 I feel like I’ve just spent another hour doing something stupid. I’m copying an image so it’s not an original vision. It’s an image that has been copied thousands of times before me and it’s not one I feel compelled to own a copy of. It doesn’t feel like a “master copy” because I am not really learning to see and reproduce what an artist before me created. To do this exercise correctly will take hours and hours. I’m writing these paragraphs partially to remind myself that there’s any value at all in this otherwise stupid practice. I am copying a Bargue drawing, the Psyche of Napoli, one of the famous set of 197 lithographs created by Charles Bargue for his Cours de Dessin in the late 19th C. The original lithographs depict sculpture, mostly classical and many students are instructed to reproduce them at the exact size they are seen. “Sight size” allows the student to measure points on the original and then to reproduce them identically on the copy without resorting to math. The exercise, as far as I can tell, is focused on this accuracy. Mind-numbing, boring accuracy. If I get it right, it will look identical to all the other perfect attempts. The only way I can express my “individuality” with this exercise is to get it wrong somehow. Stephan Bauman is to blame. Bauman was an instructor at the Florence Academy of Art for 12 years until he recently left to focus on on-line art instruction. For a mere $10 a month via his Patreon https://www.patreon.com/stephenbaumanartwork/posts, he offers a cascade of instructional materials and these Bargue based exercises are part of what he’s calling the Atelier level. His plan, I believe, is to focus on one Bargue drawing each month with instruction and a draw-along, then a group critique. For me, Bauman is just about the perfect teacher for this method which is so very far from my natural temperament – he is affable, kind and he’s on video so I can pause whenever I need a break to rage at the stupidity of it all. Bauman takes a patient delight in making the barest marks on the page which he notes might be several millimeters off from their correct location. (!) He reminds the student that activity is happening during the oh-so-slowly evolving process with observations like “your assignment at this point in the drawing is to…” Watching his videos with his calm, slightly fastidious demeanor and soothing voice helped me get through the Miasma of the past year. The first time I attempted this particular image was during the draw-along earlier this month. And I drew too fast. Bauman spent most of the two hours refining and re-measuring the lay-in, mapping points and their relationships. I plopped in some points, went through a hasty round or two of corrections and stampeded on to contours and values. I was trying to learn his pace and approach and I was shocked to look down and realize I rushed so far ahead. I started over. If I want an accurate lay-in, why not use a lightbox? Or just project the image on the page with a camera obscura. Rumor has it that’s how Vermeer did it. I don’t have a great answer to that question and while trying to reply, I figured out that there is something important that I am trying to learn about time, about how long it takes to accomplish something. I suspect that is a general trait of ALL learning, especially for skills. It is important to be able to look forward in time and to project how long some activity will take. For me, that time-map will help me manage my expectations, and my disappointments. I’m reminded of the post I made a few weeks ago where I compared doing a long drawing to doing a long run. It was helpful for me to realize that there’s a point, maybe half way through a drawing where I will simply HATE the piece I’m working on, just as there’s a point 10 miles into a half marathon where it simply stops being any fun whatsoever. The Wall. I don’t know any exact comparable activity in writing, perhaps it’s some kind of editing and re-writing. When I started over, I radically scaled up, rejecting any sense of sight size. More importantly, I rejected the sub-standard paper I was drawing on in favor of the best stock I had on hand, which happened to be larger. Bauman takes a kind of glee in the sensuous effect of graphite on good paper and at that point, I needed any kind of pleasure I could find. I crept up on the contour and tone, faster than Bauman and slower than my impulse. Those who study the Kabbalah, or at least the esoteric Europeanized version, revere a place on the Tree of Life called Hod. It is dry and accurate and lies on the pillar of severity. And there is a specific glory found there, perhaps the delight in accurately adding a column of numbers, or editing a document for utmost clarity or in precisely placing a candle in a specified location. That is the spiritual discipline I think I am approaching with these Bargue exercises. There is an easier pleasure to take in the richness of tone and the swirl of contour and shape, possibly delights better located in Netzach. And those are not lesser delights, only different ones. I drew a couple more sessions on this Bargue exercise before I stopped, more or less satisfied. Ultimately, I decided not to submit any of my attempts for the group critique, though I am eager to watch that video when it appears on his Patreon channel. I find it often easier to learn when a master critiques someone else’s work, perhaps because there is no scrap of my ego involved. I made an attempt, learned what I could and feel can pack up this exercise until next month. I am free again to depict imaginary gardens, ones I populate with real toads. Perhaps this stupid practice will help them be more realistic toads. More accurate toads.r |
| WHAT IS SOMETHING STUPID YOU ARE PRACTICING RIGHT NOW? There are parts of even our most creative work that are stupid. Seemingly pointless. Nearly a waste of time… and yet, there might be a larger purpose. A zig that assists a later zag. And darned it, it feels good to simply admit that some things sure feel stupid, at least when seen in the middle of the process. Send me a message. Vent. I suspect I’ll know what you’re feeling. |
 Next month – June – is my birth month and I’ll be giving away some of the small goddess paintings I wrote about in the first newsletter. There will be plenty but the link will only be for subscribers so please forward this newsletter to anyone who might be interested. And if you have received such a forwarded message, consider joining us with this subscription link: https://lp.constantcontactpages.com/su/jX0Ddba It’s my once-a-week reflection on what it’s like being creative during the past week, designed to help you spot more resources and opportunities you may have overlooked. You in?— Here is the obligatory link to my ON-LINE ART STORE — |