A Flat Sky in One Pass, No Fixing
Okay. Last lesson was all about why skies go muddy when you keep going back into them. This one's the opposite side of the same coin. We're going to actually paint one, and the whole point is that you're going to do it once and then put the brush down.
I mean that literally. Once. Then hands off.
Why one pass
Here's the thing about a flat sky, the simple kind, one value, maybe a gentle gradation from top to horizon. It doesn't need twelve decisions. It needs one good decision and then you leaving it alone while the dry air does what it does.
I've said this before but it's worth saying again here: our air rewards commitment. A wash that would stay open and workable for ten minutes in some tutorial filmed in, I don't know, Seattle, is going to start setting up on you in two or three minutes here at our elevation. If you go back in at minute four thinking you're still "in the wash," you're not. You're disturbing something that's already decided what it wants to be. That's where the blotches and the hard lines and the muddy patch over the mountains all come from.
So the move is: mix enough paint before you start, load the brush generously, and go.
The setup
Tape your paper down. Actual tape, actual pressure, all four edges. If you skip this the paper will buckle when it's wet and your flat sky will have waves in it that have nothing to do with clouds. And a word of caution here, don't leave taped work sitting in a hot car afterward. I ruined a painting that way once, the heat basically cooked the tape into the paper and I peeled a strip of sky right off getting it out. Learned that one the expensive way.
Mix more paint than you think you need. This is the single biggest reason people's flat washes go patchy, they run out of paint mid-stroke and have to remix, and the new mix is never quite the same value, and now you've got a seam. Mix in a dish, not a well, something with some volume. For a half sheet I want at least a quarter of that dish full of color, maybe more.
Tilt your board. A slight tilt, maybe fifteen degrees, propped on a book or a water bottle. This lets gravity help you keep a wet edge moving downward instead of pooling.
The pass itself
Wet brush, big brush, the biggest one you own that isn't a mop. Start at the top left corner (top right if you're left-handed) and lay a horizontal stroke all the way across. Immediately go back to that same side and lay the next stroke just below it, overlapping the bottom edge of the first stroke slightly, picking up the bead of water that's sitting there. Keep doing this, side to side, working down the page, chasing that wet bead.
If you want the sky to lighten toward the horizon, add a little clear water to your mix as you go, or just let your brush pick up less paint each pass. Don't stop to think about it too hard. Keep the strokes moving.
When you hit the bottom of your sky area, stop. Do not go back up to "fix" that one streaky bit near the top. I promise you it looks worse in your head right now than it will once it's dry. Walk away. Go check on dinner, whatever. Let the dry air finish the job it's already doing.
An opinion, while we're here
I feel like the sky is where beginners die, and I've said that before too, but I'll say it again because this lesson is the whole cure for it. Fewer strokes, commit, walk away. That's the rule. It's not complicated, it's just hard to trust the first few times.
A quick story, since we're on the topic of avoidance
My mom asked me for a painting of the temple one Christmas. I said sure, no problem, and then I sat on it for about six weeks because architecture is not my thing, straight lines and perspective and all that, I'd rather paint a canyon wall any day. When I finally sat down to do it, I overworked the whole thing trying to get the proportions right, kept going back in, kept "fixing," and by the end it was muddy and a little sad looking. I hated it. She framed it anyway and it's been on her wall for years.
I bring that up here because the instinct that ruined that painting is the exact instinct we're trying to unlearn with skies. When something feels a little off, the temptation is always to go back in and correct it. Sometimes the correct move is to just let it be what it is and move on. The sky forgives that. Buildings, less so, but that's a different lesson I'm not qualified to teach.
Before next time
Do three flat skies this week, same paper, same brush, no fixing on any of them. Don't worry about which one's "best." I just want your hand getting used to stopping.