A study is a preliminary work, generally quite small, that an artist paints before embarking on the larger project, with the idea of testing out the subject matter, coloration, and composition to make sure that everything works together smoothly and well. Different artists do studies for different reasons, but Steve's major purpose is to create an informal color map, ensuring that the colors that work on the small scale stay true when he paints the larger piece.

"It is easy," he says, "to overwork your colors, blending and overblending until you have mud, and the study lays out the piece's palette in condensed form. If the colors work on the small scale, they'll work on the large scale, and I use the study as a reference to keep me true to the visual impact that I initially established."

Not all artists do studies, but when you find one who does, you have an opportunity to own an original oil painting for a very affordable price. Because the pieces are generally smaller (well under 144 square inches) and more loosely painted, the price reflects this; and the more relaxed style mimics that of many plein aire pieces.

Because many studies are small, they are also classified as miniatures, but not all miniatures are studies. Some artists specialize in smaller works of intricate detail, sometimes to the point of using a magnifiying class so that they can focus on what they are doing, and employing a thin brush of no more than a few bristles. In this case, although the piece is small, its very intricacy demands a higher price.

Steve has created a separate category for studies on his website -- Miniatures and Studies -- in the Original Paintings section -- and like all of his studio works, studies and miniatures are available for secure purchase through PayPal (even for those who do not have a PayPal account) by hitting the Buy Now button.

Works that are not in the studio because they are at a gallery or show are available by following the link provided, and, as always, we work individually with clients who contact us at [email protected].

One time, when the Norwegian Artist was teaching a beginning watercolor workshop, one of the students looked about and said, "I must be the only true beginner in here. Look at everyone else -- they all have so many paintbrushes and so much paint!"

It's interesting the different conclusions we come to based upon the same observations.

When the Norwegian Artist -- who has one, very expensive watercolor brush that he uses pretty much exclusively -- sees brand new plastic carriers filled with a plethora of lightly used paint tubes and a bouquet of brushes and other tools, he thinks,

"I wonder how much they actually paint versus the time they spend organizing and arranging their materials?"

More than one of the Norwegian Artist's students, and frequently a number of them in the same class, approach him privately and apologize for being the only true beginner in the class, and his response is a variation on the theme:

"It doesn't matter where you're starting from, it matters that you're going someplace."

And interestingly, many of the people who are self-conscious about being the only beginner, once they drop the fear of that (whether or not it is true) wind up learning a tremendous amount and progressing far on their journey as artists, simply because they know that they have much to learn and they're willing to set about doing so.

Because we're all human, we all have our moments of insecurity, but looking around and comparing our situation (which we know quite well) to our impression of other people's situation (about which we know very little) unnecessarily compounds the problem, and indeed, can actually block us from our goal of progressing beyond the present.

Workshops and classes are great opportunities to learn, and if you find one that fits your needs and learning style, go for it with enthusiasm and abandon, unhindered by comparison with the other students in the room. After all, when you're looking about, you're not looking ahead.

We know some artists who rarely paint because, deep down, they are afraid that they will run out of ideas. So they find any reason, any reason at all, to do anything but paint -- clean the garage, renovate the upstairs bathroom, shampoo the dog.

"I am waiting for the Muse to inspire me," they say.

One wonders perhaps if the Muse is getting bored for lack of anything to do. Oddly enough, the more we do something, the less we have to think about what we'll do next; it is when we are in the midst of working on a series of projects that more ideas come to our mind, not when we're cleaning out the garage (think of it -- as you're stacking and labeling the boxes, isn't your next thought along the lines of, "Better get the lawn mower winterized, and after that, the kitchen faucet's been dripping," as opposed to, "Boxes . . . that angular shape reminds me of granite rocks tumbling over the surface of a hillside. I must paint!")

Some of those who do manage to get out of the garage and paint find themselves dabbing at the same work for weeks at a time, in ten-minute increments now and then -- Dab dab. Dab. Dab dab dab. The blues mix with the greens and bleed into the reds until everything looks brown.

When the Norwegian Artist was in college, professors and fellow students alike put down the concept of "prostituting themselves" as artists by working at a 40-hour-a-week job as an illustrator or a graphic artist -- "This isn't pure art," they asserted -- and yet Steve has found that his 20 years in the business world, as both a professional illustrator and a graphic artist -- have trained him to be a better fine artist:

"Art directors don't want to hear that the assignment isn't ready because the Muse wasn't with me," he said. Day after day, year after year, he trained himself to work on good days and bad,  putting forth top effort into every piece, until his default became not waiting for the Muse, but starting the project without her.

Recently in Poland, my homeland that I've never actually been in, a young art student chose to forgo standard procedure and covertly hung one of his paintings in a major Warsaw gallery.

“I decided that I will not wait 30 or 40 years for my works to appear at a place like this,” Sobiepan told reporters. “I want to benefit from them in the here and now.”

So do we all, son.

While I smile at his effrontery -- and wonder at how he smuggled a painting in, past the guard, and managed to pound a nail up there without anyone noticing -- I am also consternated that such an attitude reaps its own reward: while the museum took down the painting from its briefly stolen space, they re-hung it in their cafe. And the artist is reaping attention and benefits because of what he did -- not because of what he paints.

"Someone will buy it just because of the story behind it," the Norwegian Artist said at the breakfast table this morning. "His career is made, not based upon his skill as a painter, but because of his nerve." (Actually, the N.A. used another term that rhymes with "halls" or "stalls.")

It is eminently understandable the young man's frustration at getting through to museum officials, gallery personnel, magazine editors, professional art organizations -- any group sets up its criteria, and after awhile, that criteria can get in the way of its original intention: to seek and showcase fine art, whether it is done by an established name or by a struggling, emerging artist.

Realistically, some good art gets shown, but so does bad art, simply because once the artist has broken the barrier and made his name, he could paint old Playboy calendars from the mechanic's back room with compost-derived paint and get it hung, showcased, admired and sold.

So the young man decided to take a short cut.

But in the same way most of us have learned to be wary of Uncle Rob's famous short cut that shaves 30 miles off the trip, our common sense tells us that anything worth having is worth working for. If the old guard doesn't work -- if the museums close their ears and the major art organizations pick the same old things over and over for their prize winners and the galleries sniff that they're full and the magazines print a new article about the same artist three issues in succession -- then find a different road.

Not only will it not be a short cut, it will probably be longer, and since it isn't very well used, it won't be as easy to follow, but it will get you to a different destination, with different scenery along the way.