What kind of picture do you get in your mind when you think of the artist? Chic clothes, a beret, a beautiful studio with a solid wood desk at which sits the inspired one, genius radiating from their fingertips, onto the paper. Beautiful paintings, flawless drawings, sculptures in bronze... A charmed life. An artistic life. A beautiful life. The artist.
But does the artist we depicted have any... you know, off days? Could we say, artist's block? There is a painting from October of 1938 on a Saturday Evening Post by Norman Rockwell. It depicts the artist sitting at his easel, the fingers of one hand scratching his head, the other hand gripping his thigh as he stares in obvious consternation at a yawning white canvas before him. Papers litter the floor, his clothes are in disarray and you immediately get the feeling he is trying to convey. Artist's block.
I have been drawing pictures for a very long time. As long as I can remember. I faithfully supplied my dad with drawings that I left tucked in his bathroom mirror, I drew all the birthday cards I gave away; and wrote little storybooks and comic strips. As an adult, I still do a little cartoon work for the fun of it and to make my family laugh. Strips about things that have happened to us, funny situations I have thought up, and just lately, my Toast comics, which I am tempted to post on here now and then just for some comic relief.
Growing up, all my friends liked to draw, and we would spend hours at the dining room table, drawing or colouring together. I still remember my mom sitting at our table colouring with me and saying, you were never too old to colour, even grownups liked to colour. As a seven or eight-year-old, I found these words to be very wise. When I grew up, I was still going to colour. As a twenty-seven-year-old, I still find what my mom said to be wise. Go ahead, colour a picture. It'll make you happy.
I come from a small family; my older sister is my only sibling. When I started my first year of school, my mom took my sister out of public school and began homeschooling us. One of the courses we did was something called Nature Journaling. I would recommend this to anyone who likes to draw and the outdoors. Here is how it works.
You'll need:
1. A small to medium-sized sketchbook
Pencils (coloured and otherwise)
2. A good eraser
3. A sturdy little backpack to carry your supplies
Take some time each day or week for a nature walk. This can be done in the city too in parks or even in your own garden. We lived in the suburbs of Laval So we often would use our small backyard or even other people's yards along our street as our subjects.
Observe what is around you. Trees, birds, flowers, clouds, etc. Pick a subject you wish to draw. Sometimes we drew things like squirrels in the tall maples that lined our suburban streets; or birds at the bird feeder. Even our old faithful dog, Sara.
When you complete your drawing write in the date, the weather, temperature, time, etc, and give a small description of what is around you. What are you hearing? What is your drawing about? What brought you to this spot today?
Nature Journaling is a beautiful pastime and one that is accessible to almost anyone. If the weather is awful, you don't even have to go out. Just Look out the front window or draw the animals and plants in your own home.
My sister, mom, and I would wander our garden and neighborhood picking out what was interesting to us and drawing and journaling about it. We would compare journal entries and sketches and our thoughts.
Both my parents can draw. My mom is especially good at drawing and painting. I remember as a very small child, gazing wistfully at her drawings and telling her I wished I was able to draw as well as she could. She told me, just keep drawing and drawing and you'll get better. So, I did. And now I'm doing it for a business! And I'm so excited!
Now that I have sufficiently digressed from my subject, I'll return to the problem of artist's block. In reality, I am not like the artist in the picture you may have conjured in your mind. Rather, I would have you picture me the way Norman Rockwell depicted himself in his artist's block picture. My spacious wood desk is actually a table with a wooden chair. My clothes (and believe me, I like to dress up and go out as much as the next person) are maybe somewhat worn. Maybe I even have some pine needles in my hair from running outside to collect things or take photos for my site. On my right, stands the bookshelf. On the floor to my left, is my succulent collection. In front of me is a small section of wall, and to either side of this are large windows that let in the sun and the view of the lawn and river. Some days, I sit over my mushrooms and the pictures just flow. Oh, but then there are those other days.
There are the days when I sit at my desk in my hard wooden chair and clutch at my head with my hands and stare, into the blank canvas before me. Seemingly as blank as my brain. Because there are some days where every stroke I put down on paper, looks like it was made with the pen of a third grader. My flowers look like mushrooms and my mushrooms look like mud. And every stroke of my pen sends a warning signal to my brain that if I start to draw on a mushroom today, all will be for naught. And I will either end up sanding the drawing off or throwing the mushroom out. So I try a few more half-hearted daisies that look like lions with the mange and lean back in my chair with my arms crossed over my head, sigh, and give up for the day. The muse is not upon me. The inspiration is just not there.
Where does it go? How can we have it some days and not others? Is our brain influenced so much by, say, how much sleep we got last night, the weather, whether or not we had a nice conversation with someone that morning, how many dishes are piled on the counter waiting to be done and, what is that annoying deep rumbling growl I have been hearing for the past hour? Influenced so much by all these external things that it can cause certain chemical releases in the brain that either help or hinder the artistic mood? I wonder. But it is on those days that I sit back in my chair and wonder, what am I doing? I can't even draw. Me an artist? Ha, what a joke!
Комментарии