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I am immeasurably fortunate
(by my own accounting)
to know a tremendous number
of skilled, dedicated, passionate
artists and artisans
of any number of mediums.
I enjoy looking at their work
as much, and sometimes more,
than I enjoy making my own.
They are inspiring…
and intimidating.
Sometimes, I sit in awe of their work
and wonder if I should even share mine.
I do, because I know
they struggle with the same,
but it’s still a tiny nagging factor
in the back of my mind
whenever I art.
For example,
I have an art friend
that I know as Wendy Herdman
and their portraits
make my hands itch for pencils
and simultaneously
leave me wanting to hide them from myself forever.
Irrational, and the last thing they’d want,
I promise,
but it’s there.
It’s a common response
to seeing good art
and knowing that the particular skill on display
is one that maaaybe you’ve not put as much time and effort into.
Yet.
Sometimes, it’s the way they see the world,
and you have such a response to their approach
that you feel like yours could never compare.
Herdman is a great example of that for me –
their ability to render a face
and in general, most things,
accurately
leaves me wanting to spend more time on that skill myself.
(Inspiring, yes,
motivating, depends on the day.)
My drawing skills are not awful,
but they are not
quite as accurate as I’d like.
Expressive, yes,
but still fairly noobish by my own estimation.
And yet, here’s the thing…
I’m not happy going for
complete accuracy.
I still practice it,
with much grumbling,
but the times I find my flow state,
I’m taking liberties with lines and color.
And there’s nothing wrong with that;
I’d just be happier if I was able
to more accurately render something
and then take liberties.
You know,
know the rules
and then break them like an artist.
So when I sat down today
cross-legged on the front porch
to try to draw a little plant
determined to work on accuracy
after telling myself yesterday
I was going to draw just for fun,
I was in for a world of frustration.
(It happens.)
I started with a full page
and perspective of a planter
and multiple plants,
and my hands
just would not draw where I told them to.
(It’s a weird problem.
They just don’t always listen.)
I finally gave up in frustration
on the full page of planter and plants,
scrawled
“Why did I think this was a good idea?”
across the page,
grunted in disgust at the whole mess,
and picked a small spot on the page
and scribbled the plant I wanted in the first place.
And then added colored pencils for fun,
because it was a pink plant,
and even if I had the wrong pink
and the wrong green
I could go for the feel of the
happy little pink plant.
And I liked what I ended up with.
It’s nothing like the actual plant,
but I like it.
It’s not the subtle beauty of Wendy’s portraits,
but it’s the chaos of my scribbles
and I like them too.
And the world needs both,
and then some.
It just needs more art.
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Scribble of pink plant on front porch from 2018/02/19.
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