So I closed my eyes and drew squiggle lines all over two pages in my journal thinking, “Today, I go big.” That was three days ago, and the doodle is only half done. The left page is buck-naked save for the original squiggles…feels like it wants to be a wing or something.
Historically, I don’t self-identify as an artist. Give me numbers to crunch, and I’m your girl.
Fiction? Tough going, but in my wheelhouse.
Visual arts…not so much.
In my 20’s, I tried to improve a deficiency and read The Natural Way to Draw, by Nicolaides. While the book (which I highly recommend, btw) freed me from my need to judge progress, and I improve visual perception, and learned enough technique to copy to a reasonable degree, I never developed the ability to “see” images that weren’t right in front of me…i.e. I can copy, but not create.
Give me a photo…and I’m not that bad:
Proficiency in reproduction is not the same as the ability to execute a creative vision. When I write, for example, I draw inspiration from outside sources, but the finished product is not a reproduction. It feels authentically mine.
Doodle drawing is the closest I come to originality in drawing. There is no creative envisioning involved, yet it’s not a copy either. It’s a “let’s see where the moment takes me.”
Except, at the moment, I’m stalled along the side of a dirt road waiting for a spark of inspiration.
I’ll post an update when the situation changes.