Drawing Towards Transcendence

As I sorted through my old art supplies, I recognized my favorite pencils and held them, once again. The feeling was familiar and filled with promise. I examined my old sketchbooks, opened one, and started marking marks on paper. Cautious at first, reticent, facing the blank page, I feared the possibility of making a trainwreck of a drawing. I proceeded slowly, gradually regaining confidence and then surprisingly experiencing emerging joy.

Several months ago, my wife suggested that I might enjoy a return to watercolors. I found her suggestion curious since I had not painted in many years. Having finished a prior project, writing an illustrated memoir of the mountain adventures of my youth, I was now free to try something new. Perhaps she sensed that I would benefit from a new project that would focus my now untasked mind. After some consideration, I agreed that her suggestion had merit.

Soon, old art supplies were exhumed from closets and cardboard boxes and assembled before me. Where to start? I had no idea about the subject matter and was quietly concerned that I might experience a void. When in doubt it sometimes makes sense to start moving forward and see what happens. That had worked for me in the past. So, I began by assembling paints, drawing a grid, and painting color charts on an expansive sheet of watercolor paper. As I wielded a wet brush with paint over the textured paper I once again felt like a child.

The physical sensation of moving water and pigment on paper is so amazingly tactile that I knew I wanted to keep going. Beyond the color charts, I chose mountain scenes from prior hikes and climbs. So much for my concern about the subject matter. As I examined the mountain adventures of my past, I realized that I had found a deep well, which was reassuring. Diving in, brush in hand, it was soon evident that boldly splashing color on paper would not satisfy my creative desires. To more fully explore the medium and convey my chosen artistic vision, I needed to improve my artistry through drawing.

I recalled reading that Vincent Van Gogh spent an entire year practicing and mastering drawing before he proceeded with painting. He made that conscious decision because he felt the quality of his paintings would depend on those drawing skills. Even intuitively, I knew he was right. But, unlike Van Gogh, I never considered spending a year devoted only to draw. Perhaps I could do both, jumping back and forth between watercolor, pencil, and ink.

Yes, the pencil could be a most valuable tool. And to effectively use it, my first quest would be to see subjects more deeply again. The art of seeing would be the backbone of any artistic practice. My seeing needed to become sharp and finely honed. And in concert with seeing, to utilize drawing to more accurately render subjects, compellingly portray a range of values, and create visual drama, all in the service of achieving a more robust foundation for watercolor painting.

My practice with pencil soon evolved, becoming so much more. As I proceeded, I realized that part of my attraction to pencil sketching was its more forgiving nature. While one can stop partway through a watercolor to pause, rest, and assess, there are natural break points. For example, it might not be in one’s best interest to pause and stop partway through a wet-in-wet sky unless an expert at resuming. The humble pencil allows one to stop anywhere, and that’s valuable. Unlike watercolor, most pencil mistakes can be corrected. And your trusty eraser can be an effective drawing tool, useful to remove and change, and even reveal highlights in smudged clouds. Pencils and paper are so accessible, contained, and portable. Why leave home without them?

But a deeper, more profound reason to draw with a pencil was the need to soothe my soul and to merge with that magic world that I could create on paper. A first, I felt compelled to draw a completely literal representation of my chosen subject. It seemed like the right thing to do. But, more often than not, I found it tedious and needlessly frustrating. The rock and structure of granite peaks, a favorite subject, were often confounding in their complexity. And I struggled. Eventually, from my frustration emerged a valuable insight. I realized that I was under no obligation to slave away, trying to accurately convey every detail. Who makes the rules anyway? The pencil police? No! Absolutely not! I’m in charge! Whew.

At that moment, I realized great freedom, the freedom to creatively interpret my subject. Of course, I realized it is not a new concept. Most artists, especially those who instruct, are specific and clear when mentioning this concept, and perhaps a mandate, to freely interpret the subject. The door had opened. And, I found it significantly more impactful to leap from the cognitive recognition of that concept to the actual ‘ah ha’ experience driven by my personal insight at the moment.

Literal or figurative, that would be the question. And to what degree? I suppose a literal rendition would be mandatory for an illustration in a climbing guidebook or such publication. But in a memoir, with ‘look back’ stories told through the haze of recollections, an interpretative approach would certainly be acceptable, even irrefutable. In fact, it would probably be preferable as a means to illustrate the most significant elements retained in one’s selective memories of places and events from the distant past. And beyond the conveyance of memories, and probably more importantly, the figurative expression provides a doorway for the artist to convey what is most meaningful to them, whether from a compelling memory or a current vision. It makes perfect sense in the context of creating powerful and memorable art.

With my newfound freedom to interpret my mountain landscapes comes the ability to shift perspectives, change the depth of field, simplify details, change the direction of sunlight and shadow, create skies with any type of clouds I might imagine, and even, more remarkably, move mountains! I never imagined that I would someday so easily move mountains. But best of all, I’m creating a world to which I more deeply belong. The spiritual nature of the experience is significantly enhanced, and I find myself more at one with my creation. And that is perhaps the greatest gift of all.

All artwork is by the author.