My name is Simon ...
... I like to do drawrings.
Idle hands do the devil's work, my hands tend to the production of revolutionary art.
Over the past two nights, I've discovered a passion for sketching and drawing. More accurately, I've taken to making manual reproductions of black-and-white profiles of great Communists. Last night it was Lenin, tonight I began a larger-than-life profile of Che.
Oh, but the best part: My chosen canvas for these endeavors? The walls of our library/map room/study. A nice fringe benefit of living in a building slated for a spring demolition is being able to have complete and total free reign over the place. As in, we had no security deposit because any damage we do the flat will merely be wiped clean by the wrecking ball. Though, with any luck, we'll get to smash some windows and punch gaping holes in a few walls on our way out.
Another rewarding aspect of my art projects is that I've exhibited a newfound talent for this sort of thing. No, my works aren't original representations by any stretch of the imagination. Nor do I demonstrate any especial mastery of drawing technique or that sort of thing. But I am gaining some skills and confidence in my abilities, which could well be put to use eventually should I ever decide to go for something more original than Sharpie works of revolutionary kitsch. And that's worthwhile in and of itself.
Granted, I have no aspirations or pretensions of producing great art. But, I think I might be able to unleash some yet-untapped creative energies and ideas better through this medium rather than by writing. Alas, I don't think I have quite what it takes to be a great novelist (and poetry has never especially captivated me, though the odd verse will grab me), particularly with the whole plot development and symbolism bits. It just seems rather complicated, and while I may yet take a stab at it, I think ultimately it will be merely for my own edification and merriment. Kind of like my art.
That seems to be the true beauty of it: I genuinely am pleased with my output. Simply tackling such an undertaking is inherently gratifying, and the fact that it actually turns out better than my expectations is pure frosting. And, as I mentioned, I am developing uncharacteristic confidence in my artistic abilities. Last night's Lenin sketch was a regular baptism by fire. I was fairly careful in trying to accurately capture the detail and maintain a sense of proper proportion, at least while freehanding the whole profile. But despite my anxiety and ever-present fears it would turn out a spectacular failure, it actually ended up looking pretty damn cool, if I do say so myself. While it didn't take the form I originally envisioned, namely a faithful reproduction of the original image, it had its own artistic merits(!).
Tonight, as I launched into my enormous work of homage to Che, I again had worries it would end up a grotesque distortion of a legendary image. But, looking over my shoulder, I could reassure myself that the final product would be much better, and that proved true. OK, so perhaps it's not a finished product. At least, I've reached a stage where I'm not certain how to proceed. I'll probably spend some time studying it and running through possible next steps in my head before making an artistic(!) decision.
Idle hands do the devil's work, my hands tend to the production of revolutionary art.
Over the past two nights, I've discovered a passion for sketching and drawing. More accurately, I've taken to making manual reproductions of black-and-white profiles of great Communists. Last night it was Lenin, tonight I began a larger-than-life profile of Che.
Oh, but the best part: My chosen canvas for these endeavors? The walls of our library/map room/study. A nice fringe benefit of living in a building slated for a spring demolition is being able to have complete and total free reign over the place. As in, we had no security deposit because any damage we do the flat will merely be wiped clean by the wrecking ball. Though, with any luck, we'll get to smash some windows and punch gaping holes in a few walls on our way out.
Another rewarding aspect of my art projects is that I've exhibited a newfound talent for this sort of thing. No, my works aren't original representations by any stretch of the imagination. Nor do I demonstrate any especial mastery of drawing technique or that sort of thing. But I am gaining some skills and confidence in my abilities, which could well be put to use eventually should I ever decide to go for something more original than Sharpie works of revolutionary kitsch. And that's worthwhile in and of itself.
Granted, I have no aspirations or pretensions of producing great art. But, I think I might be able to unleash some yet-untapped creative energies and ideas better through this medium rather than by writing. Alas, I don't think I have quite what it takes to be a great novelist (and poetry has never especially captivated me, though the odd verse will grab me), particularly with the whole plot development and symbolism bits. It just seems rather complicated, and while I may yet take a stab at it, I think ultimately it will be merely for my own edification and merriment. Kind of like my art.
That seems to be the true beauty of it: I genuinely am pleased with my output. Simply tackling such an undertaking is inherently gratifying, and the fact that it actually turns out better than my expectations is pure frosting. And, as I mentioned, I am developing uncharacteristic confidence in my artistic abilities. Last night's Lenin sketch was a regular baptism by fire. I was fairly careful in trying to accurately capture the detail and maintain a sense of proper proportion, at least while freehanding the whole profile. But despite my anxiety and ever-present fears it would turn out a spectacular failure, it actually ended up looking pretty damn cool, if I do say so myself. While it didn't take the form I originally envisioned, namely a faithful reproduction of the original image, it had its own artistic merits(!).
Tonight, as I launched into my enormous work of homage to Che, I again had worries it would end up a grotesque distortion of a legendary image. But, looking over my shoulder, I could reassure myself that the final product would be much better, and that proved true. OK, so perhaps it's not a finished product. At least, I've reached a stage where I'm not certain how to proceed. I'll probably spend some time studying it and running through possible next steps in my head before making an artistic(!) decision.
posted by Alexander Dubcek | 21:29
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