Art Fear - and conversely, Art Courage

Hi all! 

I've been away for a while working on art and reflecting upon world events - it's no short order to say that a lot has happened since my last post! I've been trying to do my due diligence and educate myself as much as possible - but in the meantime, I hope you feel welcome at the Roost, no matter who you are! I want to do my very best to show love to all y'all with my words and art, but if/when I make mistakes, whether here or on Insta, send me an email and let's talk about it! Although I have been cooking up a longer post that gets deeper into art philosophy and/or the state of the world, while I was drawing yesterday I encountered something that I thought would make for a good little post on a topic that's important to me: art fear.

I'm scared pretty much every time I set out to do a new piece. As an artist, I always have a platonic ideal of the artwork I'm about to begin in my head and the entire process seems to be an attempt to not fumble that sportsball. Are the shapes as pushed as they could be? Is this pose as dynamic as possible? Is that line in the just right spot? Working digitally with nearly unlimited edit-ability helps me get closer to that image in my head, but it also fuels these tendencies because few marks are truly definite. For me, drawing frequently becomes an attempt to not mess up, rather than a joyful and haphazard exploration. I imagine that as I get better at drawing and I can nail the right lines more intuitively then I will be able to draw like that, but right now I almost feel like I'm working damage control or handling a very fragile art package through the art process. And with the pressure to make something "post-able" by the end, I'm even more cautious knowing that my art will be subject to the (brief, though important) scrutiny of what could be hundreds of people. 

I also find fascinating that a person's identity is often reflected in this part of their art making process. My friends who are typically less methodical and more spontaneous in life tend to go free-wheelin'-cowboy style when it comes to slinging paint. I'm a much more routine-oriented and obsessive-compulsive person, so I tend to like coloring inside the lines, a careful placement of elements, and rigorous double-checking throughout the process. Sometimes, this approach leads to carefully constructed pieces with high attention to detail, but sometimes it just leads to something that feels insincere, or even fearful. 

As such, I'm fascinated by artists whose work leans heavily to the spontaneous side - work that's based on gesture, almost unfinished at times. Work that exudes confidence even if it doesn't always stick the landing. Art that takes risks - for better or worse. James Woods is a good example - his lines are as loose as silk BUT (and this is a big one) there are very few of them. Usually you'll see loose lines in packs (evidence of the artist searching for the form) but James defines his characters with apparent quickness and boldness. This level of confidence takes practice, but almost on an equal level, guts. 

james woods

Louie Zong makes art that's at times uber simple and childlike - yet it still looks good. Louie's draftsmanship is pretty rudimentary, but his use of texture and color elevates what at first glance could seem simple, or even wrong. 

you knew i would use the wind in the willows piece, didn't you?

And I spent the better part of yesterday pouring over Anastasiia Platoshyna's art - which although most of her work is filled with meticulous patterns, she does have the guts to post something like this:

You can see that it's shot through with these loose ink lines that don't always line up with the coloring or fully enclose elements of the figure. And the left hand is barely even colored in! This image is clear, it seems finished, and yet... it's not! And I'm pretty sure that Stacy had the time to color that hand in. But instead, she left in these numerous imperfections to create this mixed-media feeling piece that's just so cool.

Even my friend Naomi Bethel does this. I loved her recent Velma art because of the shapes, but also because of how you can clearly tell that the sweater was scribbled in - no fill bucket tool required.

I guess what I'm really seeing in all these artists is a willingness to be wrong, make mistakes, AND still put those pieces of art out for public view. And even though they all have the power of digital editing, they choose to leave mistakes and gaps and wrong marks in their pieces. To me this kind of art feels like a last second basketball shot or a hail mary football pass - and it's amazing when an artist can consistently thread the line between an unfinished kind of bad and a messy kind of good. As I mentioned before, I suspect some of this is due to the artist already being pretty skilled at what they do. If you're great at basketball, you're gonna be at least a little better at buzzer-beaters than the next guy. But there's always a chance for failure, especially when you act quickly and take risks. There's reason to fear. Yet to still try, and to share this kind of stuff online is to me an example of art-courage. 

I applaud them. But all this does make it really difficult for me to study these artists. Cause although I can try to replicate what I see on the page, it takes that sense of courage to make an accurate study. It also begs the question of if you can analytically study and reproduce something that's intuitive and spontaneous... but I want to learn, so I guess I'm going to try. I almost laugh at myself as I slowly and carefully try to recreate a stroke that I knew took half a second to paint by the original artist. Maybe I'm doing it wrong? And trying to incorporate the principles and recklessness of these artists in my own work isn't just hard, it's kinda scary. But I think it's still worthwhile. 

Over the past few months I've been doing the Character Design Challenge, as you probably know. And although I didn't set out to do it this way, each challenge piece has been a pretty significant experiment into a new style or technique I wanted to try out. I've been testing a lot of things for the first time while making these pieces. I've been creating new Procreate brushes. Establishing whole new workflows. And I have been so surprised by the results of these pieces. Each one, regardless of its objective artistic merit, has felt like a big step forward my artistic process. Perhaps I've been showing more art courage. Or maybe it's just the result of careful study. It's probably both. However, yesterday I forgot all this and had a faceplant when trying to make a little piece inspired by Stacy's art. 

I wanted to do a little portrait about my new haircut, using a lion character since I don't particularly like drawing my face and I've been re-reading Blacksad's Amarillo recently. I wanted to see if I could take at least a little bit of that Stacy style and flair. But when I finished my first attempt, I couldn't help but be unimpressed. It seemed like something I'd made before. I'm only showing it here to make a point - I don't like this piece. Although this piece is using the right brushes and superficially has the same techniques as Stacy's piece above, it has lost a lot of the charm.

But after finishing it, I realized that it was probably more important to capture the sense of courage and life that's in Stacy's art, not the exact line patterns. I put on fast music, and tried to draw all the linework over the course of one song, and finish the piece after two or three. I used the lasso tool to border in the colors and was off to the races. Although I restart a few times (old habit), one sprint eventually finished here:

A marked improvement. A courageous attempt, I daresay. The shapes could be a little better. But I still really like this piece. 

. . .

Art-fear is something I've struggled with for a while and this struggle will likely continue - part of me thinks it's just in my personality. One of my friends once described my art style as "tightly controlled looseness" which coincidentally (or not) is pretty much how I live my life. While I think there's still totally a place for tightly controlled art (and I will likely continue making it) maybe I'll work up to the confidence where I can also be a paint slingin' cowboy someday. That could be cool. 

If you're also working though some art-fear I can't help but recommend Nick Kole's post on the subject. If anything, this post is hopefully a chapter 2 to the great things he started talking about back in 2013. 

Hope this has helped you, and maybe this look into my head has assured you that you aren't alone in feeling this kind of way! Making good art is hard (and that's an understatement).

May you continue to weather these times with grace, courage, and creativity!

-dh



P.S.
A quote that I really wanted to stick in here but couldn't find the place is from Peterson's Adorning the Dark where he says "intention trumps execution." This was a real breakthrough for me to hear, and perhaps a proverbial reason why messy and unfinished art can still look good and inspire me to such a high degree. It also gives me confidence to go out and make my thesis film!

P.S. (Level 2)
Music Rec. for the week: I've just been LOVING Sammy Rae's The Good Life and have been listening to it repeatedly since the beginning of this whole quarantine business. I'm pretty sure it's going to be my Spotify album of the year. Aside from it just being an amazing EP, I can't really explain exactly why I like it so much except for that it has a kinda vintage sound that complements the rest of my music taste. And the chorus of "The Feeling" is about as close to euphoria as you can get in a song. If you don't believe me, try listening to it while running on a sunny day, or driving if you really don't like running. 

P.S. (Level 3 TOP SECRET)
What was with all the sports metaphors in this post? Has quarantine awakened my long dormant, if not extinct, interest in sport?