I’ve been spending more time outside drawing in
the landscape over the past couple of weeks. I always find observational
drawing refreshing and have often thought of it as a form of meditation.
Andrew Marr has been drawing since he was a child, he
has never thought of himself as an artist, being a journalist and foreign
correspondent, but wherever he goes he tends to draw in order to record his
responses. His book on drawing is therefore fascinating as it is composed by someone from outside the art business and this is refreshing and at times
perhaps more insightful than it would be from someone immersed in what can be a
very obscure and difficult discipline. However before he finished this ‘little book’
he had a stroke. Having a stroke is a vicious reminder of how we take our
bodies for granted and for Marr it allowed him to see how vital to his
wellbeing the making of drawings were. In fact the whole tone of this book is
about drawing and mental health. He feels that the hard to do activity of
observational drawing is wonderful and that the struggle to look, remember and
transfer what you have seen to paper, is an activity that not only lies at the
core of what makes us human, but sees us at our best. It is one of those
activities that we have to concentrate on so hard that time flows past without
us knowing it. We are totally at one with our mind and body, the intellectual
struggle to single out moments of our perceptual experience, is then conjoined
with the physical struggle to control materials in such a way that marks and
lines correspond to those hard won ideas as to what the world looks like. As we
do this, Marr would argue, we are in the 'now', in an almost Zen moment of
immersion in the world.
As someone who uses drawing to both record the world and to construct visual allegories, I’m very aware of
the difference between different sorts of drawing and this is what I would
consider a limitation of the book, because he is tempted to use his particular
take on ‘conceptual’ art to try and unpick for himself the interrelationship
between drawing and art. That’s fine as far as it goes, but all art is to some
extent conceptual, and the gradual blurring between what was a perceptual study
of the human body and what is now an allegorical figure placed in a landscape
in a Renaissance painting, is something perhaps only a working artist could really appreciate,
elements from the one activity are always still present in the other.
I shall try and explain how this works.
This is a drawing I did standing on slippery
rocks at the side of the sea in West Wittering during the Easter break. It is
one of a series of about 10 all made on the spot, within yards of each other.
As is normal with my drawings I use an old
dip-in pen that I made myself, the nib very well worn so that it flows easily
across the page, the other end being a brush so that I can quickly decide to
lay washes if need be and ink and water available in a small clip on device that fits in my hand or on the side of my notebook, which itself is a book of watercolour papers that
are cut to a thin landscape format. The book is small enough to hold in one hand as
I draw, but big enough to allow me to go beyond a thumbnail.
Before drawing I stalk the area, I’m looking for a composition that will
fit the shape I’m going to use, the very long thin aspect of which forces me to
concentrate my looking. This is very important to me, as I have found in the
past that the ‘average’ rectangle is too ‘known’, I know it so well I cant
compose in it any more. The first time I twigged this, I simply had one of my
sketchbooks sawn in half, suddenly I could see how things out in the world
might shape themselves again as flat images.
The first part of the drawing is therefore drawn
in the mind. I then before embarking on the ink drawing use a pencil to
indicate roughly where things are, this allows me to adjust where I stand and
eliminate awkward selections, as well as establish a framework of basic
measurements for me to work into.
Because the pencil work is very light I can
ignore it or use it as the need takes me.
Once I begin with the dip-in pen the drawing
gets serious. I use this because I can’t make adjustments after the fact. With
pencil or charcoal I am very aware you can rub out and make amendments,
therefore I might not maintain that full concentration. Direction of mark as well
as their quality are vital, changes in pressure allow me to get more or less
‘space’ into the drawing and my formal invention has to be high enough to
suggest that what I am drawing is one thing rather than another. A dot when
used in one place may suggest a stony surface, in another simply a sign that
something is here. However the other thing I am doing is recording my own
movements. Each mark is a frozen record of how fast my hand is moving, what
degree of shake it has, how firmly I am convinced about what I have seen and
how I might interpret it. I’m also recording larger body movements. I’m very
aware I don’t keep my head still, I’m aware of the difference between my two
eyes and consciously enjoy trying to build into the drawing my awareness of
this.
Although the final drawing appears quite
coherent, I actually work several areas up at the same time, in particular
foreground, middle and distance, this allows me to ensure that as the drawing
comes together the total space it sits in makes sense. As I look at what’s out
there my hand tracks over the paper, inventing as it moves, often directional
change on the paper being used to indicate a change of direction out there in
the perceived world; my drawing at this time being made from approximately 2 to
3 seconds looking outwards and then about 5 seconds drawing. I can’t hold much
information in my head, which is actually quite a good thing as it stops me
getting too detailed. What I am of course drawing is the space the objects sit
it, and if I can get that right the drawing will be coherent.
So far so good and this is very like the
situation Marr picks out in his book. However there is also a conceptual side
to the activity. I am worried about the state of the world. In particular
climate change and global warming. An aspect of this that we will all have to
face at some point is that of a rising sea level. The edge of the land is
always a place of conflict with water, sea levels rising and falling over
millennia, coastal erosion being something we have for many years fought
against. I therefore knew I wanted to draw evidence of these things before I
set out to look for locations. I was also very aware that at some point I would
probably use information taken from these drawings to enrich ideas in my larger
‘studio’ drawings. I.e. the drawings are about something else besides the
struggle to record what is out there. This is perhaps where the art comes in.
If I was a geographer, my drawings might be used to help illustrate an idea
about coastal erosion, if I was a biologist my drawing might be used to
illustrate how quickly seaweed colonizes a tidal bay, but as an artist I’m
trying to build an analogy, create a metaphor or in my case in my larger studio
drawings, create allegories.
The drawing chosen is one of several, it is picked out by myself because of what it represents. The shape that runs through the body of the drawing is what is left over from a previous sea defence. The sea has destroyed this and the base area is now all that remains, seaweed having colonised this. What the drawing started to 'mean' for me was something about the ghost of a former attempt to stop the sea's ravages. My other drawings were of the sea defences now a further 20 yards back. They are like this. (Below) I may be able to use some of them but conceptually they don't have the resonance of the drawing above.
Now back in Leeds I'm still drawing from observation but looking for other types of ideas, for instance signs of our older tribal nature as in this graffiti on a rock in Gledhow Valley Woods.
These drawings are never shown in exhibitions, they are simply ways of gathering in information, at some point information from them will go to feed my much larger allegorical images, like this one that is on the go at the moment.
Marr does though have a point, especially when
he states that if an artist is going to make art that is conceptual without
relying on any drawing skills, they better have a dam good idea, because the
activity of drawing from the world is itself a powerful metaphor and one that
is always rich with invention and struggle. Even a conceptually weak drawing
records a struggle with a complex three-dimensional world and how to record it
on a flat surface. (Of course this is not the case when working from a
photograph, and he has had an interesting conversation with Hockney about that)
Marr’s book is an accessible and interesting
read and he points to other sources that could be used to enrich and deepen an
understanding of the points he is making. You can get a copy for £4 from Amazon
and for those of you thinking about COP3 proposals there might be some issues
in there that could be fleshed out as research areas.
See also:
Drawing as testimony
See also:
Drawing as testimony
Just do it A reminder that you cant achieve anything in drawing unless you 'just do it'.
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