Time and time again we hear the phrase: You need to practice. The words take me back to my time at school. Primarily due to its reiteration in every subject. Our teachers stress the word 'practice' in this sentence and allow a short pause to follow. The word rings in the air and waits impatiently to be received by our ears. While I would like to tell you that I implemented this saying heavily for all subjects, both you and I know that this is simply untrue. I began to notice how the calling for practice is effortlessly focused by my cup-shaped ears when the task is aligned with what I enjoy. Art was and is undoubtedly one of them.
My recent revisit to my year 7 sketchbook confronted me with the power belonging to the word 'practice' and my teachers' need to attach weight to it.
If you laughed at the image above, I do not blame you. I had a pretty good laugh at it too. The photograph, the pencil outline peering through the colours and harsh pencil marks made me shake my head. While it was easy for me to identify how I can improve the drawing, the longer I sat with this page in front of me different thoughts occurred. I started to remember how overwhelmed I felt by the transition from a year group of 20 at my primary school to around 180 at my secondary school. I pondered on how my artwork would be any different and became overly concerned about it being graded for the first time. It was only later when I recognised how the verbal and written feedback was continually allowing my artwork to improve. By connecting with these feelings, my critical self began to hide and I gave myself credit for what I had produced.
As I turned over to the next page, feelings of surprise, disgust and laughter hurried through me again. I could not tell if it was the wonky letter or the terrible use of Tipp-Ex or the pencil outlines that triggered these feelings. The horrific yet bold use of felt tips only encouraged my chuckle to deepen.
My first art assessment was to draw my shoe! The unharmonious lines within the drawing communicate how hesitant this task made me feel. The jagged marks and lack of variation in tone instantly tell me that I did not spend enough time looking at the subject and plan. Today, I can see that planning involves using basic shapes to represent the subject before developing details. Despite the assessment being an hour-long, 5 to 10 minutes of planning would have helped me observe areas of light and dark tones. Although I can sense my critical self emerging, I am aware that these thoughts are a product of lessons learnt from previous drawings.
With each drawing in my sketchbook bringing me to laugh, I continued to sift each page and paused at a set of 12 patterns. While I do not remember the purpose of the task and much of the improvements I notice today are similar to lettering above, there is one detail that I could not unsee.
The bold marks and distinct colours distract how I had replaced three patterns. At first, I had the urge to scrape the paper on top and reveal the hidden designs. However, the spur passed as I recognised how this was a sign. A sign of wanting to do my best. A sign of dissatisfaction with my own work, which is something I still find myself in the midst of from time to time. I decided to allow the three designs to be unexplored and retain the signs I see held within my sketchbook.
The painting above is an artist copy of 'Bowl of Fruit' by Roy Lichtenstein. As a year 7 student, we were instructed to use powder paint and limited to the colours we were provided. Red, blue, yellow and white. With no more than these colours at hand, I learnt how to mix a range of colours and gathered an improved appreciation for how colours can be made darker or lighter. While I can acknowledge the challenging process and my impressive copy today, I recall complaining to my Amma about how it differed from Lichtenstein's work and allowing my eyes to fill with water.
Ridiculous, right?
As I read through the evaluation sitting beside my artist copy, I noted two points. One includes my misconception of evaluation being focused wholly on what I did wrong and how I can improve. Two, there is strength in confidently stating my skills and identifying what went well in a piece. These matters are very much a skill I have and will be consciously practising.
I hope the artwork I have shared has allowed you to chuckle in the same way it allowed me to. The process of running through my old artwork has left me feeling excited and hopeful about how my artwork can grow in the next 10 years with consistent practice and by soaking in feedback.
Comments