The Painter in Oil A complete treatise on the principles and technique necessary to the painting of pictures in oil colors — A Closer Reading

From Materials to Mindset

The book's organization reflects a deliberate progression. Part I covers canvases, easels, brushes, paints, vehicles, palettes, and studios—the physical toolkit. But Part II shifts abruptly to 'Mental Attitude,' 'Tradition and Individuality,' and 'Originality.' This juxtaposition is not accidental; Parkhurst insists that technical skill is hollow without a guiding philosophy.

The transition between these parts is the book's central argument: that the painter's inner stance determines how materials are used. The author warns against mere recipe-following, urging readers to understand why a method works. The structure thus mirrors his pedagogical belief that principles must precede practice.

The Grammar of Expression

Parkhurst repeatedly returns to the metaphor of language. He cites Hunt's question, 'What do I care about the grammar if you've got something to say?' and Beecher's dismissal of linguistic rules when they obstruct thought. For Parkhurst, painting is a form of utterance: the complete expression of an idea is inherently grammatical, even if it violates convention.

This analogy appears in multiple contexts. In discussing technique, he argues that 'the method by which the result is attained is unimportant, provided that the result is attained.' The painter's task is to say something; the grammar will catch up. This recurring image ties the book's theoretical sections to its practical advice, creating a consistent conceptual framework.

The Authority of Experiment

Despite his emphasis on principles, Parkhurst is skeptical of fixed rules. He notes that every acknowledged masterpiece was painted 'in defiance of some rule' alleged to be the only right one. His advice to the student is to 'try everything' and 'experiment with all' methods, but never to use a method for its own sake.

This openness is tempered by one absolute: the permanence of the work. He warns against pigments that fade or cause cracking, making durability the sole non-negotiable. The book thus balances a radical permissiveness in technique with a conservative concern for craft longevity—a tension that gives the text its distinctive character.

The Painter's Studio as Workshop

The final section of Part I catalogs the physical space and tools of the painter. Parkhurst describes easels, brushes, paints, and palettes with a practitioner's eye for detail. But even here, the theoretical lens persists: he discusses how different surfaces and forms demand different paint handling, linking material choice to expressive outcome.

The studio is not merely a room but a laboratory for the principles outlined later. The author's attention to the quality of canvases and the chemistry of varnishes underscores his belief that good painting requires both conceptual clarity and material competence. This section grounds the book's idealism in the gritty reality of oil paint.

Parkhurst's treatise is best approached as a dialogue between principle and practice. Readers will find the most value by moving between the theoretical chapters and the technical ones, testing his assertions against their own experience. The book rewards those who treat it not as a manual of fixed instructions but as an invitation to think critically about every brushstroke.

That rainy afternoon, Parkhurst kept returning to the idea that technique should serve expression, never the reverse. His quiet insistence on letting each painting find its own rules stayed with me long after the rain stopped. Later, I picked up The Enjoyment of Art — Reading Companion almost without thinking. It felt less like a turning a page than a continuation of that same unhurried conversation.