Watercolour washes, glazing and mud

A flat wash is laid on paper that has been dampened evenly, with a fully loaded brush drawn in one direction and each successive stroke overlapping the last by about a third, the board tilted slightly so the bead of pigment follows the brush. A graded wash uses the same stroke but with progressively less pigment and more water in the brush, or with the board tilted further so the bead drains downward. Streaks appear when the brush is too dry, when the paper has begun to dry unevenly, or when a stroke is gone over twice; the remedy is to mix more paint than the passage needs, work quickly, and stop at the edge of the shape.

How do I lay a flat or graded watercolor wash without streaks?

Mix a puddle larger than the area to be covered, because a wash cannot be extended once the brush runs out. Dampen the paper with clean water and let the sheen go matte but not dry; a surface that is too wet will flood, one that is too dry will grab the pigment at the first touch. Load the brush fully, touch it down at one corner, and pull it across in a single steady movement, keeping the tip in contact with the paper. Work down the sheet in parallel bands, each band overlapping the one above by roughly a third, and never lift the brush mid-stroke to correct a line.

At the bottom of the shape, lift the brush and squeeze it dry, then touch the gathered bead of pigment to draw it off. If the wash must be graded, either dilute the mixture in the palette between bands or tilt the board so the bead runs and the pigment settles in a soft transition. A wash that dries with a hard edge along its lower boundary has usually been left with the bead standing; that edge can be softened later with a clean damp brush, working inward from the line while the paper is still damp.

For landscape work the sky is the usual first test. A flat wash suits an overcast layer, a graded wash a sky that lightens toward the horizon. The painter who wants a fuller account of the method, from loading the brush to controlling the bead, will find it set out in the guide to how to lay a watercolor wash, which treats the wash as the foundation of everything laid over it.

What is glazing in watercolor and how do I build depth in layers?

Glazing is the application of a thin, transparent layer of colour over a fully dry earlier layer, so that the two colours mix optically rather than on the palette. It is the main way depth is built in watercolour, because the white of the paper continues to reflect through every transparent film, and the accumulated layers darken without turning opaque. The rule is simple: each glaze must be dry before the next is laid, and each must be thin enough to see the layer beneath through it.

A landscape is usually built from light to dark. The first glaze might be a pale yellow over the whole sky, the second a warm red across the lower half, the third a cool blue in the upper part; where the three overlap, a grey or violet emerges that no single mixture would give. Foliage is built the same way: a yellow-green base, then a blue-green glaze in the shadow masses, then a warm earth glaze in the hollows. Because the layers are transparent, the texture of the paper and the edges of earlier shapes remain visible, which is what gives a watercolour its particular depth.

Two cautions govern the method. First, some pigments are staining and some are not; a staining colour laid over a non-staining one will not lift cleanly if the passage needs correction. Second, too many layers, or layers applied with a brush that scrubs, will disturb the paper and dull the surface. Three or four well-chosen glazes will do more than ten hesitant ones.

Why does my watercolor turn muddy, and how do I fix hard edges and blooms?

Mud is not a single fault but a family of them, and it usually comes from one of four causes. The first is over-mixing on the palette: three or more pigments stirred together thoroughly produce a neutral grey-brown that reads as dirt. The second is over-working on the paper, where a brush goes back into a passage that has begun to set and lifts the underlying colour into the new. The third is glazing with an opaque or semi-opaque pigment, which hides the layers beneath instead of modifying them. The fourth is laying a complementary colour over a passage that is still damp, so the two mix on the surface rather than optically.

Hard edges are a separate matter. They occur whenever a wash is allowed to dry with a defined boundary, which is sometimes wanted and sometimes not. To avoid an unwanted edge, soften it while the paper is damp by drawing a clean, barely moist brush along the line and blending inward. To keep a wanted edge, let the shape dry completely before the next wash touches it.

Blooms, sometimes called backruns or cauliflowers, are formed when wet pigment is pushed into a partly dry area, so the water flows outward and carries colour with it, leaving a pale centre and a dark, lobed rim. They happen when a brush loaded with water is laid on a drying wash, when a drop of water falls on damp paint, or when the board is tilted after the surface has begun to set. Some painters use them deliberately for cloud edges and rock texture. To avoid them, keep the whole passage at the same degree of wetness, and do not touch a wash that has started to dry. To remove one, wait until the paper is completely dry, then rewet the area evenly and lift the pigment with a clean brush, working gently so the paper is not abraded.

How does this apply to landscape subjects?

The three problems meet most often in skies and water. A sky is a graded wash, sometimes glazed twice for a storm, and its clouds are either reserved as dry paper or lifted out while the wash is damp. Water is a flat wash laid over a reflection that has been painted first, so the reflection shows through the transparent film. Foliage is a series of glazes, each one darker and cooler than the last, with hard edges kept only where a branch meets the sky.

The working method that avoids most faults is to plan the passage before the brush is wet: decide how many layers it needs, mix each colour in sufficient quantity, and let each layer dry before the next. A landscape painter who works this way will find that mud, hard edges and blooms become choices rather than accidents, and that the transparency of the medium, which is its whole character, is preserved from the first wash to the last.

Mud holds a wash longer than paper does, and the same discipline applies indoors when the light has gone: a screen in a room is another surface to read, and its sound sits with it. The adjacent page on fitting a television and its sound treats that arrangement as a practical matter of position, tone and balance, in the same way a wash is built in layers. Read it after the glazing dries, when the day's colour has settled and the room, like the estuary, is quiet.

Watercolour rewards patience in the same way that a close acoustic does: what is held back matters as much as what is laid down. A wash left to dry, a glaze built in thin layers, mud worked at the edge of a pool, all of these ask the painter to listen to the surface rather than force it. The same attention to a confined space and a reduced means runs through chamber music in Reykjavik, where a low room, a rebreathed melodica and two bags of kit change what a listener can hear.

For readers who want the terms set out plainly, the Tate watercolour glossary describes wash, glaze and the other techniques named on this page. A wash is laid on wet or dry paper and left to settle; a glaze is a transparent layer worked over a dried passage, altering what lies beneath it without hiding it. Both behave like weather on the flat: mud, estuary and low cloud all reward the same patience, the same waiting for one layer to dry before the next is floated on. The vocabulary is worth having to hand when the light changes faster than the paint does.