Seems like a lot of my artist friends are exploring drawing right now, either taking classes - Shari just started one and Deb did one last summer - or simply working at home on a daily drawing practice. It is funny, this whole issue of D-R-A-W-I-N-G. Very terrifying to many of us it is.
I remember when I took my first drawing class back in 2001 I think? The night before class I happened to be talking to my nephew Curtis. It was also the night before his school started, either kindergarten or 1st grade, I can't recall. Anyway, I told him I was going back to school the next day too. He asked me why? I told him I was going to learn to draw. And out of the mouths of babes, he replied, "Oh, I already know how to draw, I'm going to learn how to write."
Such a perfect line that I have quoted him often.
I knew how to draw when I was a kid. Lots of evidence of that. I can't remember exactly when I lost my way with drawing. Maybe it was in the 8th grade when I suffered harsh criticism from my witch(or was that bitch) of an art teacher, Ms. Seimer. She bluntly told me I would never make it as an artist. I was quite tender hearted and foolish enough to believe her and for many years just stopped. Somewhere though I found my way again, realizing my tender heart is exactly the reason I do my art.
Once again I am taking a drawing class. The wildly talented Leslie Reuther is my teacher. She is a doll and is helping me refresh some old skills as she also introduces some new ones. I am slowly losing my fear. My eyes are starting to see again. The world of negative space delights me.
Last night in class we played with ink. Black Higgens ink. As much as I love charcoal's forgiving nature, the permanency of the ink thrills me. It is daring, my version of sky diving perhaps. Here is one of my studies made in class. A quick little piece, done right at the end of our time. I'm going to have to call it "floating pepper" since I didn't have time to finish, ha!