When I think about tools of the trade, I used to think about physical tools: brushes, pens, paints, paper and so on. Buy the best you can afford, look after them well, and they’ll last you a long time. But what I’ve come to realise is that there’s another set of tools of the trade that we don’t often talk about: the body and the mind.
First, the body
Drawing pictures, whilst enjoyable, is a surprisingly physical trade. In my case, that physical labour isn’t what we come to think of when we say physical labour. My trade doesn’t use large motor skills to lift heavy loads. Instead, it uses very fine ones. In the past, I’ve found myself sitting for 8-12 hours a day, lost in flow, with nothing to eat or drink, only to emerge from it feeling tired, hungry, and completely physically drained. I generally focus on an image that’s no more than 60cm from my eyes, and even then, only on a radius of about 20cm at a time. I’ve looked at my eyeballs in the mirror after one of these big flow sessions, and I can see the blood that’s been directed toward controlling my iris and eye-muscles whilst I paint. I can see the twitching in my eyelids sometimes. It’s just like finishing a weight-lifting session at the gym but on a micro-scale.
It’s not just my eyes that are affected by this depth of focus. My back is required to hold a sustained posture in front of the drawing board for long periods of time; a bit like a ballerina who must hold their posture perfectly for the performance, smiling the whole time.
Second, the mind
The physical strain on the body is one thing, but the invention of any intellectual work requires a well-trained mind, too. Yes, there’s a lot to be said for the natural ‘strength’ of some writers or illustrators, but untrained strength will only get you so far. To really succeed, the brain needs the creative fuel required for lateral thinking, humour, sensitivity, romance, excitement – all on demand. It needs to adjust to the anguish, despair and difficulty of creating anything from scratch, as well as the elation that happens when things click into place so that I’m able to judge the good work from the rubbish.
How to looking after the tools of the trade
My practice has evolved from the early days of illustrating on an Ikea dining table with a bit of 2×4 to turn my drawing board into something with a slight angle. Some of them have been physical changes (e.g. I created my own desktop easel and purchased a standing desk), but many of the changes I’ve made have been behavioural ones.
For the body, I’ve learned to work in approx. 90-minute increments, setting a timer if I need to. It means I can look out into the distance to re-focus my eyes on something at regular intervals, letting all those tiny muscles controlling my iris have a break. I’ve taken to pilates and yoga exercises every second day or so to make sure I exercise a range of movement throughout my whole body. I take skip-rope breaks to get the blood moving through my body.
For the mind, I read daily: novels, poetry, comics, and magazines like The New Philosopher. Novels expose me to rich prose. Poetry exposes me to abstract thinking and imagery through words. Comics and movies teach me visual storytelling techniques. Magazines about philosophy constant bring me new ways to view the world. I also make sure I’ve got scheduled time for mindless, repetitive tasks like walking or cycling. I’ve a rule that there are no podcasts allowed in those times. These are completely and utterly not negotiable for me right now. They’re sharpening the very tools I need to do the best story-telling work and invention that I can.
It’s obvious when I say it out loud, but like the physical tools that need cleaning, washing, and care, the body and mind work better if we look after them properly. Without them all working together, making anything becomes impossible.