Seeing the smaller picture.
written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post
Standing in front of a vast and beautiful mountain scene makes it seem obvious: if you're there with your sketchbook you draw the mountains. Sometimes, though, in being drawn to what every other artist is drawn to, you miss out on something much better for your art. You miss out on the smaller picture.
A few days ago, I sat at the edge of a slough near my house, grass scratching my legs as I found a comfortable (albeit dangerous, as I was on the edge of a road) spot. The sun was going down, and the surface of the water was a glorious purple and orange reflection of an equally deserving sky.
It seemed obvious. I should use my time and materials to capture the grandeur of the sunset in my sketchbook.
Feeling a bit overwhelmed at where to start, but planning to take this obvious path, I glanced down at the edge of where the road met the deep slough water. I noticed, for the first time, the unusual rocks, one rock in particular, and how the severe shadows and highlights from the setting sun made them seem like a small mountainscape in their own right. I immediately changed my course, forgot about the beautiful sunset, and focused on a rock instead.
The rock was challenging for me. The small scale, the need to actually observe and draw what I saw instead of fudging my way through difficult portions, a fault I readily admit to when I draw grand, large scale images that emcompass a wide area of scenery, made this sketch a true test of skills for me.
I flipped to a new page in my sketchbook once I was satisfied with the rock sketch. I was interested in finding a similar, small focus instead of the sunset which was rapidly disappearing.
To my left was a section of cattails in various states of fall decay, some cut from the road mower and others quite tall. Putting away my pencils, I reached for my Prang school watercolor set (a favorite set of mine, I might add) and set about capturing the cattails in the fast fading light.
There were complex greens mixed with browns and sharp oranges, all twisted by the light of the sun. There was water and mud and haze to deal with, and the growing evening darkness made it imperative to work quickly yet accurately. Minimal brush work and no-fuss color was the rule of the day.
And then I was finished.
When you find yourself out on site, drawing or painting, don't let yourself always be drawn to the great sweeping landscape. Just as all writers don't have to write the Great American Novel all the time, artists shouldn't try to be their own version of Thomas Moran. Don't out on the smaller picture, the smaller story, right at your feet. The rocks are small mountains, the grass a complex play of color and pattern. The smaller stories are as important as the big ones.
::Haven't signed up for my newsletter yet? Members received additional thoughts from this post. Be sure to sign up because you don't want to miss out!::
Labels: art
Copyright (c) Julie R. Neidlinger 10/12/2005 01:21:00 PM
SHARE THIS POST: Facebook | Stumble It! | Del.icio.us | DiggIt! | Technorati | Blinklist | Furl | reddit | Newsvine
Like this post? Subscribe to the feed.
Click here to help support this site.
1 Comments:
Excellent point, and just as valid for photographers as for the other visual artists.
Sometimes it's the "small picture" that really tells the big story of what you saw.
By 
, at
October 16, 2005 9:07 PM
