I used to think that my ‘style’ was defined by the materials I use. I found watercolour early and have loved it ever since. I used a small amount of pencil to sketch in line work, came up with characters that had ‘floating eyes’ and voila – that’s my style. I was, at some points, nervous about drifting from these materials for fear of losing ‘my style.’
But now, I realise that style is more than materials. Style is more akin to a ‘gaze’. A way that one looks at the world; a lens through which we consume, interpret, and then, create.
Some artists’ gaze are graphic – they see line, colour, shape vividly. They interpret this world in bright contrasts and simple forms. There is often little narrative in their work. I love this sort of work but I cannot mimic it for very long.
Other artists’ gaze are serious and brooding – even if the medium they use is not, there’s a darkness to their voice that comes through their work; a scepticism, negativity, critique. Again, I love this work, but I also find I cannot gaze upon the world like this for very long.
So, what is my gaze?
Well, there is humour, I know that for sure. It comes so naturally to me that I have to be reminded of how little humour I see in some artists’ work to know that it’s something unique. I also know now that I gaze upon the world with a veil of optimism and hope. It is, perhaps, the reason why I’ve collaborated on a number of books where the main character is a ‘grump’ but goes on the journey to be less so. Perhaps it’s better described as silliness?
I certainly interpret the world as a series of connected stories and see strong connections where others do not. This enables character to drive most of what I do. I’m still often surprised when I hear that book illustrators find that bit difficult because, to me, it’s the whole point of telling a story.
But, again, we all have slightly different gazes and there seems to be a place in the world for them all.
The freeing thing about disconnecting style from medium is that it gives me room to explore ways to express the gaze. How does my gaze come through acrylic, or coloured pencil? I’ve done some ink and watercolour recently in Herman Crab and Rosie the Rhinoceros, and I can see my gaze in them, despite the bold ink lines that weren’t there a few years. The question now is how might using different mediums alter my gaze because, surely, as one moves through life, there’s a chance that things shift?
In art marketing, we’re taught that consistency is king. “Develop your style”, “Curate your Instagram”, “People should take one look at your homepage and know exactly what you do.” But people are more complicated than that, and artists’ work even more so. So, whilst I understand where art marketers are coming from – viewing the work as something to be purchased by a consumer – I can’t help but think the value of art isn’t how much or how quickly you can sell a painting but rather a way to find out who we were, are now, and who we might become.