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The Importance of Drawing

from sketchbook from sketchbook
Squirrel studies from my sketchbook  See painting

       Studying drawing and learning to draw well was the wisest and most significant step in my artistic development.  Discovering how to look, how to make my hand follow what my eye sees, enables me to explore the visual world in a way unachievable by camera or by any visual technology.  Maybe it's  the eye connecting directly with the brain,  maybe it's how the eye can choose what to explore and whether to examine the complexity or simplicity of the image. Maybe it is human interconnection with the world, the human interpretation of that connection.   Whatever it is, there is no substitute for drawing.
       It's when I'm drawing that I discover traits and nuances that otherwise I would have missed, and it is through drawing that I establish a close relationship with my subject, especially when I find those ah-HA moments, the thrills of finding hidden stuff.  And it is here that I get ideas for composition, thoughts that the subject suggests to me while I'm exploring it, concepts that would never surface without investigating  the subject through drawing.
      The artists we continue to revere, even though some lived centuries ago, drew prolifically.  But as drawing became unimportant in the history of art, the visual image fell apart, giving way to heady ideas and conceptual practices which  disintegrated into something else.   For some time now, some artists have returned to exploring the visual image, realizing that much can be found there and much can still be said that was unnoticed by the old masters..  
      We forget that each artist brings to any chosen image a unique experience, a distinctive point of view, an individualized skill.  This combination can create an inventional piece each time an artist puts a hand to paint, no matter what the image.

Leonardo study            Leonardo studies
Leonardo's Old Man with Water c. 1510 Leonardo's Trivulzio Monument Studies c. 1508

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My Creative Process
    My creative moment begins whenever I catch myself being transfixed.  It might be an image in nature, the play of light on a surface, the body language of folks talking or working or just an ah-ha moment. That moment usually rides in my brain for a while.  Sometimes I grab the camera and capture a bunch of photos, sometimes I reach for the sketchbook, and sometimes I scribble on something a verbal impression of what's got my attention.  If I ignore it, I feel agitated, irritated and sense a loss.
    Next,  I begin making sketchbook studies, often making written comments about ideas I'm having while sketching.  Sometimes I'll use pencil for these sketches, sometimes watercolor.

Hummer sketches Hummer watercolor sketches Hummer watercolor sketches
Studies  of hummers Click titles to see paintings
Soft Landing,  Nectar, Spring Flight

    Although I approach a new idea with some compositional notion, It's usually while I'm making studies that the compositional plan develops and the painting idea comes into focus.  After making several composition studies and coming up with something I can live with, I move to the painting, 
    But many changes are bound to happen.  During the development of the painting, the entire idea can shift, the painting can do a total 180, taking me down a road totally unexpected.  But this is part of the fun and the excitement. And when this happens, there's a surprise at the finish of the work, not unlike a kid on Christmas morning.
    I used to worry about whether I was being creative.  Given the diversity in today's visual art world and the chasm between attitudes about what is worthy, about whether the artist is being inventive or repeating what's already been done, an artist can lose the sense of self just trying to understand it all.  Read Art News then The Artist's Magazine and you'll see what I mean.  
    I finally concluded that what's important is not whether I fit into today's trends, or any pre-determined style or even whether I'm breaking new ground,  but what matters is whether I'm following my own path.  

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The Importance of Craftsmanship
    There's a world of difference between competence and ignorance.  Every form of art--music, dance, writing, theatre, visual art-- has its concomitant craft which the artist must learn and with which the artist must become literate before he/she has a real command of the language of that art form.   
    Nobody questions that, without 
Itzhak Perlman
's mastery of the craft of violin playing, no way could he express  music with such fluidity, confidence and adroitness, yet the painter is, in the opinion of many, exempt from learning the craft of his/her medium.  It's hard to understand why modern critics acclaim works exuding no skilled craftsman's hand in the visual arts, yet dancers must know their craft, actors must know their craft, and musicians must know theirs.  
    What any master craftsman knows is that only within mastery is there freedom to create, that because of that mastery real creativity and inventiveness is possible.  Without the craft, much of what gets called creative or inventive or cutting-edge is nothing more than inept.  
    No wonder jokes are made about visual art.  The mainstream has taught the public that mere self-expression is art, which the public has accepted  but just can't quite believe as valid.  Yet so many emerging young artists are taught that if they study to learn the craft, they will lose their creativity and become imitators of their teachers.  Nothing could be more false.
    Having devoted forty-three years of my life to teaching visual art, I can tell you with confidence that the process of learning how to paint has nothing to do with being creative, with being expressive or with imitating anybody. Generic techniques can be taught.  The student's individual style begins to emerge as he/she practices those techniques and begins to put one's own unique bend or twist onto them.  It's no different from learning handwriting, where first we learn to form the letters, then how to put them together, then our own handwriting emerges as we  practice what we have learned.

Michael Parkes The Juggler
Michael Parkes,
 
"The Juggler"

Oil on Wood, 1985
Wyeth's Kuerner's Farm
Andrew Wyeth,
"Kuerner's Farm"
.
Watercolor on Paper
, 1983

      And just as many can tell by hearing whether it's Perlman or Joshua Bell  playing the violin, you can recognize an Andrew Wyeth or a Michael Parkes without seeing the signature.  The style grew naturally, the images chosen grew intuitively, but the craft took a lot of hard work.

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