What’s the difference between a tree, a piece of broccoli, and a piece of broccolini? Or, how do you draw a cucumber and not a zucchini? Or Venetian architecture versus Gothic?
There’s something that most people won’t agree with and it’s that I can’t really draw. And I don’t mean that in a fake self-effacing way that’s fishing for a little bit of external validation – that person to say, “No you’re not, you’re a professional illustrator.” The fact is, I’m not the sort of artist who was ‘trained classically’ or whatever that even means. I never went to Art School. I didn’t spend hours rendering still life or figures in 100 shades of pencil or charcoal to create a photo-realistic representation of the thing in front of me. I actually find that stuff incredibly boring to do – to reproduce what’s already there or to do something a photo is far more capable of doing than me. But, I also find it incredibly impressive to witness.
As it turns out, I have this other thing that other people I’ve met since don’t seem to have. A strength I never knew was a strength – to find the thing that makes something itself; it’s distinguishing characteristic/s. But to me, that doesn’t mean good drawing, it means something else.
If someone asks me to draw a portrait, what I’m unable to produce is a beautifully rendered, photo-realistic likeness of them; something akin to what they’d see in a mirror. I find it incredibly impressive when I watch charcoal artists do this on the street, though. No, what I’m able to produce is a few lines and dots that find the right shape of the nose, or the right colour of hair, or a particularly type of body language that makes the person that person. In both cases – the charcoal rendering or the lines and dots – the end goal is the same. But, when I do it, I say I can’t draw. Why is that?
I never really understood that what I do isn’t common because, like most strengths, it *feels* effortless (most of the time). By the way, for what it’s worth, the biggest difference between a cucumber and zucchini is that cucumbers are cut from a vine and often have a little of it still attached (like its own little umbilical cord) where as zucchinis tend to have a dried flower stump attached. But I digress.
What seems true and universal is that we always want what we don’t have. I know other representational artists who wish they could simplify in the way I do. They say they can’t draw, too, even though their strength is in their ability to render perfect proportion and detail. Like me, they say, “Oh, that’s easy, it’s just drawing what’s in front of you.” And yet, I find myself doing what they do – wishing I could draw better. More realistically.
I read somewhere once that your style is just an accumulation of the mistakes you make. And, in this case, it seems pretty accurate. Most of the time, we’re caught focussing on what we can’t do, even though what we end up with is the same – a drawing of a thing or a person who 9 out of 10 people would agree is definitely what we set out to draw. Shades of grey or lines and dots don’t seem to matter. We all think we can’t draw, but everyone else thinks we can.
So, what we’re left with is the struggle to identify, accept, and appreciate our own distinguishing characteristics. To focus on what’s there rather than what’s not there. We’re often quick to accept our physical characteristics, but less so our artistic or intellectual abilities and maybe it’s because there’s no mirror for that?