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A Tin, A Jar and A Brush
Mr. Heus paints light. He carries It stool to sit on, a brush, a jar of water, a tin of guache, a book to balance his paper on and a sheet of French pastel paper of, surprisingly, middle value green.
“Everything in the out-of-doors is green. You go out with white paper and there’s not white anywhere. Then you spend most of your time covering the white, filling in the spaces between what it is that you really wanted to paint,” Mr. Heus explained. “When I put color on this dark ground, the color explodes with light.
“The masters always painted on a dark ground,” Mr. Heus answered when asked if the green paper was an original idea. “Though I don’t equate myself with the masters!” he hastened to add, smiling diffidently.
That disparaging word is indicative of Mr. Heus’s attitude. Artists come in two varieties: the bold braggadocio sure of himself and his place of honor in the art world and the modest recluse who lays no claim on a pedestel among art’s pantheon of greats. The first talks art; the second lives art. The first uses words to try to convince one of his talent; the
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