Making it Look Easy

8/6/20 Maple Leaf neighborhood

8/6/20 CenturyLink worker in the rain

After sharing a few small sketches I had made while out on my neighborhood walks, a friend on social media commented that “simple is so hard to do . . . . you make it look easy.”

It was one of the most appreciated compliments I had ever received about my sketches, and it was because it was related to one of the qualities I most admire in the work of others and that I aspire to: The appearance of “easy.”

I have talked occasionally about the concept of “looseness” and my belief that it takes a long time to grow into looseness. Liz Steel recently discussed the concept on her blog. Admiring Liz’s naturally loose style, her students often ask how they can become looser. She has thoughts about her own interpretation of looseness, but through discussions with her students, she has discovered that the concept can be defined in many ways.

8/3/20 willow tree, Maple Leaf neighborhood

All of this got me thinking again about what “looseness” means to me. I think looseness is the appearance of not requiring much effort – because all the effort has come in the years of work that preceded it. Even now, after nearly nine years of practice, almost nothing I draw feels effortless, but I want to make it look that way.

Mt. Rainier Commission

8/15/20 Mt. Rainier, 8" x 10," watercolor pencil on paper (mostly from photo)

Several weeks ago, a friend commissioned a drawing of Mt. Rainier. At the time, I had just made the sketch of Her Majesty from Maple Leaf Park, so I thought it would be an easy matter to return and do another. It turned out that the day I had sketched it was the last truly clear sky for seeing Rainier easily. Well over a hundred miles away, she’s partially visible from our bedroom window, so I would check each morning, and though she might be visible on the horizon, a low haze would keep the shadows indistinct. By mid-August, I was concerned that fall’s morning marine layer would soon be upon us, and I might not have another good opportunity to sketch Rainier from the park.

One morning, I decided the mountain was visible enough, so I headed out to the park early. Even as I began sketching, I could see the sky getting hazier. After drawing the contour and blocking in a few landmarks, I took it home and finished from a photo I had taken the day I had made the first sketch.

I knew it didn’t matter to my friend whether I had done it on location, from a photo or even from memory. But it mattered to me – I really wanted to do it “live.” It didn’t feel nearly as special or memorable to me to draw from the photo. I admit that the finished piece might be “better” in some ways because I was able to take my time, comfortably seated at my desk easel, instead of standing on a ledge at the park where the view is best. But urban sketching has spoiled me: Drawing from a photo will never be as satisfying, meaningful or “life-ful” as being on location.

My Right Hand is Growing on Me

About a month into my non-dominant hand drawing practice, my sketches probably don’t look vastly different, but my right hand feels very different. Now when I pick up the drawing instrument with my right hand, it no longer feels like I’m trying to manipulate it with a mitten on. My left hand doesn’t have the urge to grab the pencil away. I can’t say it feels “natural” to draw with my right hand, but it’s no longer frustratingly slow, either. My right is still not as strong as the left, but it probably takes a long time to build strength.

At the bottom of the post, I’ve included my latest writing sample and the one from a couple of weeks prior. This time, I can definitely see improvement. I’m not practicing my writing at all – I’m just taking a sample once a week, so any changes in my writing are a direct result of the drawing practice.

8/6/21 writing sample

8/21/20 writing sample

Saturday Morning

8/15/20 Maple Leaf neighborhood

Early Saturday morning in this alley has a special kind of quiet: Some sleep in after a long work week; chores and errands haven’t yet begun. Open summer windows reveal the soft clinking of breakfast starting. In the distance, someone opens and closes a trash can lid.

Technical note: Following the advice of nearly everyone I’ve ever learned from, I started with a thumbnail. I liked its composition, but when I mentally fixed a perspective problem, I decided I liked a square better.  

Twin Houses

8/14/20 new houses in Maple Leaf

Toward the end of June, I made a couple of quick sketches of some new houses going up in the ‘hood. Huge compared to most houses in Maple Leaf, they’re also extremely close together. I’ve been wanting to sketch more of their progress, but the street and sidewalk in front of them are narrow, so I haven’t felt comfortable taking too much time there.

I recently discovered that a short alley runs behind the properties, giving me an undisturbed view from the back. The two houses are identical, so I didn’t bother finishing the second one.

One More Volvo

8/13/20 old Volvo, Maple Leaf neighborhood

Here’s the third and last (that I know of) Volvo in the collection on First Avenue Northeast. This one is usually parked behind the first one I sketched, so it was difficult to see its front. One morning, the other car had moved, making this one fully visible, so I jumped at the opportunity. It needs more work than the others – it’s missing a grill, license plates and probably other parts, and the hood doesn’t close completely. But someone obviously sees its potential.

A few days later, all three Volvos were together, so I couldn't resist snapping a family photo!

A Place to "Waste"

Some of the "working" sketchbooks that live on my desk.

When I hear the term “sketchbook,” I most often think of the kind of sketchbook that I keep – the 100-plus handbound and store-bought books I’ve filled with sketches made on location during the past nine years. For the most part, the contents of these books are the finished product; they are not rough ideas or thumbnails for future “finished” works. But I was recently reminded of the more traditional use of the sketchbook on the website of Australian painter John Lovett.

In an article about artists’ sketchbooks, journals and diaries, he talked about the importance of keeping up a regular practice of sketching and notetaking as a way to record and generate ideas. While many pages in his sketchbooks look like mine – street scenes, travel sketches, thumbnails and value studies – he also showed pages of media experiments, studies and notations that he uses as reference.

Seeing those pages made me think it would be fun to share some of mine. In addition to those 100-plus sketchbooks you’ve seen, a page at a time, on this blog, I also have another couple dozen sketchbooks that I keep at my desk. About half of those pages are filled with still lives (like all those primary triad apples and product review test sketches) and other studies I make in the studio. The other half are experiments, scribbles, notations, color swatches and who knows what else. They are not the kinds of things I would typically share unless they are related to a review. These reference pages bristle with Post-its that I use as tabs.

I refer to these books frequently. To an art material junkie like I am, they are also just fun to thumb through.

Like the ones I take out on the street, my “working” sketchbooks are also Stillman & Birn sketchbooks. When I’ve mentioned this, some have asked me why I would “waste” good, relatively expensive sketchbooks like S&B if all I am doing is making swatches and scribbles. My answer is that I always use the same papers to test media as I would use to make “real” sketches; if I don’t, I’m only testing halfway. How media interact with the specific paper used is probably the single most important reason to test them. These good, relatively expensive sketchbooks aren’t wasted if I learn from them. That’s the whole point of a sketchbook.