My Life in Art: Mel’s Week in Art Class

When I was around seven or eight, I had this babysitter (whose name I’ve longed forgotten) who took care of us one day when I had a friend over (I’ve sadly forgotten her name, too. We’ll call her “Susanna).” Susanna and I were drawing pictures, having a wonderful time of just being little kids creating when the babysitter said to her, “Susanna, you’re drawing is a work of art.”

I waited for him to compliment me on my pretty drawing. When he didn’t, I asked him. He said, “Yours is good, but you’re not an artist like Susanna is.”

Yes, I know. Shitty babysitter.

One of my favourite teen memories is sitting on the floor of my bedroom listening to OMD’s Greatest Hits painting a series of shapes that all Grade 9s were required to paint to show an understanding of palette and colour. Mine was a series of weird triangles in grey blue and black. I have no idea what happened to it, but I remember just being present, in the flow.

The following year, we did these clay carvings and I somehow screwed up the mold. The teacher banged it against the desk and yelled, “What a waste! So expensive!” I felt terrible, but ended up creating some Egyptian art inspired thing, which I think is still hanging in the corner of my parent’s bedroom. Mostly because I didn’t anyone to see it.

That same year we were learning to draw and paint from a grid, usually we were allowed to choose anyone we liked, musicians or actors. I chose Sting … because I was obsessed with him. It was probably something like this one with the long hair, all  brooding and sexy.

Let’s just say, I thought it was a disaster. He didn’t look like I wanted and certainly not like any of the other artists in the room. I had it graded and then subsequently tossed it into the garbage.

I stopped taking art. I was never going to be like the other people in my class.

I continued to paint now and then, though. One year, I created a mural for my bedroom inspired by the idea of peace and human rights, using Hebrew Gematria to connect  to the idea of hope and the divine feminine. The dove and candles, inspired by Amnesty International.

 

Unfortunately, I spilled green paint on the blue rug (yes, I know I should have used a drop sheet) and my mother (completely understandably) was pissed. She forbade me to paint in my room.

But, over the years I would go into art stores, longingly look at the supplies and then  buy markers and pencils and sometimes write in sketchbooks.

Something happened while living in Montreal. I lived near two arts stores, so I frequented them regularly, buying clay and paint and markers, playing around with things. At one point, I created a collage to help me understand what was happening with my master’s thesis on Joan of Arc. It became a series of three and it hang in the hallway in my house in Toronto for over a decade. There’s no real place for it in the new place, but I still kind of like them. Putting the images together, using pencil crayons and markers, helped me get in touch with the intuitive knowing that I couldn’t quite get to intellectually. I have no idea what my professors would have thought about this way into writing a master’s thesis, but there it is.

 

With MAUD, I went over to my incredible artist friend, Caroline Nevin‘s house where we spent the afternoon working and creating. I got into character by crafting the cover of an art book with paper. I wrote about it here (where I also mention more about the piece above…who knew!)

While I never considered myself an artist, a painter–or anything remotely talented enough– as a writer I can create characters who are. I might not be the world’s best piano player or composer, but in one of my books the protagonist is a musical genius.

And, I might not be an artist, but in my latest WIP,  the protagonist is a brilliant one,  who draws something that becomes essential to the book’s themes and story arc. The way I envision it is her art becoming part of the book, creating its own narrative.  I knew that I couldn’t completely understand my character, her language, or the story she creates with her art until I  understood the medium just a bit more.

I’ll take an art class…I thought. I sat on this idea for months.

I was terrified. I figured I couldn’t draw, not really. There are people who have the natural affinity for it–like my old friend Susanna–but not me. I liked drawing, but I’m no artist.  And then I realized that wasn’t the point of this exercise. I didn’t have to be “good.” I just had to go,  learn and discover. Be new at something…And be okay if I stunk.

So, I signed up for a one-week Beginner Drawing course at the Avenue Road Art School. I decided I could do a week because it was short enough that I would get a taste of it, and long enough to actually learn a few skills. It seemed to have a good reputation and it was in the right price range. Plus, if I hated it, it was only five days.

Our teacher was Martha Johnson, a painter and artist who had a way of getting us away from the critical mind into the creative flow. She spoke my language. The first day was already informative. I’m so used to being in a room with other writers,  that being in a room with six other artists, showed me the different paths they took to be there. Graphic artists, art students, teachers and people who were looking for a way to deepen their creativity, I could see that as humans we continue to search in our creative pursuits and all we have to do was get out of own way.

What’s more, is that the environment Martha created fostered one of compassion and creativity. Everyone was kind to one another, being grateful for compliments and supportive of whatever happened on the canvas–or in this case newsprint or sketch pad. And this helped me feel that it would be okay if I was terrible.

There is always an energy that happens in a workshop. If you’re lucky, profound things happen. I am grateful to have that experience with these artists, who were encouraging, and curious about why I was there, even supported my writing by buying MAUD…sold three copies! Abundance!

I started the week with no expectations. I figured I knew nothing about art and the stakes were pretty low. Unlike writing–which is my job–art was research, a new way of understanding my new WIP. It wasn’t really about me at all…

There’s a lot that happened this week. Treating it like a creative workshop and open learning experience, I observed my process, writing daily in my journal  my different reactions to the exercises, learning to become a student again.

By the first day, we learned something about value of light, seeing shade–things that I had often put into words, but had new ways of seeing it.  We free drew from a number of items Martha had set up. The most exciting thing was getting charcoal on my fingers. Part of me felt like I was in any Jane Austen movie, or Jo March from Little Women, getting ink on my fingers from being so involved in the creation process. (I know, it is an art class, but my references are literary ).

As we built on the different techniques, I learned more about what I was capable of doing, and seeing the difference between a charcoal pencil and a willow stick against the page (I didn’t even know what a willow stick was two weeks ago!).  Hating how the hard pencils ripped the page, and that using a blade to sharpen the pencil is better for smoother lines. I also loved the idea of using the eraser as a tool to draw, rather than just something to erase ones mistakes–although part of me during the week wanted to delete things. Many, many things.

The second day, I posted one of the pieces I drew of David’s head upside down, with a duck on top. I got pretty excited about drawing his hair (maybe it is from my days of painting Sting’s hair?) and I got braver, focusing on shading and where the light was coming from. So, I did the bravest thing I thought I could do and posted about my process. Here are the things that happened in Facebook posts.  These are rough and most probably terrible, but Martha was always good at pointing out what we did well.  As well, my friends online were awesome–particularly those who knew what they were talking about, like author/illustrator Aino Anto.

Each step was a different challenge for me. I really had no idea what I was doing most of the time. sometimes I laughed it off–something I notice I try to do to avoid my bruised ego–sometimes I got real mad.

This was a huge moment for me because I was also at a point in my “Ten-year book” where I wondered what the point was and if I should toss it. I was so mad at the teacher for making me stick with it, but even while I was mad, I knew I wasn’t really mad at her, I was just frustrated for not being perfect. She was doing her job in pushing me further, I just had to be the student, suck it up and figure it out.

This was the result:

 

So, not perfect. Even now I can see where I might want to change it…but I did let go of certain preconceived notions of how I believed it should be and that somehow helped.  I made particular decisions on how I might use and show light. I used the techniques I was learning.

That last day was…well…all new. The whole week was, but in a cliche straight out of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, I was like Lena, drawing a naked person for the first time (I think it was that one, it might have been one of the later ones, but you get my point). I was living a YA novel.  And was so nervous about drawing a live person or even what went into drawing a live person, but this was the thing–I just had to do it.

The model is Paris Black, who is often used by teachers around Toronto, and he’s a musician! I did not have a chance to talk to him about that, but what I liked about him was not only his professionalism, but his total involvement in our creative discussions. He was also very encouraging to the artists in the room.

Whatever happened to me on Friday morning was all me. I hit a creative wall and I think had I had more time another week I might have figured it out. So, for those of you who don’t know (and I didn’t), when you draw from a live person the first thing we did is he posed for one minute while you quickly draw a few lines to get the outline. This is kind of amazing, because you have no time to THINK, just draw. This means that at some point, your hand takes over and you are just drawing things. By the last piece, I was kind of happy with what I had. (No, not posting it here because I do get young people and trying to be respectful of that.) But, I showed it to my artist friend and she said it reminded her of the Blue Nude by Picasso. I have complicated feelings about Picasso, but it was nice to know that it was recognizable as a body.

The last exercise, though. Hard. This is what I wrote on Facebook:

The whole shading of the negative space? Couldn’t get it. It means shading around the person to create the whole. I loved the idea, saw it in concept and theory, but could not for the life of me get it to work. The piece was TERRIBLE. Truly awful.

At one point Martha asked me what the negative space might be in a manuscript and I couldn’t quite see it. I said “show vs. tell,” but that wasn’t it. But, it was embarrassing to share this final piece with the group (who all got the concept btw!) Honestly, I had folded the whole thing up and started over…It was just a cycle of bad covering up. In the end I showed them the bad piece and Martha said nice things because she’s an awesome teacher, but it was frustrating and I found myself stuck. I couldn’t see what I was trying to create.  And sometimes that happens.

I figured showing those students the shitty first draft of a piece of art, might be a lot like showing your editor or writing group and early draft of a piece of writing. It isn’t quite there yet (or maybe not even close), but the feedback is always helpful. (Side note: This is currently happening with the WIP with the artist protagonist, as this is the novel I’m workshopping at Highlights next month.) So, coincidence? I think not…

Leaving class that afternoon, I pondered Martha’s question: How was this similar to the negative space in a manuscript?

Upon reflection, this is what I’ve concluded: Everything that happens outside the manuscript! The questions you ask about your character’s motivations, determining what the catalyst is before the novel even begins, and all of the stories you don’t put in about your world, but you need to know to make your story sing.  And, one rarely knows these things right away. The body is the manuscript.

It might also be the revising process, everything that goes into the manuscript before it is done.

And here’s the thing,  to understand who I’m writing about the story she is telling, I will have to sketch it. Not for publication–I trust the publisher who believes in this book to find a suitable artist/illustrator–but as part of the creative process.

The other thing this has done is rejuvenated my writing in ways I’m only beginning to understand. This week, I’ve been doing another pass of revision on the “Ten Year Book,” focusing on dialogue. Yesterday, I deleted 2000 words. (I’m aiming for another 3000.)  For me, the art of revision is finding where the story is. I discuss in Heather Demetrios’s blog series on revision.  I use colourful pens and cross things out, arrows pointing in all direction. Maybe, it is an art form in the making? Who knows…

Perhaps by taking this class, it helped me tap into the inner artist I always had–the one that seven-year-old Mel was happy being.

 

Maybe…I’ll do a painting class next…