authenticity

Back to The Drawing Board … With A Clearer Sense of Purpose

While I’ve continued drawing since my last installment, I haven’t kept posting near as regularly as I intended when I launched this blog.  At that time, in fall 2014, I was participating in the Blogging 101 workshop; and I felt the buoyancy of a just-minted blogger. But, as the sense of “novelty” wore off, my initial drive really waned. Now, four months into the new year, I’m staring sheepishly at the date of my last posting—November 22, 2014—and wishing I hadn’t let so much time pass. I had really believed in this project upon launch; but, clearly, staying aloft requires more determination to overcome obstacles than I realized.

Graphite Drawing

Silver Pitcher, Partially Refracted Through Wineglass

Yeah, I way underestimated the commitment required to keep this up. Often, my days seem crammed with so many other obligations. When my free time finally surfaces—often after dinner cleanup and other sundry chores—I’m mentally done being productive. Come 8:30 or 9p.m., I typically give in to vegging out.

I’ve struggled, also, with what I’m actually trying to accomplish: What do I want to focus on? Just my “drawing process” and how I’m sharpening that skill? Do I want to write more about where I’m heading creatively, and who/what inspires me? Or, do I want to go even broader–and open the floodgates to still other concerns that arise (with my drawings perhaps providing visual counterpoint to my “musings”)?

Moreover, I remain intent on breaking free of just faithfully “copying” the subjects I draw. I’m increasingly tempted to “color outside the lines,” so to speak. I want to worry less about erasing and correcting “mistakes”; and to more fully express in my artwork the vision I see through my “mind’s eye” (as well as what comes in through my optical senses). In short, I want to overcome my perfectionism–so my artistry and creativity can shine through. That desire, and that problem, however, echo throughout my life. I can’t honestly restrict my writing narrowly to overcoming my artistic limitations—and leave out how perfectionism, and my desire for more authenticity, permeate the rest of my life.

Take, for example, my writing. That’s another venue where trying to be perfect obscures and drowns out what I might authentically express. Just as I’m compelled to erase and redraw my drawing “errors,” so too when I write I worry about and second guess my phrasing, and about whether my word choice is exactly right. Though I didn’t grasp it when I set out, I now realize this simple blogging project about “drawing” has illuminated for me a more universal theme: I’m really writing about growing me. My efforts to develop as a visual artist provides my metaphor for the challenges I face in my larger life.

Graphite Drawing

Onions, Etc. In Bowl

I do have a clearer sense of “what I’m trying to accomplish” in this blog: To capture an ongoing—and illustrated—chronicle of how I’m persisting through my psychic limits; how I’m steadily embracing imperfection; and how I’m striving to express myself more authentically.

Advertisements

Learning To Get Out More

An action I’ve taken more regularly to revive and improve my drawing ability (and develop my personal artistic vision) is trying to get out more. By that, I mean to take my sketchbook outside and draw scenes, landscapes and other subjects on-site. Painters who set up their French easels outdoors refer to their practice as plein air painting. I guess I’ve set out to be a plein air … er, drafts-person.

As I earlier mentioned, I once had a kindly high school art teacher, Mr. George Crocker, who encouraged my artistic growth. In his gentle,  just-making-a-suggestion manner, he tried to guide me away from habitually drawing from magazine and newspaper photos. Occasionally, he’d show me examples of work other students had completed on location: drawings of distinctive old buildings and scenes that evoked genuine character. I could see what he meant; I could imagine how I might grow creatively by broadening range the range of subjects I depicted. But, constrained by adolescence, I rarely followed through as Mr. Crocker suggested.

Today, I regret not pursuing his advice more. Dwelling on how I “clung to my habits” can throw me into a spiral of self-criticism. Fortunately, I realize ruminating over old regrets offers no help in reviving my creativity and developing new, more promising artistic habits. Thus, I’ve begun getting out, with my sketchbook and pencil-case in tow. (As well as a camp chair, drawing board, water bottle, headphones and, occasionally, a snack. I like being comfortable and prepared.)

Drawing in a public place does evoke for me a sense of exposure. That fear contributed to my reluctance to take my sketching kit outside in the first place. After being so long out of practice, I’m self-conscious enough viewing my results in private. So I’m wary of having someone looking over my shoulder as I draw a scene (and having them witness my frequent erasing and “do-overs”). In the handful of occasions I’ve recently worked outside, however, I’ve begun to feel more anonymous and at ease. It seems most people are more concerned with their own business. In the few instances when strangers have approached they’ve been politely inquisitive and approving. (And I’ve encountered no hint of my “worst-case-scenario”: being run off like a trespasser.) Whew.

Town Garage, El Sobrante, CA

Town Garage, El Sobrante, CA (a work in progress)

As I grow more accustomed to working in public, the issues I’ve mostly confronted have been on paper, as I puzzle over some drawing problem. Over and over, I’m reminded it’s not easy to capture life with a pencil and paper. No handy guide marks arise. Simply laying a new drawing’s basic foundations—determining relative proportion between elements, gauging perspective or even establishing where my drawing’s borders and center lie—often eludes me. Gradually, I’ve had to accept achieving “close enough” likenesses of my subjects. I also try to remind myself I’m practicing, I’m gradually gathering experience. And, I cling fast to an eraser—like it’s my life-preserver.

I am making slow, inexorable progress. I do sometimes fret, why can’t I do this faster?  I’m particularly aware how readily I grow dissatisfied with minor misfires: when my perspective veers off point; or when elements in my composition appear disproportionate. Such perceptions typically spur me into time-consuming “rework.” Subconsciously at least, I realize I’d be better off aiming for progress rather than perfection. But aiming at—no, expecting—perfection of myself is a compulsion; and likely I’ll overcome it only by allowing myself “a mistake-or-two at a time.”

In some sense, I also regard this initiative I’ve taken as helping me recognize the subtle line separating compulsive perfectionism from realistically aiming for improvement. I get very excited when I pause amidst a sketch and realize I’ve done well. I’m really motivated by such gratifying little “unveiling” moments. My ability to draw realistically–not perfectly, but sometimes with excellence–seems like part of who I am. And, despite my struggles with unrealistic expectations, I truly enjoy the process of improving, which for me includes drawing more accurately.

The “trick” to striking the right balance, I think, lies in better managing the amount of time and energy I devote to my work, based on what I’m trying to achieve. If I am “drawing for practice,” I can focus on informally sketching the image’s rough outlines, and fill in “realistic” detail work in a few representative areas. On the other hand, if I’m striving for a finished piece (i.e. creating an actual artwork), I’ll certainly allow wider latitude to “sweat the details,” including discarding first attempts and starting over. (Also, if I’m working toward a finished piece, I’ll use illustration board, rather than drawing in my sketchbook.)