ON OCCASION, A SERIOUS painter would do well to stop and ask, "Am I a Leonardo da Vinci or a Johannes Vermeer?" Goodness gracious, either one is just fine! The real question, however, is not one of skill or fame, but of temperament. The two great artists, as best we know, illustrate temperaments of two types.
Leonardo was like the proverbial butterfly going flower to flower. As one contemporary wrote, he was “unpredictable and unstable,” for he “began many projects but never finished any of them.” We know less about Vermeer. Yet we do know that he worked laboriously on each painting, bringing each to completion. He apparently did fewer than forty paintings in his life, but his small oeuvre is a complete set—he did not dawdle around, apparently.
Generations later, a painter or draftsman may fit either mold. This is primarily a question of temperament, but also of opportunity and circumstance. In the early stages of an artist career, the more diddling the better. To be trained, one must draw and paint ceaselessly. Eventually a pattern is likely to develop. And it is a very complicated one for each artist to navigate.
Opportunity and circumstance come into play, of course. If one lands a job as an illustrator, say, then the artwork or story board is due daily or weekly, and a pattern sets in. The goal is a completed work, and all thoughts go to that end. The same would apply if a painter has regular commissions or shows. Both entail deadlines and finished products.
For many painters, however, those constraints do not apply. The choice is always there: to labor extensively on a major work, or to try this and that, experimenting in hopes of finding the perfect niche. Or as they now say, find the "brand" that gives a lifelong identity.
In conversation one afternoon, a prominent American painter said, "The problem is finding the time." He made his living as a painter and, a family man, had four young children. I later read an online profile of him, noting that he judiciously painted every night, starting about 9 or 10, once the kids were in bed.
The ability to establish a routine seems important to conquer circumstance. The novelist John Updike, who produced commercially successful novels (like a production line) until his final days, spent four hours every morning cranking out copy. The rest of the day was for the normal life of a notable literary figure. That sounds like a painters dream; nice work, if you can get it.
The demand for Updike was high, obviously. And this demand is where any artisan's discipline finds motivation. With constant requests for commissions or "recent works" shows, a painter could get a pretty good schedule going.
Which returns of us to Leonardo and Vermeer. With their commissions, if any, being irregular, they followed their temperaments. Vermeer finished a lot, Leonardo very little. Granted, Leonardo reportedly took four years to complete the Mona Lisa, carrying it around, apparently, and eventually finishing it in France. Still, Michelangelo did the Sistine Chapel in twenty months. Either way, slow and finished, or dabbling and unfinished, the doings of Leonardo and Vermeer were remarkable legacies in art, imagination, and invention.
The tables turned in later centuries. Namely, the quick sketch or unfinished work would become as revered an object de arte as a finished masterpiece. As one art historian today notes, "Our own aesthetic, conditioned by exposure to movements such as Impressionism and Abstract Expressionism, readily accepts this more improvisatory and immediate manner of painting.” In fact, it is often preferred. Today, an artist can be known for both time frames. Finished works have a stronger currency, while the quick, half-finished ones derive its value from the "name" reputation of a painter.
Most painters today wisely alternative between the two. Quick works, “completed” or not, are part of staying in practice. Skill can easily atrophy. Painters wake up every morning asking, "Do I still have what it takes." Only the next work will tell. (In the journalism, the saying is: "A writer is only as good as his last story!”) These days, artworks are often valued for their "one-off" quick execution, exhibiting a kind of virtuosity that bends over backwards to avoid a labored look.
Temperament always comes into play. I have met plenty of painters who thrive on doing the quick work and moving on. This may undercut the ability to have "masterworks" for the marketplace, but the rapidity suits the painter's nature. We all have the need for immediate gratification, but some more than others. Other painters just can't take up that modus operandi, preferring to give long thought to a painting, often changing one's mind until it is finished—or abandoned.
The wise counsel of our time is to be both a Leonardo and a Vermeer. Nevertheless, one side will always tend to dominate, it seems. Opportunity, circumstance, and temperament will negotiate these perils. And, with artists usually afloat on this sea of turmoil, all three will write the painter's program.