This Piece of Art is Eating Me Up
I've rarely been the type of artist who is scared to begin a particular piece, whether it be a commission or something I'm doing on my own for myself. Usually, I just sort of jump on the work and methodically go about my business until the piece begins to take on a life of its own, and then my excitement for it grows.
I have a friend, John, a terrific artist, on the other hand, who used to speak about commissioned pieces with a mixture of terror, dread, and wonder. I recall his saying of one such commission that he would stare at the canvas, but be unable to work on it, and then add that "this piece of art is eating me up". Of course, eventually, he would produce something wonderful, but he usually had to go through some kind of self-imposed hell before that would happen. And, I would chuckle to myself over his angst, not being familiar with it or understanding it.
But, recently I came up against my own form of this "artist's block" with a commission that I delayed doing most of my work on for nearly two months. Sure, I had plenty of excuses like other jobs that had tighter deadlines, and my operation, but basically I was frightened. What scared me was the size of the piece to be: five feet wide by two and one hald feet in depth, and the breadth of the art, having to include some 50 different characters who took part in a stage production. The size is larger than my comfort zone, and the characters are all based on photos I've got that are not real clear. Also, I didn't want to slavishly adhere to the photographs, but to put my own interpretive stamp on the art, which is just what the person commisioning me wants. He has been very patient and supportive, so what is the problem?
The problem was that I was scared I would not be up to the challenges involved. Of course, the only way to deal with a fear is to meet it head on, anf finally, two days ago I did that. But, boy, did it take time to get to that point!
I unravelled my roll of watercolor paper - it comes rolled and "lively" and takes some time to smooth out and put down flat on the table. I then looked at my preliminary sketches that, while being short on detail, had a good feeling and compositional strength. Then, I chose a near-central vanishing point from which most of the action would be emerging, and began to draw my 5 main characters. I wanted to stay loose, but my nervousness compromised that. Of course, I was still working in pencil and would re-do anything I was less than thrilled with. Once I drew four of the characters, I decided that my vanishing point was too high, and erased it and the guidelines that came from it, and began again. This was a good sign that I was totally committed to doing whatever it may take to get the art right, and that I would be willing to re-draw parts of it to get that.
Working big is not that hard, in fact it's fun in that one draws fromt the shoulder more than from the wrist, at least to get those larger compositional flows, swings, and diagonals that are the foudnation of the art. One just has to make an adjustment for one's scope and lense, and work proportionally bigger. Scale makes a lot of difference undoubtedly, but it sure is inconvenient with my set-up and my usual point of view, which is a more fine, miniaturist one.
I've only done the major characters now, and some of the structural elements, which happen to be the two major bridges in the SF Bay area. I'm already fiddling with them, wanting them to be both structured and loose at the same time, an apparent contradiction that I'm trying to make cohesive. Hey, John, this art is eating me alive! Now I understand what you were saying. But, at least I began it - whew!
I have a friend, John, a terrific artist, on the other hand, who used to speak about commissioned pieces with a mixture of terror, dread, and wonder. I recall his saying of one such commission that he would stare at the canvas, but be unable to work on it, and then add that "this piece of art is eating me up". Of course, eventually, he would produce something wonderful, but he usually had to go through some kind of self-imposed hell before that would happen. And, I would chuckle to myself over his angst, not being familiar with it or understanding it.
But, recently I came up against my own form of this "artist's block" with a commission that I delayed doing most of my work on for nearly two months. Sure, I had plenty of excuses like other jobs that had tighter deadlines, and my operation, but basically I was frightened. What scared me was the size of the piece to be: five feet wide by two and one hald feet in depth, and the breadth of the art, having to include some 50 different characters who took part in a stage production. The size is larger than my comfort zone, and the characters are all based on photos I've got that are not real clear. Also, I didn't want to slavishly adhere to the photographs, but to put my own interpretive stamp on the art, which is just what the person commisioning me wants. He has been very patient and supportive, so what is the problem?
The problem was that I was scared I would not be up to the challenges involved. Of course, the only way to deal with a fear is to meet it head on, anf finally, two days ago I did that. But, boy, did it take time to get to that point!
I unravelled my roll of watercolor paper - it comes rolled and "lively" and takes some time to smooth out and put down flat on the table. I then looked at my preliminary sketches that, while being short on detail, had a good feeling and compositional strength. Then, I chose a near-central vanishing point from which most of the action would be emerging, and began to draw my 5 main characters. I wanted to stay loose, but my nervousness compromised that. Of course, I was still working in pencil and would re-do anything I was less than thrilled with. Once I drew four of the characters, I decided that my vanishing point was too high, and erased it and the guidelines that came from it, and began again. This was a good sign that I was totally committed to doing whatever it may take to get the art right, and that I would be willing to re-draw parts of it to get that.
Working big is not that hard, in fact it's fun in that one draws fromt the shoulder more than from the wrist, at least to get those larger compositional flows, swings, and diagonals that are the foudnation of the art. One just has to make an adjustment for one's scope and lense, and work proportionally bigger. Scale makes a lot of difference undoubtedly, but it sure is inconvenient with my set-up and my usual point of view, which is a more fine, miniaturist one.
I've only done the major characters now, and some of the structural elements, which happen to be the two major bridges in the SF Bay area. I'm already fiddling with them, wanting them to be both structured and loose at the same time, an apparent contradiction that I'm trying to make cohesive. Hey, John, this art is eating me alive! Now I understand what you were saying. But, at least I began it - whew!
posted by Rich Sigberman at
10:29 AM
<< Home