Day 4. This is not really day #4, in the sense that I've been drawing almost daily for the past 2 years - and with somewhat less consistency, for three decades before that.
I started struggling with motivation 15 years ago in my early 20s. By then painting had slowly turned from my superpower, into a Soul-crushing experience. The days of my creative youth when each piece painted was not only admired by others, but admired by myself aswell, had stealthily been replaced by doubt. Would the next painting be able to recapture the satisfaction and surprise that I felt while making the last piece, or was it just a fluke and me an impostor?
I stared suspecting that I was merely being lucky from time to time - on "good days". And "good days" were becoming fewer and fewer the more I doubted and struggled to outperform myself.
I reached a point that I dreaded lifting the paintbrush. The taste of painting was so bitter, that I tried putting painting behind and quit; I managed to stay away for 4-5 years. But even then, I kept circling around, doing things such as web design, UI design and UX design. I'd dabble in painting from time to time, only to regret doing so. I started dreading the "good days" too. I was familiarizing myself with the pattern: One good day and I'd feel excited and raise my hopes that perhaps I can pick painting up again! Then the next day I'd hit a dry patch, and I'd be doubly-disappointed. Twice the hurt and the distance I'd take.
Then, 5 years ago, I lost all motivation in all other aspects of my life. The only thing that still felt alive in me was a soreness called "Painting". I wanted to give it a chance again, but I didn't know how.
Until I came across a very small book called
Art and Fear. The message was simple:
There are thousands of challenges and ways for an artist to get blocked; some appear early on some appear later on. Some of us will stumble and fall and decide to never get up pick up the brush guitar pen again. Others will give it another go and perhaps overcome the challenges. One after one, until they meet the one challenge that bested them, or they die before it crosses their path. But it's always the same foe in disguise: A challenge.
These are my own words and my own understanding, and I haven't read the book since then; I never thought of reading it again. The takeaway was enough for me however: You are not alone, you are not the first. You merely fell down like so many did before you and like they, you can also try and stand up again.
For me it's been a relief, knowing that no matter what particular flavor of the challenge, it's been a challenge and nothing more. Not some exotic curse that befell on me of all people. For the first time, I saw art-making as a process of personal growth, and not of merely growth in skill. It also allowed me to feel camaraderie with both the middle-aged public servant who says "ah, I can't draw, no way; Even as a kid I couldn't" and the old Master who at the last decade of his life decides to stop painting altogether.
You paint, until you don't (and even when you don't, it's okay).
The Twin Trees that I painted, were not meant to be anything. I just took out my premium watercolor sketchbook, a big flat brush (that I never thought I'd use with watercolors, let alone with puny watercolor pans and such a small sketchbook) and started putting yellow on the paper. Soon I had a simple composition (big brushes for the win!), with two rectangular blobs and two receding masses towards the background. Then I remembered the beautiful rectangular trees in the amazing videogame called GRIS. I drew in two tree-trunks, and suddenly I had two trees. From there I built up the tones and vibrancy from light to dark. While the rocky formations on the right are more regular/repeating than I was hoping for, I somewhat still like them. And even more I like the green masses on the left. I also like the composition. The rocky-formations receding to a vanishing point, and the green formation interrupting that flow. The trees on the left and how the whole composition has eventually balanced out. Not sure if it was my "skill" showing through, or a happy accident. I've done numerous ugly compositions in the last few years, and even when I get the composition right in the sketching phase, color, often puts it off balance. But today, it's been a good day, and I'll take it. No questions asked!
PS. I also like how forgiving the paper was; that I could "lift" color that I didn't like, and that I could put more than 10 layers of color. I had never thought that watercolors could turn out this vibrant if you layer them with a bit of patience and specialty paper.
Comments
Post a Comment