What We See as Artists

Having grappled for two days with an ever-evolving but beautifully perfumed ginger lily that I was trying to draw, it really resonated when I found a quote by Paul Klee. He said, "Art does not reproduce what we see; rather, it makes us see."

I am always in amazement at the photo-realist artists who manage - often thanks to photographs - to reproduce in art exactly what seems to have been their subject matter. I find that when I am drawing or painting, I seem constitutionally incapable of reproducing exactly what I am seeing. I always want to alter something, move something elsewhere, eliminate something, exaggerate something else.. in an attempt to render a decent composition as well as an evocative work of art. Perhaps it is also the gardener in me - pruning, transplanting, fertilising; it does translate in a way to art-making!

I think that there is nothing more important for an artist than learning to see, really see... the nuances of light and shade, colour gradations, forms and shapes, how things interlock one to another. Life drawing is a wonderful way of training one's eye and making one's hand coordinate with one's eyes. Once really learning to look becomes second nature, then there is somehow an authenticity in what an artist is doing, even if it is not always realistic. This painting that Klee did, entitled Highways and Byways (courtesy of The Artchive on the Web), is a perfect example of the results of his carefully looking at the scene and then transmuting what he saw into art.

Think of how Paul Klee deals with this image of a flower, entitled Flower Myth (courtesy of the Sprengel Museum, Hannover, Germany).He does know very well how a flower is made and put together, but he is now comfortable with turning it into a work of art, because he has "seen" it properly before.

My sessions with my ginger lily obliged me to do somewhat similar alterations, simply because I looked and looked at the flowers, but tried to wend my way through their profusion and short life to produce a decent drawing.

Art and Music

I think that every artist is very aware of how necessary music is to his or creativity. Listening to music, classical, jazz or anything else, can help get the juices flowing, inspire and mesh with painting, drawing or any other creative activity. Most life drawing groups, for instance, that I have ever been part of have music playing in the background as a helpful adjunct to the drawing process.

It was thus with no surprise but considerable fascination that I read recently in the August 14th, 2010 edition of Science News about the latest research about "A Mind for Music", an entire section devoted to music, its effects on the human brain and thus its role in societies. One of the most interesting aspects was how far back our connections with music have been tangibly shown to reach. Vulture bone flutes, dating from 35,000-40,000 years ago, have been found in the famous Hohle Fels cave, near Ulm, Germany. Nine thousand years ago, wing bones from red-crowned cranes in Jiahu, China, were fashioned into flutes with five to eight finger holes. Five thousand years ago, harps were played in ancient Mesopotamia. Before all these instruments, there were most probably percussive stones, bones or sticks being played. How many of the early musical sounds were inspired by nature is of course open to speculation, but it puts me in mind of Lord Byron's verse: "There's music in the in the sighing of a reed;/There's music in the gushing of a rill;/ There's music in all things, if men had ears:/ Their earth is but an echo of the spheres."

The noted neuroscientist, Daniel J. Levitin, who is a specialist in matters neuro-musical as well as being a consultant in the music industry, once remarked, " Music may be the activity that prepared our pre-human ancestors for speech communication and for the very cognitive representational flexibility necessary to become human." Since we now know that almost all the areas of the brain are affected in some fashion when we listen to music, his theory makes eminent sense. It is also interesting that visual art also shows up so early in the early records of human beings, as another form of communication and celebration of life. (See my earlier blog about evidence of art-making 164,000 years ago.) Vital roots that enrich us all today, so many thousands of years later...

There are countless examples of artists who weave music into their creative lives - not only in paintings and drawing, but in videos, installation art, and beyond. One interesting example of the role of music in art is Edgar Degas: his paintings and drawings not only address the playing of music but the movement of dancers to music and opera scenes. He apparently was friends with many of his contemporary French composers and musicians, and had had a musical childhood with family members singing and playing the organ. The close links between his art and music were explored in an 2009 exhibition, Degas and Music, at the Hyde Collection in New York's Lake George region. A good description of the exhibition and Degas' deep love for music which ran through all his art can be gleaned from David Brickman's blog. It makes one regret not having seen the exhibition.

Other artists use the music itself as inspiration for art. Paul Klee and Kandinsky come readily to mind, but many of the early 20th century artists turned to jazz and other current forms of music to act as a springboard to art creation - Gino Severini in Italy, August Macke and fellow German Abstract Expressionist Franz Marc, and Russian Kazimir Malevich.

I find myself sometimes moved to create a piece inspired by music. This silverpoint, Spem in Allium, is inspired by Thomas Tallis' music of the same name.

We are all heirs of those early flute and harp players who knew that "music is the poetry of the air", as Jean Paul Richter observed some two centuries ago.

Travels and art

In the August edition of Arte, published in Spain, there is an interesting series of articles about travel's transformative power for artists, which ranges from David Roberts (Egypt) and Velaquez (Italy) to Klee (Tunis), Brassai (Paris)or David Hockney (California). Historically, artists have travelled to learn, to enquire, to expand their horizons or sometimes to flee. Think of Albrecht Durer, who so assiduously recorded his 1520-21 trips to the Netherlands in silverpoint journals. Remember Gauguin's trips to the South Seas, with extraordinary results in his art. But in more modern times, journeys have become easier and often swifter. Sometimes, that is all that suffices to allow an artist to make quantum leaps in his or her development. Other times, the results are not so felicitous.

It perhaps all reverts to that issue of a "sense of place". If you are somewhere new and trying to grapple with different conditions of light, topography, culture, colours..., it takes time to filter all that information into one's subconscious. The resultant art often shows up the learning curve, willy-nilly. In the Arte article entitled "Viajes Pintados" (Painted Journeys), the author, Raquel Gonzalez Escribano, posits that in the past, the slower tempo of journeys to other places allowed for a transformative depth and transcendence in work - paintings, architecture or sculpture - that is often absent today. She reminds us that Delacroix made one major trip in his life, through Spain to North Africa in 1832, and that time spent painting and drawing indelibly transformed his subsequent work. Indeed, Delacroix' journey influenced artists who followed him, and consequently changed the way we all view the world to some degree.

Ms. Gonzalez makes a persuasive case for all of us artists slowing down when we travel, allowing ourselves time to absorb and understand new horizons. Then, one hopes, we will be able to produce work of depth and quality. Returning to a place one enjoys and grows to know makes sense, in this context, even if it is travelling from one's home base. (Think of the summer art colonies in the North East for New York artists, for instance, which flourished from about 1900 onwards.) Plus ca change, plus ca reste la meme chose... Despite all our technology and speeded-up world, artists today still function mentally in the same way as in previous times. We still need to develop that sense of place.

Lines

When you think about it, life is full of lines. Power lines, phone lines, railway lines, the lines that define buildings and streets, cobwebs and even the veins of leaves... For an artist, however, using lines in drawings can give rise to many different philosophies and approaches.

For instance, Paul Klee famously and deliciously said, "A drawing is simply a line going for a walk". That statement goes along with his whimsy and imaginative approach to creating art. Just like his statement that "a line is a dot that went for a walk".

This is beautifully illustrated by one of his numerous drawings, this image courtesy of the Cultural Internet website. It shows that whilst Klee was clearly drawing very intelligently, and often with deliberate wit and parody, particularly as the Nazis rose to power, nonetheless intuition and pure creativity flowed happily.

Another artist who allows the line simply to flow from her, without premeditation, is Christine Hiebert. Very widely exhibited and heralded for her inventive approach to drawing with media ranging from blue tape to charcoal, she investigates the nature and language of line. She starts a drawing on a blank wall empty of ideas, not using a pre-drawn sketch. She says, "The final outcome is always something I didn't anticipate. The process can be unsettling, but that is how I prefer to work... For me, drawing starts with the problem of the line, how to form it and how to follow it. In a way, it ends with the line too. The line remains independent, searching, never completely absorbed by the community of its fellows." (Except from her Davis Museum brochure for Reconnaissance, August 2009.)

I find her approach of visual thinking through drawing fascinating, because there is also another, more traditional approach to drawing. That is based upon seeing or conceiving of an image which the artist then proceeds to translate, through line, into an permanent image. This has been an accepted way of creating line drawings in Western art since the monks began to delineate their illuminations on vellum and parchment and their heirs, during the Renaissance, brought the art of drawing to great heights. Not only were the lines then used to explore ideas and make studies in preparation for paintings, but the artists also made finished drawings, line after careful line. Indeed, for many centuries, skill in drawing was almost predicated on little erasure, in silverpoint (that permanent line won't budge!), but also in red chalk (the bravura medium), black chalk, pen and ink and even charcoal.

Today, many artists are pushing the definitions of using line or making drawings far beyond those traditional approaches. Perhaps it is only fitting in a world where man made lines - the power grids, the computer chips, or whatever - predominate.

When a beautiful drawing can be produced by Drawing Machine 2, using a mathematical model, the lines indeed go for their walk. Paul Klee would certainly approve, I am sure. It is good to remember that any approach to lines is possible, as long as we artists allow ourselves to be creative and free. That is my definition of fun!