Drawing – Woebegone Art

I miss drawing

PROPEL | 2016 | pen and ink on paper, 6" x 4" — PROPEL |
2016 |
pen and ink on paper, 6″ x 4″

Drawing is one of my most soothing pasttimes. It eases my anxiety to draw line after line and watch the image develop, not unlike those magic 3D posters from the ’90s. Drawing also serves to support my other media, as I practice forms, textures, and levels through my illustrations before I bring them to canvas and clay.

But I’m not drawing these days.

I spend the first half of the day painting and the second half working on dolls, and in between doing all the domestic and family and grooming tasks. I’m not used to being so on deadline with my art, but it’s good: I’m being very productive and I love meeting my goals and thinking more broadly and putting so many resources towards my art.

Still, like a broody tween clucking over a baby-faced crooner, I consider my pens; the exquisite potential of unblemished paper. They call to me.

Maybe after this art show is over I will spend the summer lounging with pen in hand, delightedly developing use callouses and aching fingers, filling sketchbooks with lines and intention. My hands and my back may cramp up but my mind will be unburdened: a totally fair trade.

In celebration of rabbits (and bunnies)

It’s Easter morning as I type this, and I have a busy day of domestic duties ahead. So in lieu of extrapolating some personal data into a post, I offer instead: a visual celebration of rabbits and bunnies.

UNTIL | 2015 | pen and ink art card, 3.5″ x 2.5″

NERVES | 2015 | Oil on canvas

Devil Bunny | 2016 | commissioned doll

SINEATER | 2016 | oil on canvas, 10.5″ x 8.5″

BRIARS | 2015 | 4″ x 4″, pen and ink on paper art tile

2013 | Gallery 114 | Portland, OR

JACKALOPE

MAGICIAN RABBIT

LONG-EARED HARE

RISE | 2013 | 20″ x 24″, oil on canvas

REX RABBIT | 2015

WAS | 2015 | pen and ink art card, 2.5″ x 3.5″

BLOOM | 2015 | pen and ink on paper, 4″ x 4″

WANT | 2000 | oil on canvas, 28″ x 14″

HARBOR | 2016 | oil paint and sculpted flowers on wooden tray, 7″ x 10″ x 3″

Line by line by line

I LET YOU GO | 2016 | 7" X 5" pen and ink on paper — I LET YOU GO |
2016 |
7″ X 5″ pen and ink on paper

I am a naturally nervous person.

Anxiety is my constant bedfellow. I’m not sure what it would feel like to be calm, but in contrast to my default state I might imagine it would feel a little lonely; I can always count on my worries to ride along with me anywhere.

A lifetime ago, I used to smoke to help with my anxiety. I found the ritual of it all very comforting, the hand-to-mouth exercise soothing and gratifying. But, thankfully, I found that crosshatch drawing is much moreso of the virtues from smoking, without any of the dangerous — and offensive — side effects.

UNSAID | 2016 | pen and ink on paper, 9" x 11" — UNSAID |
2016 |
pen and ink on paper, 9″ x 11″

I don’t know how it is for anyone else, but for me, crosshatch drawing is a natural stand-in for zen. You draw one line and then the next, going for straight, hoping for evenly spaced, but knowing that there is no wrong: only an ink foundation upon which an image is formed. One point connects to another, separating background from foreground, changing muted to sharp. And when the picture comes into undeniable focus, it packs more clarity and magic than your future surfacing from the red mist of a magic 8-ball.

There is a delicate balance that must be sought in leaving white space to breathe, in making sure the image doesn’t get inked to death, mired in a swampy morass of black. And I have struggled through a rash of undesired wavy lines, the regrettable pen strike, and tragically: the disturbing smear you can’t take back. Still, the hum and click of line after line of crosshatch drawing does more for my blood pressure than I imagine the best diuretic could do.

Even though my fingers ache at the end of a marathon drawing session, weaving lines is the ultimate in self-treatment for me. And so I’ll keep my hoard of micro pen in full provision, outpacing my anxiety line by line by line.