move forward. So naturally, I began with the background. Well, truth be told, I did paint the flower first. But that's only because I just couldn't wait to get that first layer of color onto the rose. Typically though, I stick to working systematically from back to front, but that's not an absolute rule. It's more of a personal preference, something I do, to keep everything organized. You could say it's just part of my DNA. I don't like too much chaos in my process. The background itself is essentially an empty room that's submerged in shadows on the left side, gradually brightening toward the right. Personally, I'm a fan of darker backgrounds. This approach was widely used in classical painting, especially if you look at older still life paintings. The darker values make the subject pop forward, and in this case, make the rose appear even brighter and whiter than it actually is. Although you might notice it at first glance, even the local red color of wine has subtle temperature variations. On the left side of the glass, the wine catches both warm and cool reflections from surrounding light sources. What's particularly interesting is the wine's surface. It usually appears cooler than the rest of the liquid inside. In this painting, however, the surface looks practically flat, since the horizon line of the composition aligns precisely with the wine's surface. So that cool effect isn't really visible here. But here's where things get even more interesting. The color within the glass involves a cool trick known as subsurface scattering. This effect is a real game changer, and I use it every time I paint translucent objects. Basically, when light passes into something translucent, like our red wine, it illuminates the shadowed areas from within, making them richer and more vibrant. So paradoxically, the wine appears brighter and deeper red in the shadows than in the light. This is exactly the opposite of what happens with opaque surfaces, which simply reflect light off their surfaces, leaving shadows darker and flatter. And yes, I'll be applying this nifty subsurface scattering trick to the carafe in the painting as well. This effect adds a beautiful internal glow to translucent objects, making your paintings feel alive, so it's definitely worth mastering. The green leaves were already shaped in the first and second underpainting with umber, so here I'm just building on that base. The warm undertone of umber glowing through the greens gives the shadows depth and warmth. In the darker areas, I use thin transparent layers, and as the form moves into light, I make the paint thicker and more textured. This is still only the first color layer. The fine details will come later, once it's dry. The local color of the strawberry is a bright, vibrant red, and it works perfectly over a burnt umber base. Because the paint isn't fully opaque, the umber softly shines through, making the red appear even richer. In the underpainting, I already shaped the strawberry with bumps and texture, and those details now show through the first color layer, guiding my brushwork so I don't need to recreate them from scratch. The green of the strawberry leaves and stem creates a beautiful contrast with the bright red of the fruit, and the deep wine tones in the background. When mixing greens, I always aim for variety and richness. I apply vivid greens in the light, cooler bluish tones in the halftones, and warm reddish browns in the shadows. Again, using transparent layers so the underpainting warms the cooler tones laid on top. To wrap up the first layer, I'm finishing the color on the small metal creamer. Because a metallic surface reflects its surroundings, it basically picks up the tones of the background, so I'm using the same palette here. The key is to capture the play between warm and cool hues. On the top of the creamer, for instance, you can see it reflecting the tabletop, which gives it a warmer, mahogany-like glow in that spot. At this stage, my main focus is on establishing the form and mass. I'm shaping the volume, not fussing over details yet. Those will come later. Among those details are the highlights. For now, I paint them rather subdued, so that in the next layer I can build up the value, brightness, and contrast. In the underpainting, I suggested the reflection of a window, but in reality, that reflection won't appear so sharp and geometric. The creamer has a reflective surface, but it's somewhat matte, so the reflections are softer, less crisp than on glass or polished silver. In the color layer, I'll blur them out to the point where the edges dissolve completely. Another key point is the nature of the reflections themselves. Most of them are cooler, bluish tones. These represent the influence of a secondary light source. Once this layer has dried, I'll return and add the brightest warm sunlit highlights on top. A good light reflection almost always combines warm light surrounded by cooler passages. That's why it's crucial to understand exactly what kind of light is hitting your subject, because it directly affects the colors of the reflections, the look of the object, and ultimately, the harmony of the entire composition. So during the first color layer, I return to the neck of the carafe and apply a glaze of dark paint, just enough so that a hint of the underpainting remain visible, guiding me as I constructed the shape. On top of this dried layer, I paint the outlines of the glass and begin shaping the forms. This is the simplest way to create a glass object, modeling its shape while the darker background still shows through, simulating the transparent and translucent qualities of real glass. I start with the basic outer forms and add details later. As always, I never try to do everything in a single step. First comes the structure, and only after it dries do I move on to details and the brightest highlights. It's at that very last stage that glass truly comes alive on the canvas, when I add those sharp specular reflections. 4. I had the most fun painting the carafe stopper. It sparkles like a little diamond. At its core, it's basically a polygon made up of planes tilted in all sorts of directions toward the light. Perfect playground for values and temperature shifts. 5. I'm moving on to the wine glass, and this is where things really get fun. With wine inside, I've got the perfect excuse to play with all sorts of shades and temperatures. The liquid not only makes modeling easier, it gives the glass more volume and life. Here's where subsurface scattering kicks in. As the light shines through, the wine on the far side gets richer deeper, a velvety crimson glow. At the same time, the glass picks up bright reflections from the white rose nearby. But because the glass bends and warps the image, the rose appears a little distorted, almost like you're seeing it from the back in a funhouse mirror. There's also a tiny shadow cast by a leaf leaning against the glass. And of course, the stem. Nothing complicated there. Just a few quick transparent strokes, and boom, it feels real. You see, the magic is in how all these little elements come together. Reflections, distortions, shadows. It might look overwhelming, but don't panic. If you break it down logically, it's just a puzzle. Put the pieces in the right place, and suddenly you've got a convincing glass of wine on canvas. Now I'm working into the second layer. Honestly, most of the heavy lifting was done in the first pass. The rose after that very first layer already looked almost finished, as if I had captured about 70% of its essence right from the start. That's why this second layer doesn't demand much heavy lifting. My job now is to refine what's already there. Adjust values here and there, fine-tune hues and temperatures, and polish the whole painting into its final form. The areas I'm working on now are smaller and more delicate. So instead of broad strokes with a large brush, I've switched to finer tools. This stage is all about subtle enhancements. I absolutely love painting white flowers. They're like a stage where light itself performs. On their petals, light doesn't just illuminate, it sings. White becomes the color of light, shifting endlessly between warm and cool notes like a symphony. The highlights glow with creamy warmth, as if touched by morning sun, while the half-shadows hum with cooler bluish tones, borrowed from the air around them. Deep inside the bloom, golden yellows and soft reds pulse through the petals, glowing like hidden embers thanks to subsurface scattering. So even though the flower is only white, it's anything but simple. It's a jewel refracting countless colors, a living harmony of light and shadow woven together. When I'm layering, I always stick to one golden rule. With every new layer, there should be more light, more shadow, and more color. This isn't just for the rose I'm painting here. It applies to every single object in the composition. With each pass, I also build up stronger and richer strokes in the highlights, which eventually peak in those sparkling little reflections of light. And because subtle changes are easiest to spot on white objects, let's break it down using this rose as an example. The first color layer is always slightly more muted than the ones that follow. If I'm working over a gray underpainting, the gray naturally softens the colors, giving me room to gradually increase saturation later. But in this case, there's no gray. I'm painting straight on to an underground. That earthy tone does wonders in the shadows, so I let it shine through. Now the whites in the light areas actually lean warm. To get that effect, I mixed white with deep cadmium yellow, and just a touch of cadmium red deep for warmth. Then, to keep it from becoming too bright or sugary, I slipped in a hint of light blue. This not only toned the mixture down a bit, but also left me space in the next layer to push both the brightness and the saturation even further. As always, I begin with oiling out. I need to bring the colors back to their original saturation before they dried down and lost their vibrancy. This is a step I take almost every time before painting, whether I'm working on an underpainting or on the color layers. After a few minutes of this preparation, the surface is ready for the final painting layer. As I mentioned earlier, the little creamer is basically finished. I just keep returning to it to refine the details, especially the highlights. In the first color layer, I deliberately painted those reflections a bit subdued, so that in this second pass I could bring them out to their full brilliance. So how do you actually paint metal, and what colors should you use? Most of the time, I model the form with the same colors I used for the background, because a metallic surface reflects its surroundings, and therefore shares a very similar palette. This also helps maintain color harmony, since everything ties together naturally. It's always a good idea to pull some tones from the background into the foreground, not only for metal, but also for things like skin or fruit, because everything reflects light, and with it, color. The key is to know what kind of surface you want to depict. If you're painting something highly polished, like silver, it doesn't just reflect color, but also mirrors the environment, distorting it according to its shape. The little creamer I'm working on has a dull aged silver gray tone. Because it's old and slightly tarnished, it only mirrors the closest objects. I apply thick opaque paint in the illuminated areas where the warm light strikes with full strength. These passages should feel solid and confident, with impasto or stronger layering to emphasize their presence. In contrast, the shadows are painted transparently, allowing the underpainting to glow through, and suggesting the subtle diffusion of reflected and cooler light. The transparency creates a sense of air and atmosphere, reminding the viewer that shadows are not dead zones, but living spaces filled with color influence. The warm highlights surrounded by cooler halos, paired with this contrast of thick versus transparent paint, make the painting breathe with realism and light. When it comes to the brightness of reflections, the little creamer behaves differently from something like glass, or a perfectly polished silver surface. Because it isn't purely reflective, the highlights are slightly muted. They have a lower value and aren't as dazzling, since part of the light is absorbed by the aged metal. The reflections themselves also appear more diffused. Instead of showing a crisp mirror image, they only suggest the general shape of the light source. If you look at the carafe or the glass beside it, the reflection is sharp enough to almost perfectly reveal the shape of the window through which the light enters the room. On the creamer, however, the duller surface softens and blurs those contours, turning the clear rectangle of the window into something hazy and indistinct. This is where reflections tell the truth of the subject. They reveal not only what the object reflects, but also the very texture and nature of the material itself. In other words, reflections are what give away the identity of the object. You can read the material through the way it handles light. Alright, now the only thing left to do is to apply a protective varnish at the end. I've had this painting in my studio for over a year, so the layers are fully dry and ready to be varnished. In general, it's recommended to wait at least six months after completing a painting before varnishing, so that the layers are firm enough and you don't risk issues like cracking or other surface defects later on. Before varnishing, I first clean the surface from any dust or dirt, and only then do I apply the varnish. I don't pour it directly onto the painting, as you often see in various videos. Instead, I dip my brush into the varnish gradually as I go. If you pour too much varnish in one spot, you risk creating a thicker area there compared to the edges, unless you spread it perfectly. That's why it's safer to proceed slowly and reload your brush every few strokes, ensuring an even layer across the whole surface. For layered oil paintings, I usually use glossy damar varnish. It gives the colors a beautiful depth and enhances the shadows in particular. The only downside is the strong gloss, which can be a real pain when photographing the painting, since it's difficult to capture it without reflections. If needed, a second coat can be applied about a week later, especially if the first layer absorbed unevenly and doesn't create a completely uniform surface.