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Posts Tagged ‘Karen’

14KarenPaperBagDraw.  Draw anytime.  Draw anything. There’s always something lying around that begs to be drawn.  A paper bag, for example.  I recommend that students practice and here’s an example of a motivated student, Karen Gerrard, producing a fine drawing at home of, what else, an inspiring paper bag.  It probably was a little more wrinkled than the drawing shows, but she simplified the planes to great effect.

14KEHpaperbagBetter than the drawing I did during class.  A face kept coming out and I ended up shading the right side of the bag to obscure the grimace.  Happens all the time with inanimate objects—oh, look, there’s a face.  Once you see it, you can’t not see it.   Drawing is always an adventure, full of unexpected turns and–crinkles. Simplify, simplify!

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Without preliminary sketches, Karen produced this exquisite line drawing of a face. She drew without a model or an image. It’s her invention, probably a self-portrait after her disappointment with the earlier drawing project. (See the still life set up in the previous post.)

Picasso comes to mind.

I don’t know if Karen was paying homage to Picasso.  But I’ll venture a guess about her immediate source of inspiration: the red and blue paper mask-face that an after-schooler had left in our classroom.

What’s the connection to Picasso?

Picasso spent his teen age years, in the 1890’s, in Barcelona.  He was precocious as an artist and as a thinker.  The friends he hung out with (in a café called Els Quatre Gats)  were artists and writers, ten and fifteen years older than he.  Barcelona in that decade was a hotbed of anarchy.  Artists were outraged at the social injustice, poverty and bourgeois complacency they saw in the city. Central to anarchist beliefs was the faith in the power of art to alter the ways in which people thought, to change the consciousness of the age and thus to hasten the social revolution.

When Picasso moved to Paris in 1904, his friends were again artists and poets who debated the function of art in an urgently needed social and aesthetic revolution.

In Paris at the time, African and Oceanic  art could be bought on the cheap at flea markets.  Artists who worked in the modern vein all owned such masks and sculptures, including Picasso.  When Picasso visited the Ethological Museum (called the Trocadero at that time), he was smitten by the rawness of what was then called “primitive art.”  It was “against everything,” he said. Tribal artifacts, including the art of American Indians,  represented the antithesis of overly refined 19th century European art. Since this refined art documented the corruption and decadence of the society he rejected, he saw in “primitive” art a potential for total rebellion and therefore a hope of stirring the consciousness of his contemporaries.  The shock might wake them out of their comfortable bourgeois complacency and make them consider new social, political ideas and a new aesthetic.

Picasso famously drew the profile in the front view of a face, as for example in his Girl before a Mirror, 1932. (Detail shown here.) At right, a Kwakiutl mask from British Columbia.

Art students and art lovers can hardly get around Picasso.  There he is, the colossus of the 20th century.  It’s hard not to be influenced by some aspect of his many styles of working during his very long life.  Who can say what inspired Karen to make this fine drawing?  But there you are, I see Picasso in it.

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How hard is it to get somebody to sit still for you?  Very.  For free? Forget it.  The going rate for models at art schools is $45-$50/hr. You can’t afford that, just for your own practice.  So that’s out. But you need to and want to draw faces, hands, the figure.

Look around you.  You’re actually inundated with images.  The photography in magazines is excellent.  Some of it, of course, is touched up to a bland, lifeless  perfection.  But much advertising is excellent.  Part of your visual self-education involves spotting the good stuff.  A good image to work from has distinctive shadows, motion and asymmetry.

I bring magazine clippings to class for us to work from.  When it was demo time a couple of weeks ago, a student pulled out this clipping. My demo was about the versatility of the Aquarellable Pencil, using two tones, sepia and black and then going in with a wet brush.  Notice how the unpredictability of the wash adds character and depth to the face, which otherwise might have gone into the bland, lifeless direction.

(Btw, this was the demo that inspired Karen to make the three face studies I presented in the previous post.)

Moral: there’s no excuse to go for a day without drawing.

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When I fill a long studio table with materials for a demo—papers and various drawing tools—I only intend to offer ideas and present possibilities.  Nothing I say ever amounts to an assignment and if it did, ha, are you kidding we don’t do assignments.  So, no assignments for this group, but when it comes to inspiration they do respond in the most amazing way.

Here’s a student, Karen, who has only worked with pencil before and look what happens after a half hour demo with Aquarellable Pencil and Ink.

Not only does she use the aquarellable with complete abandon and ease, but she draws this face (from a photo) with pronounced and expressive  asymmetry.  Symmetry takes a bit of dexterity to pull off but basically it’s easy. Also… boring, static, dead.  What’s harder is asymmetry and, I think, that’s because it takes more courage.  So, does the facile, wipeable water-soluble pencil boost the artist’s courage?  Hmm.  Maybe. Since you can’t really make a mistake, you can try anything.  That’s a good state of mind to be in when you’re drawing.

Another characteristic of the Aquarellable Pencil is that it glides over gloss paper without pressure. It feels effortless.

All three drawings are on gloss paper, the first two in Aquarellable Pencil and the third in ink.

(Click for enlargements.)

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I’ll have to ask my students, if I’ve ever actually shouted, “stop!”  I don’t think so.  But, as I make my rounds in the studio-classroom, I do occasionally say something like, “Do you think this drawing is close to being finished?”  or  “This might be close to being finished, don’t you think?”  or “This looks close to finished, what do you think?”  I can tell you, though, that this business of deciding when it’s finished has become a running joke in my drawing class.  When I lean close to a student and voice one of these questions about, you know, is it finished, there’s likely to be a chuckle in the room and maybe somebody’s mock- gagged voice will say, “stop!”  It’s funny and it’s also taken seriously by now because everybody at some time or another has overworked a drawing.  Whether to add one more crinkle in the drapery or to put in the decorative stuff on the crockery we’ve got in the still life set up—it’s tempting, but it may bring the power of the drawing down a notch or two.

Sometimes it’s a matter of time.  The artist/student expects to slave away at a drawing, because, well, because we think if we work hard and long, the result will deserve applause.  (People who sign up for a drawing class are always overachievers.  That’s my theory, anyway, certainly in MY drawing class.)

Karen G., working from a still life set up with lots of drapery and some pots and apples, the usual stuff, looked at her drawing and thought it might be finished.  She hesitated, because she had only been working at this for about forty-five-minutes.  When in doubt, we prop the drawing up on one of the easels and look at it from a distance.  There it is.  Another stroke of the pencil would obviously destroy it.  Serene, self-assured and reticent, it’s complete.

(For the photo of the still life set up and two other student drawings done from it, see the two previous posts.)

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Strips of canvas, that’s all I presented to my drawing students.  I stretch my own canvas for my paintings and since the roll is 60 inches wide there’s always a scrap.  It’s beautiful, substantial stuff.  When you crinkle it a bit, it can conjure up a fantastic landscape. Or it can stimulate abstract seeing. Or it can bring out new ways to use the drawing tools for the sheer pleasure of drawing.  Facing drapery in a drawing class can be daunting, but it can also be quite liberating since you’re not obliged to get the proportions right.  You can stretch and compress, edit, omit and relocate folds and crevices to please yourself.  The imagination takes over.  Yeah!

Above, drawing in pencil by Karen G., about 9” x 12”

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When I set up a still life for my drawing class I do fuss with the drapery and the objects, but not in the way you might think.  I make the fabric crinkly and energetic.  As for the objects, the more absurd the association between them, the better.  What I mean is that when the objects don’t tell a coherent story, the mind doesn’t slide into some conventional sense of “beauty” and instead really focuses on shapes and the spaces between them.  This is a subversive idea, isn’t it!  You spend your whole life straining to achieve coherence and non-absurdity and you’re proud of your skills in that department.  Now you find yourself in a drawing class and this normal-looking instructor encouraged you to go subversive.  Well, boys and girls, that’s the dirty little art secret:  you have to throw that grenade.  You have to add a twist; you have to invent;  you have to have an idea; you have to slip us a surprise.

Here then is Karen G.’s take on this still life.  To start with, of all the parts of the still life she can pick on, she chooses a bit of corner drapery  (#4) and the stem—only the stem—of the amaryllis.  It’s a plastic amaryllis (towards #1)  with a thick coiled stem. The choice of this portion of the still life is itself already wonderfully daring.  In the drawing, we won’t know what the coil represents, it will be an absurd—because disconnected and unnamable—shape.  The stem ends at #2.  But because we can’t see the flower, we don’t know what this is and it looks like a tube inserted in the hilly cloth.  At this stage of the drawing, the space at #3 is empty.  What to do?  After two hours of drawing, Karen’s imagination has stepped out of the everyday literal perception of objects and into its proper domain: invention.  She invents the coil at #3.  Makes it up out of thin air.  Now we have a coil entering the hilly shape in the front and exiting in the back.  This creates a paradox, in that we can see clearly what’s going on (because of the quality of the drawing) and at the same time this construction does not occur in real life and flies in the face of our expectations about still lifes.  The viewer is momentarily stumped and is drawn into contemplation of this paradox. A paradox, however, is not the same thing as a mess.  Notice the echoing of the same shape, a diamond, at 3 and 4 and just to the right of 2.  The drawing draws you into art.

“An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all.”—Oscar Wilde

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When you draw something, say a vase with roses, you naturally are interested in the subject.  You get absorbed by the challenge of light and shadow and proportions. When you’ve solved all the problems of representing the subject credibly, you stand back and what you’re going to see is an illustration of the vase with the roses.  This is quite satisfying.  But I’m going to challenge you further.   I’m going to claim that the illustration is not enough:  it’s not art.

For this work to be considered art we need something more, we need some drama. You can create drama by becoming aware of “negative space.”  All the space around the vase-and-roses needs to be given its due attention.  The drama of negative space comes into focus through the simple act of cropping.  By cropping your drawing you go beyond the literalness of the vase-and-roses.  You make the viewer aware that your drawing is not an illustration—how trite that is!—but an invitation to reflect on the complexity of reality and the mind games we play as we try to navigate through that reality.  Cropping what was originally an illustration makes the image more immediate and momentarily invites the viewer to go deeper than the mere identification of what’s depicted.

Drawing of vase and roses by Karen G.

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Karen is one of the two students who followed my direction about this still life: Plan on doing two drawings. In the first, study the shapes and produce a representational drawing.  In the second, take off and play with form, with a deliberate departure from representation.

In her second drawing (above) she inverted some of the pots, took the pear that rested on top of the pots and put it on the bottom of her drawing and invented forms that were not in the still life at all.  The angular shapes on top may have been inspired by the corner of the room or the angle of the door.  The striped crescent is pure invention, for the sake of the composition. The drawing is explosive and dense at the same time. It’s a work of conviction and playfulness.  These are—intellectually—contradictory terms, but in a work of art they co-exist because in art we reconcile contradictions; we get at the whole ball o’ wax, also known as the human condition.

At right, the artist’s first drawing, quite literal and faithful.  This is the same view that she worked from for the second drawing. (above)

This post is the last in the series about drawings made in one three-hour session by seven students.  To follow the discussion of this still life, see posts for May 22, 23, and 24; and June 5,6, and 12.

 

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New York City.  A driver in his car shouts to a pedestrian on the sidewalk: “How do I get to Carnegie Hall?”  The guy says, “Practice.”

It’s a well-known joke.  But it’s not a joke.  That really is IT.  Practice!

Funny thing, though, everybody knows this about music, but when it comes to moving a pencil around, fuhgedaboudid.  Would you sign up for piano lessons and then not practice all week and just come in for your lesson?  Of course not!  But there’s something about the ordinariness of a pencil and a piece of paper, not to mention the ordinariness of a pile of pots or the ordinariness of your left hand or the ordinariness, even, of your face in a mirror, that makes you think this has got to be easy.  So when I say, “practice during the week!”  my students look at me as if my voice came out of the moldy 12th century or any other alien worldview you can name.

Imagine my delight when I get to see the homework my drawing student Karen G. brings to class every week to show me.  Not homework, really, I don’t assign it.  She just carves out time every week to draw.  She draws the throw over a chair.  She draws the skirting around a little table.  She draws drapery. And lo and behold…drapery drawing can be learned and her progress in that skill is evident.  Seeing the intricacy of shadow-light-reflected-light becomes easier and faster with practice.  (See post about reflected light, April 24, 2011.)

This practice business actually puts you in good company.  How did Leonardo da Vinci spend his time? Errmmm….he practiced.  In art history, these drawings are called “studies.”   If the word “practice” sounds too severe or uncomfortable to you, you can use more elevated language.  You can silence your ring tone and tell yourself that for the next hour you’re engaged in making a work called, “Study of Drapery.”  Hey, play word games to make it easier, tell yourself jokes, whatever gets you to “Carnegie Hall.”

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