The FEARLESS Artist, or How To Take Risks in Art
I've been getting more and more into the Youtube art scene over the past couple of weeks, which is incidentally why I've been spending less time blogging over here. A lot of my thoughts on art and process are going into my videos, and some of my blog entries might eventually make their way into videos as well-- but for now, the written word is my most coherent medium.
On the subject of YouTube art videos, one of my favorite kinds is a "sketchbook tour," which is exactly what it sounds like. Artists take you through their sketchbooks page by page, offering insights into their thoughts and processes, letting you see their work in its raw state. And although I appreciate the many good ideas these sketchbook tours have given me (taping in scrap sketches, using mixed media, decorating it with stickers, making pockets for keepsakes, etc.) I've noticed that many artists are very concerned with covering up the sketches they don't like. And I don't mean, they refuse to show it in their video. I mean that they'll paste a new piece of paper on top of the part of the art that they don't like, then re-do it on the new piece of paper. OR, they'll cover the unwanted sketch entirely. They're very concerned with the final product-- making sure they get returns from their effort, even if that effort is only their sketchbook. And it's fine to correct your mistakes-- what concerns me more is that many fear making them in the first place.
I've been playing with watercolor a lot this month. Because I paint like I've got nothing to lose, I've had a lot of great results.
I hear a lot of that in the way people talk about their work, too-- traditional media, particularly. "I wish I was better at taking risks," they'll say, or "I didn't do [such and such thing] because I was afraid to ruin it." Art is like improv comedy-- you want to call it quits when you're on a roll so it finishes on a high note, rather than when it takes a disastrous turn. But you can't let that prevent you from taking any risks at all-- and that kind of attitude is what this blog entry's really about.
The fear of failure is something I left by the wayside a long time ago. Do I get frustrated if a piece doesn't turn out the way I planned? Of course I do. But for me, the priority is the process, not the product. Yes, for all that time and effort (and potentially money), I'd like to wind up with something that's worth it. But I can't discount the experience that piece has given me. Because with everything I draw or paint, and especially with every risk I take, I learn something. I grow.
When I started drawing every morning, I set my expectations very low. I knew that 2 hours (maximum) each morning wouldn't be enough time to do anything polished. Many times when I sit down to draw something and I have no idea whether it's within the scope of my skill or my time constraints, I fully expect to crash and burn. And sure, it's disappointing when it does. But sometimes the exact opposite happens-- sometimes that frantic adrenaline rush of an impending deadline mixes with the desperation to pull something decent out of a steaming hot mess-- and from that strange artistic alchemy emerges something spectacular. Oftentimes risks yield my favorite pieces, and what's more, my most educational pieces. Without fail, I always come away from those works feeling as though I've opened up a whole new chapter in the saga of my art, and there's nothing quite so rewarding.
"But this isn't just a sketch," you argue. "I sat down to make a real piece of art and I want a real piece of art."
My mentor in college, Ron Spears, had a lot of sage advice that I've carried with me over the years. But one of the most valuable things he used to say was, "Anything you drew once you can draw again."
Let's repeat that, since I already do at least once a week.
Anything you drew once you can draw again.
Seriously-- that one little piece of advice made it so much easier for me to take risks from that point forward. If you do ruin the piece-- so what? You redraw it, repaint it, whatever. End of story. Waste of time? No, don't tell yourself that. Because it's some of the best time you've ever spent. Not only is the second draft of the piece going to turn out better (because you won't repeat the mistakes of the first draft) you'll have the experience.
Check out this awesome picture of Norman Rockwell in his studio. The guy was a legend when it came to painting faces. Look at those rows and rows of studies in the background-- all of them are for that same one face in his final painting. He practiced painting it 16 or 17 times (as far as I can tell) before painting it into the final illustration.
It's not fun to redo a big project, believe me. But I've done it. I did it recently with my Lindsey Stirling drawing. I did a 3 hour portrait of Lindsey that I loved-- and subsequently closed without saving. Just like that-- because of a misplaced mouse click-- it was gone. And I was so frustrated and I liked it so much, later that night I decided to redraw the whole thing from scratch.
As I would for most projects, really. (6-10 hours is probably my limit before I say RIP to whatever work I lost.) Because it's good for me. It's hard work, and it's tedious, but it also takes a lot of self discipline and patience-- both of which I believe to be some of the most important skills in a career as an artist. If you struggle with either of those things, then forcing yourself to draw the same thing over and over will be especially good for you. If you make the excuse "But I don't want to," that's laziness talking and you know it.
Okay, so how about-- "I got this far with a fluke / accident / chance and I'll never be able to recreate it."
Don't rely on flukes for your art. Or, if you do-- say you really like using spatters or splashes or drips in your work, which rely wholly on chance-- get so good at your "flukes" that if you do ten of them, nine will turn out well in spite of the risk. Don't focus on what you've done well in the past, but instead, devote your energy to what you'll do even better in the future. Be aware of your strengths and make the foundation to build up your weaknesses.
Below: new sketches since my last blog entry.
