Process or Product as Purpose in Art?

At the end of last weeks post I mentioned ‘process not product’ so thought that this week I would expand on what I mean by this. It goes back to my first post One for the Earning One for the Learning. In simple terms it is about painting or drawing and starting out with the intention to produce a finished piece that will be put in a frame and exhibited or painting/drawing to explore a theme, subject, medium style or technique.

The nearest analogy I can give is from my horse riding competition days. Some days, when preparing for an upcoming competition, I would work on specific movements or sequences for a set dressage test. The same would apply for the competition warm up and test riding itself. Other times, I would work more intuitively. I might have a rough idea or plan when I went into the manege but would work on what felt instinctively right to do at that moment, based on my feelings and the feedback or “conversation” I was having with my horse. These were the days when we could get to the next level and hopefully then later translate that to test riding. The ‘product’ was not the purpose and it was the process, the journey, the learning that was more important.  Most (certainly amateur/leisure) riders will bemoan the fact that they never ride as well, or the horse never goes as well in a test situation as they do at home or even in the warm up. In fact, when I changed my attitude to test riding and focused less on winning rosettes and more on where we were together in our training is when we DID start to take home red and blue ribbons. Focusing on the product produced a stilted outcome that tried too hard, often created tension and was nowhere near getting ‘in the zone’ where everything else falls away, every step is felt and the bond and communication between my horse and I became effortless and expressive.

This all goes back to my chorus themes (in horse riding as well as in art) “ever learning” and “practice, patience and persistence” (though it must be said imperfect practice just makes us perfectly imperfect). It is a tricky balance to achieve. As a working artist, I must produce commissions and work that I can sell (product) so that I can live and pay my bills, but conversely my best work, and the paintings that actually tend to sell quickest are usually the ones where I have been focused on process and have been able to lose myself in it.

Some things: life drawing, my sketchbook, plein air and preparatory work are all entirely process for me. I have often been asked if I would sell a sketchbook (I never have). I have offered some life drawing for sale, but only the one or two (out of hundreds) that I am genuinely proud of. I certainly don’t go to life class even vaguely entertaining the idea of producing something to frame and/or exhibit as I find that inhibits my process.

As with schooling horses, to focus purely on product or financial considerations leads to taking shortcuts, rushing the gymnastic development and forcing lines, shapes, movements and paces or working in a formulaic way. That is physically and mentally destructive for the horse, the rider, the artist and the Art.

Why Do I go to Life Drawing Every Week?

Following from last week’s no 1 way of thwarting creative block two conversations have made me think more about life drawing this week. As some of you know I maintain a more-or-less-weekly life drawing habit and attend a drop-in class with York based, Argentinian portrait artist Andres Jaroslavsky. The class is an all-level mix from complete beginners to people like me who work as artists full-time and is structured with set exercises in the first half, then a do-what-you-want long pose after a short break. Over a while it has become known in the class that I paint for a living and that I paint horses. Recently another attendee asked me if that was the case and then asked “so why are you here then?” Good question. The other conversation was at an Art Group demonstration where I was showing how to work on a ‘subtractive’ drawing. Subtractive drawing is traditionally a life drawing technique, where the whole paper is covered in (usually) charcoal and then the drawing is made by picking out the lights and highlights with an eraser. I have done several drawings of horses using this technique and was talking as I was working, mentioning life drawing as I seem to be northern sales rep for promoting life drawing classes. One of the group asked me why life drawing was seen as the best form of observational drawing rather than, for example, still life. I don’t think this was her intention, but I have seen the same question before framed with a snigger of smut: why draw a nude when you could equally draw a clothed figure, the implication being that there is something slightly voyeuristic about it. 

I will answer the second conversation first, and this was an answer given off the top of my head, though informed by things told to me in my teens by working artists. The observational drawing of the human form is unique. You are looking at and interpreting three structures in one: the skeletal structure, the musculature and the structural form. The latter’s texture, capture and reflection of light and ultimate form is influenced and shaped by what is underneath. For example, colour (especially when seen in natural light). Where the skeleton comes closest to the skin eg a collarbone, there will be a greyish cast to the skin colour, especially on a caucasian model, or, for example, the wrist where the blood vessels and bones come close to the skin will have a blueish cast. Where there are fat deposits under the skin, eg the belly, there will often be a yellow cast and where there is muscle directly underneath there will be a reddish cast. Similarly the different underlying structures will give different edges. The bone hitting under the skin surface can give a hard edge that might suggest a strong or hard line eg a shoulder, or a lighter line may help describe the softer curve of the belly. The tone of the muscle of the model will also direct the choice of line thoughout the drawing. The same goes for definitions of tones and shadows. This observation and use of different qualities and edges of line and tone gives an expression and movement to the drawing which s good practice to then apply to other subjects.

You might say that is not unique. A horse, dog or other animal may offer those same structures and variations. What is unique though is that the life model can be instructed or hold a certain pose without moving. A talented model can hold that pose for a considerable period of time. Other animals don’t tend to be so biddable or obliging. I will go and draw them from life again too, once I can get outside without my fingers and toes freezing even through fur lined boots. That is another skill in itself: how to draw something that is constantly moving (unless it is asleep).

The question then follows “but surely those same structures can be seen in just the face? Why not just do portraits?” Portrait is another important skill, but there is only so much movement in a head or face (or none if you look at certain actors). The whole body lends itself to drawing with long lines and lines of movement rather than pure outline and a skilled model can create truly amazing shapes . . . and hold them. You could just draw dead bodies – I have done that too: while at University we were sent to draw in the dissection rooms at the teaching hospital, but while a good lesson in observation and anatomy they were, well . . . dead. No muscle tone, not as much colour, no movement and, although Stubbs and Da Vinci did it with horses, I think it would have been frowned on as insensitive to start attaching strings and wires to ‘pose’ the bodies.

As to the suggestion of impropriety or smut. Anyone who seriously attends a Life Drawing class or session will tell you that you that they very quickly get over any inhibition or titillation. You are too busy focusing on seeing and drawing - and in a 3 minute drawing of a full body you certainly don't have time to think about anything else. Life Drawing models are serious about what they do too, and although they are paid a decent hourly rate, a normal class or session is only a couple of hours so they are not raking it in. The attitude is more like any other professional that sees people nude or semi-nude: medical staff, chiropractors, photographers, film camera operators etc. To do a decent drawing or learn from drawing you have to achieve a sense of detachment from, and objectivity toward the subject. Once the robe comes off this is work. A friend told me about a model that insisted on wandering around during breaks without bothering to cover up and how, while they had spent the drawing time looking at the model, out of that time they became embarrassed and didn't know where to look. My partner is a camera operator who has worked on closed-sets and his advice: only look at their eyes and never drop or avert your gaze. Some people find it hard to talk to a model even when they have put the robe back on, but the models are people too, and often very interesting people. I have even found that I draw a model differently once I get to know them as their personality starts to influence how I present them. Life models come in all shapes and sizes and again the serious Life Drawing practitioners that I know tend to say that they prefer to draw 'real people' rather than the 'perfect people' that celebrity, fashion and beauty magazines show us. Almost any famous artist in the past will have nudes featured somewhere in their body of work, but have a look at some of paintings of celebrations of nudes by Lucien Freud, Gustav Klimpt, Edgar Degas, Michael Alford, Sergei Gusev or Saburosuke Okada, to see the beauty in what they see, or the more brutal glory and honesty depicted by Egon Schiele or Kent Williams as opposed to the media's very narrow definition of the 'appealing' nude.

So back to the first question - why am I there? As a working artist surely I know what I am doing and don’t need to learn how to draw? I refer you back to my first post of 2016 ‘Ever the learner’. I want to improve my observational drawing and my mark-making. Always. I want to experiment and play without it being my ‘job’. I want to push and challenge my ideas, understanding and preconceptions of drawing and painting, and by doing so learn, whether by design or by happy accident. I want to have at least one time in a busy week when I just sit and lose myself in drawing for 2 hours for no more purpose than itself. It has become my meditation and it's just for me. Process not Product.

The Terrors of Nightmares, Monsters and Blank Sheets of Paper

I remember from school an art teacher saying that there was nothing as scary as a blank sheet of paper. Nighmares, Zombies, Werewolves and meeting the prospective mother-in-law for the first time aside, they do have a point. Staring at that blank sheet of paper I wonder where to start, in reality staring at my own inability to succeed, and the more I stare, the more my will to begin is sucked into that figurative black hole. Suddenly I must have every pencil super sharp, I need a cup of coffee, then a cigarette, I must check to see if I have had any new emails, tweets or Facebook messages in the past 30 seconds. Even the washing up, housework or the dreaded ironing seem like attractive pastimes. The stark blankness of the sheet leaches all the confidence out of me, and more than proportion or rendering or accuracy, confidence is key to artistic mark-making. 

As artists usually work in isolation there is no one but myself to insist I get on with it as there is in my life drawing class. I do have strategies though, my weekly life drawing habit being one. It is about so much more than an attempt to capture the likeness of a nude. The one to three minute warm up exercises practice more than observational drawing, learning proportion, capturing movement, rendering a likeness, or being able to assess and reproduce tones. They teach me to just get on and draw, making the first mark without questioning, second-guessing or letting the brain interfere. So Strategy number one is:

1. Go to life drawing (or a plein air) class regularly and train yourself to learn to look and to get on with it without questioning the mark before you have even made it.

2. Strategy number two is to stop the paper being blank, even if that is just standing your coffee cup on it. Hell, spill the coffee if you want to. Look at the work of Horst Janssen if you want to see that a coffee cup ring does not exclude your work from exhibition.

3. Put some music on. I mentioned this in a previous post. I have certain pieces of music that inspire or motivate me, and others that get my feet moving (which must be hard wired to the creative bit of my brain as it seems to kick start that too). Some I have played so often that I am now hard-wired to want to draw or paint when I hear them.

4. Take a bus ride. No seriously, something about sitting inactive while the land or cityscape passes by really does lull the critical brain and stir the creative brain – just remember to take a sketch or notebook. (nb another variant of this is taking a bath, but that is hard to do in the sink at my studio and the sketchbook tends to get wet).

5. Throw paint (preferably at paper or canvas). A variant of strategy 2, and you may as well try some abstract art, right?

6. Scribble or doodle – anything to get your hand, creative brain and pencil moving . . .  and a scribble or doodle is throwaway. It doesn’t matter if it is not perfect. Come to think of it, it doesn’t matter if your painting is not perfect either.

7. Look at art. Get the books out (stay off the internet). Collect images in a scrapbook that catch your eye and inspire. They don’t have to (and shouldn’t) inspire you to copy, just inspire you to be creative when you leaf through them.

8. I know I said social media and the internet should not be used as procrastination, but through Facebook in particular I have ‘met’ and made friends with some wonderful artists all over the world. A select few of these have proven themselves firm friends and virtual studio partners offering honest critiques, tips, hints, encouragement, support, friendly ragging and arse-kicking through closed groups or private messaging.  Thanks guys – you know who you are.

9. Ok so the practical strategy: make a plan and timetable for the painting or drawing. Breaking the piece down into parts can make to easier to get going, and writing it down on a calendar or in a diary is like a promise or intention to do it and somehow it gets done almost by itself. eg get the piece drawn up and blocked in/under-painted on Monday, paint in the sky or background on Tuesday, then the (horse’s) muzzle, nose and eye painted on Wednesday etc etc. It is not set in stone and sometimes I change the ‘promises’ as I go along but it is setting out as a start. Be careful with this one though. Set manageable tasks or you will further demoralise yourself. It is better to start off learning how much you are capable of within a certain timeframe by setting too little in the tasks at first. Then you can be pleased or even surprised when you achieve them early. Even now this happens sometimes and I feel like I have been given a mini holiday. When it happens I sometimes choose to have some ‘me-time’. Maybe I will go to the coffee shop to write in my journal, maybe go for a ride on my horse or maybe I will be further inspired by my ‘free-time’ to get out my sketchbook or even carry on working to get ahead for tomorrow’s task. 

10. The final strategy in my ‘top-ten’ comes from a workshop that I attended with talks and demonstrations by a well-known US based equestrian artist. One of her pieces of advice was to spend some time writing before painting or drawing. These blog posts are by-products of this strategy, but I have also started to use a journal to write (and sketch and doodle) about individual pieces and what I am trying to achieve or the feelings I am trying to emote in them. I am addicted to doing this now so thank you to her.

These are not prescriptive practices that you must adhere to. They are just suggestions of some things that have worked for me in the past either on their own or in combination. I am sure you have much better suggestions than mine and please feel free to share them in the comments below.  Let’s take number eight to heart rather than continuing to work in isolation.

Just Keep On Making Art

This week’s butchered quote is from Andy Warhol: “Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.”

This week’s blog post comes as a result of a series of recent conversations with a friend and fellow artist and is dedicated to her (you know who you are). She feels totally blocked at the moment, questioning her work and every mark she makes. I totally empathise, as will most other artists, writers, musicians etc, because I have spent the best part of the past three years feeling like this. Sometimes the feeling comes from a disappointment or rejection and is temporary. A submission to an exhibition is unsuccessful, a show that promises to be a triumph produces no sales, worse, no visitors, or completely devastating, watching others sell while our own work is overlooked. It makes us wonder if we are doing the right thing. Are we not commercial enough or too commercial? Are we choosing the wrong subjects, wrong compositions, wrong mediums or techniques? Are we just rubbish at art? Will the beam in the ceiling be strong enough to hang ourselves from? But rejection and self-doubt are part of our chosen professions and to stay an artist/writer/musician etc, we have to cultivate an elephant’s hide . . . then draw it.

The block I am writing about here is more profound than the temporary set-back, but once understood can become a positive thing, though it is hard to see that piece of wood for the trees of frustration, self-flagellation and doubt that can block our paths, sometimes for years. To be ‘successful’ (and by that I mean reaching toward our true potential) we have to change and move forward. In an earlier post I referred to gallery represented artists as not necessarily the ‘lucky few’, and the reason for that qualifier is that galleries, agents and the public find it convenient to freeze and catalogue the artist into a handy box of style, subject or medium. However, as artists, we need to advance, or our work becomes formulaic. The period of change is uncomfortable. An artist can rarely, if ever, truly express what we see in our heads. In a period of profound change, the mind moves even further ahead of what we can physically achieve and paintings feel more like marking the steps of the dance rather than dancing it. Sometimes we are so blocked that we have no ideas, or just not able, we just abandon every painting before completion. To the rest of the world we are being moody or showing artistic temperament, but in our heads we are questioning, shaping, exploring, when we are not self-denigrating. It is all consuming (spare a thought here for those who have to live with us!). It is frightening and frustrating and this is where some lose the will, revert to formula or just give up altogether. To earn the title, to push through to the other side, we have to keep going, keep making art. Even if we see our work as lacking or just plain awful, those not bound by the image in our heads may still see it as desirable or inspirational.

One day suddenly it is as though a stopper has been pulled from a bottle. A shift happens, ideas start to flow, a new technique gels and a new rhythm is found. The first painting is a seminal piece and everything that preceded it were merely studies toward it. We are creative, focused and expressive once more . . . until our next metamorphosis.

At the risk of sounding like an American motivational speaker, I will leave you for this week with another quote from author and cartoonist Steven McCranie: “The master has failed more times than the beginner has even tried”; or you may prefer Albert Einstein: “Failure is success in progress” and “You never fail until you stop trying”. Of course motivational sayings are just that and rarely say HOW to beat the block, so I will suggest some strategies for that in next week’s missive. Watch this space!

Painter, Illustrator or Artist

I am an artist. That is a very hard thing for me to say, or type. Like many who paint, draw or sculpt for a living I see the word as an award to be made by others rather than a job description that I can claim for myself, though I have been pushed to do so by my framer, website designer and those advising me on marketing. Social media and the prolific growth of self representation through websites has led to many discussions about the word and many people of amateur status claiming it, in fact amateurs seem to have less hang-ups about it than the rest of us scribblers. The Concise English Dictionary definition of artist reads: “One skilled in the learned arts; one proficient in any art requiring skill”, though many online dictionaries only define the term as one who creates paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby. Some of the arguments use the latter definition to argue that even a small child who draws therefore must be an artist, but then where does that leave us who have worked, trained (including on-going self training) and practiced our art for years? I’m not griping here, I am genuinely asking.

Certainly in Europe in the past it was more clear-cut. To become an artist (or craftsman) you signed on with a master as an apprentice. This was unpaid work, though board and lodgings were provided and you were trained as you worked doing the dogsbody tasks until you achieved proficiency and were fully competent. You then became termed a journeyman artist. Journeymen were paid or allowed to charge a daily rate and continued to work for the master artist, often painting in sections of the master’s work, though only the master could sign a finished painting. They lived apart from the master and often traveled to continue their learning or to work in other areas. To become a master a journeyman had to produce a masterpiece, which was submitted to a guild for evaluation.  That sort of feudal system died out along with the idea of artists having patrons who supported them.

What came in its place was the idea of the artist as the individual, and more, an individual apart. The Feudal system artists were considered artisans: skilled in painting but not necessarily in intellect, they were just other craftsmen, but the lone artist somehow became elevated to a new status as a creative in art and in mind. 

I used to work as an Illustrator and Graphic Designer. I never had any problems calling myself an illustrator. I did my job producing layouts, drawings and paintings, mainly for printed brochures and magazines, following in the tradition that had run alongside art and artists back to, and most likely before the 12^th century illuminated manuscripts of the bible and Koran, through heraldry, advertising and right up to the modern website. Most likely illustration and graphics started alongside the beginnings or the formal written word. History calls graphics, illustration and other applied arts ‘commercial art’ and here we get into the wonderful world of words confusing, rather than clarifying, the issue. The use of the term was intended to describe art that communicated, to explain concepts, educate, inform, corroborate or decorate as opposed to ‘Fine Art’ which was purely for aesthetics, but has become contorted to be read as art for money’s sake and therefore inferior to art for art’s sake. In the master/patron system the ‘fine art’ produced often conveyed a message, most often about status or religion, at the commission of the patron and most definitely for money (after all there were all those apprentices and journeymen to pay!). 

I would probably call myself a journeyman (though without a master), although I’m sure someone would object to the ‘man’ part of that as I am female. I think journeywoman or worse journeyperson just sound plain odd. Unfortunately most people don’t recognise the term, whatever gender. I have called myself a painter, but then people tend to think that I could decorate their houses for them. I am not an illustrator anymore apart from the occasional ‘commercial’ commission. So what am I? 

Answer: uncomfortable with and confused by labels.

If Music Be the Food of Art, Play On!

Apologies for nicking and butchering this Shakespeare quote for my title, but I wanted to talk about the connection music gives me to my work when I paint. In ‘Twelfth Night’, Orsino may have been trying to ease his obsession and frustration with Olivia by a surfeit of tunes, the way you could possibly cure a chocolate addiction by running rampant in a sweet shop [“If music be the food of love, play on; give me excess of it that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.” Shakespeare, ‘Twelfth Night’], but for me music sets the mood and energy for, and feeds my obsession with painting.

When I am working there is almost always music playing. Even when I am out drawing and painting from life I will often have my headphones on. So another quote: “Turn on, tune in, drop out” [Timothy Leary, 1966] might be more appropriate. Not in the intended sense of the use of psychedelic drugs but in turning on the music, tuning in to my creative world and dropping out of my day to day real life pressures and worldly concerns to put  me in my own little bubble with the rest of the world blocked out. Music helps in ‘dislocating’ my brain, which tends to interfere and make me overwork when I am painting. Music points me towards getting ‘in the zone‘ where the line draws itself, the paint flows, I see the colours to mix without consciously thinking and the painting paints itself. When I am out sketching I sometimes use music through my headphones to create a ‘bubble’ for myself. I become less self-consciousness and just get on with it. I may appear a bit eccentric, but it works for me.

In my studio I also use different songs to get into the atmosphere of the painting. My choice of listening can help me connect to my muse, my subject, the emotions I want to portray and the marks I want to make. I can use it to level or focus myself, change my mood, intensify my mood or just to get my energy and motivation going – often by singing and dancing along, in my own little bubble of course. In ‘I Beg Your Pardon’ from the Soundtrack of Francis Ford Coppola’s 1981 musical, ‘One From The Heart’ Tom Waits wrote the line “you are the landscape of my dreams” and in many ways music is the landscape of my painting.

So what do I listen to? I have quite eclectic tastes! The Punk and post punk of my youth, Motown, Funk, Soul, Torch Songs, Classical, Opera, I even have some 1920s vaudeville on my ipod. I am a big fan of Muse and find their tracks really motivate me. I have played ‘City of Delusion’, ‘Hysteria’,  ‘Thoughts of A Dying Atheist, ‘Explorers’ and more recently ‘The Handler’ so many times now that just hearing them gives me the Pavlovian response of grabbing a charcoal stick or paintbrush. When I am feeling a bit blocked or self-critical, listening to their music: the layers, complexity and work that has gone into the production inspire me to reject the notion of giving up. In 2001 I spent a little time in Portugal riding at a classical dressage training centre. They played music in the manege all the time (often ‘Gregorian’ a German outfit who perform classic pop songs in gregorian chant – not as bad as it sounds!) and one of the instructors used to shout at me ‘dance with your horse!’. I would like to think the same applies in art – dance with your painting!

So here are my top ten studio playlists

1.     Anything by Muse. Seriously, absolutely anything by Muse with the possible exception of 'Survivor’. You already know my favourites

2.     Nick Cave's 'Nocturama' album

3.     Quite a bit of Opera, especially ‘The Duet’ from ‘The Pearl Fishers' and Wilhemenia Fernandez singing 'Ebben? Ne Andro Lontata' from the Opera 'La Wally'

4.     Some Funkadelic, Stevie, or other dance stuff to get me moving

5.     Johnny Cash's 'American' Albums

6.     Ladies seem under represented in this list so far so I will add my 'Lady Sings' playlist featuring, among others:  Adele, Dusty Springfield, Dinah Washington, Edith Piaf and PP Arnold.

7.     'One From the Heart' soundtrack album by Tom Waits featuring Crystal Gayle

8.     Lots of Jeff Buckley, especially his version of 'Lilac Wine'

9.     Butter Beans and Susie's 'I Wanna Hot Dog For My Roll' – recorded in 1929 and has to be heard to be believed!

10.   Pretty much anything sung, written or produced by David Bowie. My favourites are ‘Lady Grinning Soul’, ‘John, I’m Only Dancing’, ‘Boys Keep Swinging’, ‘Rock and Roll Suicide’ ‘Sound and Vision’, ‘All The Young Dudes’ and ‘Starman’.

On a totally personal note: the death of one of my music muses on 10th January helped prompt the topic for this post’s thoughts. I was a young child when David Bowie had his breakthrough hit and only really became aware of him in the mid to late 70s but from then his music formed part of the soundtrack and landscape to my life and career. When I was working at a fast food shop until the early hours three night per week and three weekend shifts to pay my way through my ‘A’ level and foundation course studies I used to listen to ‘Hunky Dory’ to help me get some sleep before getting up and doing it all again the next day. Nights out were going to a gig and afterwards Monroe’s Nightclub where DJ Tilly played the best music to dance to. Bowie featured there alongside early U2, Simple Minds, Gang of Four, Bauhaus, Punk, Post Punk and classic Motown. I sang in a band and alongside our own songs we performed covers including Velvet Underground and Bowie produced Lou Reed tracks. I even managed to see Bowie live, albeit about half a mile back from the stage, on the Serious Moonlight Tour at Milton Keynes Bowl. Listening again (plus singing along and dancing) to my Bowie playlist in studio the past couple of weeks I am struck by the timeless quality of his music. I have only a couple of paintings from 20 years that still stand up with my current work, but he has whole bodies of work from 20, 30, even 40 years ago that sound contemporary in their writing, performance and production and that continue to influence music and musicians today. While the man will be missed, his music, art and films live on for which I am grateful, but my landscape has been subjected to irrevocable changes.

Free Your Arse and your Art Will Follow

I am paraphrasing again – this time George Clinton [“Free your ass and your mind will follow”, Funkadelic 1970] but I could have easily titled this “Get up, stand up, stand up for your Art” and (while I am on a roll) misquoted Messrs Marley and Tosh [“Get, stand up, stand up for your right”, The Wailers 1973]. Of course there are no rules. Sometimes I stand, sometimes I sit and sometimes I perch on the edge of a tall stool, but I do mostly work at an easel instead of on my lap or at a desk. [note the easel must be tall enough, or it will make your back ache]. My choice of stance usually depends on what, or what part of, a piece I am working on, and how long I stand or sit may depend on what hangover from age or old injury is troubling me that day, but if I want to make more gestural marks, I stand up. If you want to go all eastern about it, according to Chinese lore sitting depresses your chi [qi] energy, while standing releases that energy and allows it to flow around your body and interact with your creative energy [qigong].  In any case, standing to draw or paint allows me to engage my whole body in the process.

 

There was a recent craze for standing to do any type of work, which was supposedly healthier though subsequent studies disproved the theory and instead concluded that any stationary position, whether sitting or standing is detrimental. But taking that a stage further, it is easier for me to move freely when I do stand than when my backside is glued to a chair. Standing also facilitates the catwalk or dance of regularly moving back from my artwork and taking an overall view. This in turn allows me to see where the proportions are not quite right in a drawing or to see the tonal and colour values working over a whole painting rather than just the area I am currently focused on. While standing back, half closing your eyes, turning the work sideways, upside down or looking at it in a mirror also helps identify any areas that are ‘off’.

Let me add another element, and this is one that I ‘discovered’ more through riding horses than through art. I say ‘discovered’, but have since read of others saying the same, which only goes to support my theories. Let’s try an experiment. Sit down and hold a pencil up in front of you at shoulder height. Now move it as though you are drawing on a canvas in front of you. You may move just from the wrist or from the elbow, but your shoulder will be bracing to anchor your arm and you can probably feel it in the underside of your upper arm. Now stand and do the same thing. You should feel your shoulder move in the standing position and your waist and hips are now taking on the anchoring role. You may find that you have less of a death grip on the pencil with your fingers and that the movement of the pencil has more flow and grace. In horse riding as a youngster I would constantly hear about people having ‘heavy hands’ as a cardinal sin, but no one ever explained to me how to have light hands. I saw people fixing their hands in an attempt to hold them still and magically make them light. I also saw people with an almost non-existent hold on the (usually sagging) reins in an attempt to find ‘lightness’. I most likely tried these approaches myself too, though as I usually ended up riding the nutters that no-one else wanted to, maybe not so much the second one. What no one explained was that the lightness of the hands comes from the support, strength and flexibility of the hips and the core muscles, not the hand itself. [If you want to read more about the connection of the core to the reins then Thomas Ritter’sArtistic Dressage blog is a good place to learn]. Now think of a ballet dancer. Firstly a class of three year olds standing in first position and raising one curved arm up in front, out to the side and then down. The movement would probably be jerky and the hand and arm held stiffly; then think of a professional ballerina doing the same: the movement would be smooth, elegant and seemingly effortless. Now stand up again and try to replicate both movements. To do the 3 year old version think of only moving your hand or wrist, then repeat ignoring your hand and wrist but using the elbow to initiate the movement, then repeat using your shoulder and if you are finding that easy try the hard one: initiate the movement by using your shoulder blade (it helps if you first allow your shoulder blades to sink down either side of your spine towards your hips and engaging your stomach muscles to support your core - think of pulling up a zip on a tight pair of trousers!). You should find that the closer to your core you initiate and support the movement, the lighter, freer and more gestural the movement: more like the ballerina. In horse riding we are of course ‘sitting’, though in dressage that ‘sitting’ aims to be more like my perch on my tall stool, so that is a skill in itself: to be able do this in a sitting position too. It is not impossible, but harder and less easy to sustain without practice and building of both mental and muscle strength. 

In art if we can master gesture in all three positions (stand, perch and sit) then heigh ho, best of both worlds – the lighter feel and more gestural drawing or painting mark is just easier and more natural if you perch and easier still if you stand. Needless to say, standing is also more convenient for bopping about (another energy enhancer) to Funkadelic or any other favourite music that I have playing on my headphones or in the studio. . . which might just be the subject of next week’s blog.