Yes, that's right, I'm back in school.
And it's going surprisingly okay.
My friends are happy that I'm back, and it seems that most of them thought that I had died last term. But like the christ, I rose from my tomb, and when they doubted me, I dared them to stick their fingers into my track marks, and like Thomas, they too were convinced, and fell to their knees begging for my forgiveness.
It's a great feeling to be able to draw from a nude model again. These past months I've mostly been doing portraits of passengers on the train, and small illustrations for my friends band. What amazes me, is how I seem to have actually improved with my figure drawings, which was something I feared that I would fall behind in, as I didn't have access to people who were willing to throw off there clothes for me to study every fold, bend and crook of their bodies. But art is about observation, and I've been observing a lot.
When you draw from life, it's kind of a tripped out experience, because in order to really capture the likeness of a human being, or anything for that fact, you have to see the form objectively. You have to throw out all you're biases and stereotypes (do you like this person, are they ugly, are they beautiful...) and see you're subject for what it truly is, a physical body sculpted out of light and shadows. You have to view the world as if you're not from this planet, or from any planet at all. You need to be reborn, and see through the eyes of an infant.
But while seeing things objectively is great, I also believe that to make truly great art, you have to translate you're objective observation, into a subjective illusion. It's easy to draw hideous things and make them look "cool". I see kids at my school do it over and over again, drawing demons, dragons, witches, fuck I do it myself. But a true challenge is to draw something hideous, beautifully. If you don't know what I mean, check out Mathias Grunewalds crucifixion piece, Mantegna's "Dead Christ", or pretty much anything by Goya.
When art is not made with love, it is telling. And Christ almighty, I could use a Xanax.
And it's going surprisingly okay.
My friends are happy that I'm back, and it seems that most of them thought that I had died last term. But like the christ, I rose from my tomb, and when they doubted me, I dared them to stick their fingers into my track marks, and like Thomas, they too were convinced, and fell to their knees begging for my forgiveness.
It's a great feeling to be able to draw from a nude model again. These past months I've mostly been doing portraits of passengers on the train, and small illustrations for my friends band. What amazes me, is how I seem to have actually improved with my figure drawings, which was something I feared that I would fall behind in, as I didn't have access to people who were willing to throw off there clothes for me to study every fold, bend and crook of their bodies. But art is about observation, and I've been observing a lot.
When you draw from life, it's kind of a tripped out experience, because in order to really capture the likeness of a human being, or anything for that fact, you have to see the form objectively. You have to throw out all you're biases and stereotypes (do you like this person, are they ugly, are they beautiful...) and see you're subject for what it truly is, a physical body sculpted out of light and shadows. You have to view the world as if you're not from this planet, or from any planet at all. You need to be reborn, and see through the eyes of an infant.
But while seeing things objectively is great, I also believe that to make truly great art, you have to translate you're objective observation, into a subjective illusion. It's easy to draw hideous things and make them look "cool". I see kids at my school do it over and over again, drawing demons, dragons, witches, fuck I do it myself. But a true challenge is to draw something hideous, beautifully. If you don't know what I mean, check out Mathias Grunewalds crucifixion piece, Mantegna's "Dead Christ", or pretty much anything by Goya.
When art is not made with love, it is telling. And Christ almighty, I could use a Xanax.
