It was my last week of the first semester of my senior year as an Illustration major at the Pennsylvania College of Art and Design. It was finals week, and between a story board for concept art, a digital portfolio, some illustration studio assignment I don’t care to remember, and a wonderful new girlfriend whom I confess I couldn’t bring myself to stop spending all my time with (hard to get work done in that situation, eh?), I had to complete an assignment that I forgot I had… a film poster for my Avant-garde film history class. That was my favorite class in undergrad. We watched films that I hadn’t been exposed to yet, real films, with thought and meaning. I had only seen this sort of thing before once or twice, although, I suppose David Lynch- a mental powerhouse- should count for more. In the previous nights I had found myself working through the night on the story board from start to finish. Two straight nights of work, no sleep. I finished it, checked it off my “finals” list, and moved on the next one… after a long day of working I found myself alone in my room for the first time in a few weeks. However, I wasn’t so sure of myself at this point, as my girlfriend had been around the past few nights of work, and one of the benefits of dating a fine art major is they don’t seem to mind being woken up in the middle of the night and asked “how’s this look?”. But, she was gone, and I had a whole film poster to make for class the next day. Running on nothing but what I can only assume was an illegal amount of corner store coffee and nothing else (I had forgotten to eat, which wasn’t uncommon in those types of situations), I decided to just start working, even though I didn’t know what I was going to do yet. I thought about which film I’d like to depict, and while I thought about this, I started to draw on the sheet of perfectly white bristol that I had gotten out. I felt tired, dirty, beat-up, dry, dizzy, borderline hysterical, and rather frantic about this upcoming deadline. One of those things where you know you can’t stop it, even though you had just been through 3 other huge deadlines in a row, this one will just keep coming no matter what you do. Can’t slow down or stop time. And then it hit me, I knew what film I wanted to depict. I found a copy on youtube and downloaded it, and set it to repeat (it’s a short film), and I just watched it a few times, then left it running in the background as I worked. The film hits on everything I was feeling at the time (and much more… I always see something new when I watch it.)

Street of Crocodiles (1986) by the Brothers Quay. If you’ve not seen it, you should check it out. It’s wonderfully creepy in the best way possible, without distracting from the moving poetry at all. Fantastic work created by two amazing artists. So, I just watched and listened and this is what came out.

This is the sort of illustration work that I love to do, creating work in the moment, enjoying every part of it. We got to create anything we wanted as long as it involved the film somehow, sort of how Dave McKean (one of my huge influences) gets when he does CD covers. He plays the music really loudly and listens to it, and sees what comes out. Illustration often involves letting other art influence your work to illustrate theirs well. What a wonderful push and pull. It was a crazy, hectic time in my life, and I couldn’t have been happier in that moment. Back to getting things ready for France.

Youtube: Street of Crocodiles – Part 1, Part 2

This past year I’ve really taken a second look at what Bridgman had to offer. His method of teaching and his ideas of how a human figure can be constructed really helped clarify what my larger issues as an artist were and how I could go about fixing them quickly. His conceptual idea of how to build a figure is thinking of the figure as a series of volumes and how they connect. This is an answer to drawing the figure with volume and mass in mind, as well as in three dimensions. Weight and perspective at the same time, which helped to bring a structure into my work that wasn’t there before. His breakdown of the figure also helped push me into more anatomical study, which then can be taken back and seen in his demos to better understand his way of construction.

Bridgman isn’t the only artist a student should look to, his way of working and thinking is very unique and largely his own. You can usually tell who his students were based on how they handle the figure, they seem to only have a half-voice, however- there is no doubt that they understand the human figure on a whole new level artistically than before. This way of thinking is part of academic figure drawing history, and I think it’s rather easy to overlook it or not give it the time it deserves.

The breakdown of form into planes and overall volumes is something every student should think about constantly. What are the overall relations in form that create the larger picture of what I’m looking at? What is the most simplistic version of this subject that I can build on top of? These are questions I had as an early student, but had no idea how to begin to answer them. As it turns out the answers were right in front of me and my artistic mentor and friend, Jeff Geib, was always willing to show me. His sketchbooks and drawings are filled with this level of thought, and the end product, his final drawings, are incredible because of it. Jeff puts the time into each drawing to understand the overall picture and the rhythm of form that the subject is made up of. In the academic tradition, this is the stage of the block in, or shape drawing. Looking at the relationships again and again and seeing how they interact. Everybody does this differently, using straight lines or more organic forms, or a combination of both- anything to assess the relationships in a way that the artist can make sense of, and change constantly. This is the meat of a drawing, or painting, or whatever. And this is also the hardest stage. We always want to push past this, students consider this stage trivial and useless- we want to render that nose, the eyes, etc… and we then wonder why we aren’t as good… It’s because we don’t see as well. We don’t understand the form relationships that create the whole.

A few months back, I was able to visit Jeff’s studio in Pennsylvania, and was treated to one of the hardest exercises I’ve ever attempted as a draughtsman. He handed me a small lump of puddy, or clay, something, and told me we’d all be sculpting this into small skulls. There were four of us there in total, and we’d all sit around a skull, rotate it, and sculpt this small round lump of whatever it was into skulls with just our fingers. That’s right, no tools allowed. These lumps were smaller than ping-pong balls, and even with tools, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been able to sculpt anything that even remotely began to look skull-shaped. But, we all gave it a go. As I went straight for the eye and nose cavities, I noticed that all I was accomplishing was creating something that sort of looks like a crappy, misshapen bowling ball… and that with just a few pokes of his fingers, Jeff was able to obtain something that looked like it could hold a brain inside… And it hit me, he wasn’t poking holes… he was making planes with fingers to give the overall shape and not focusing on the details. It all sort of clicked that day for me, and I began to understand the skull that much more because of it. Here’s some pictures:

The idea wasn’t to create a skull, but to understand the skull in simple terms by finding only what was necessary to depict. Sculptors often make the best draughtsman because they understand perspective, weight, structure, and the planes of the subject. We draw at our best when we draw what we know, and the best way to understand something is to break it down and look at it in it’s most basic form. This is what Bridgman did, and I think I’m starting to get it.

This what one of my amazing models said to me after looking at the drawing I had just completed. It was a pretty spontaneous set up, seeing as I really didn’t have anything in mind besides “draw her portrait”. Nothing else was in my mind as far as a statement, after all, as an artist and a human, I’m still a baby in this world. I was 24 then, and 25 now… what do I really know? I’ve been in school for all of my life. I think a lot, but when it comes to having a concrete thesis statement to shout at the world through visuals… well, I didn’t have it that night, that’s for sure.

Well, maybe that was the case, and maybe not. Given the gift of hindsight, I know my life has been a rocky road of a mess this past year, and everything seemed to have peaked just a few weeks before that drawing session. Looking back, I can see how I couldn’t have had a statement to make, I just wanted everything to calm down, just to relax for a bit. Here are two very different types of drawings, but done under the same frame of mind.

(It’s worth noting that the drawings were insanely difficult to photograph properly, and these images do no justice to the original drawings themselves. The first thing I’m going to do when I make some real money is buy a large format scanner.)

When an artist crafts an artwork, they are expressing internalized information outwardly. When I draw from life, I’m looking at the subject and studying everything about it I can. I spent a great deal of time with both of these women in an effort to understand them, not just their physical features, but who they are. When it comes time to put that information down onto paper in the form of a drawing, each artist will do this differently. The subject doesn’t change or give off different information for every artist in the room (Well, not really, that’s another topic for another time.), all the artists in the room express the subjects information differently based on their skill, understanding of the subject, and who they are in that moment. The key factor there, and what I’m interested in the most right now, is the frame of mind and who that artist is at that exact time they’re drawing. Such is the case with these two drawings of mine. I feel that I have projected myself (how I was feeling, my frame of mind, etc) as much as equally representing the model during that session. It’s said that everything an artist paints, draws, sculpts, or even photographs is a self-portrait of sorts, and I think this is why. Even with nothing to say, I’ve said more about who I was then than I probably would have said to anybody verbally. Personally, I think most of this goes without saying, but I’m very interested in exploring these thoughts. I also think both drawings are good examples of the dialog that takes place between the model and the artist when working from life. Something that most contemporary artists seem to take for grated.

At this time, it is my personal belief that the object created by an artist, that’s been done by working from life, carries a whole new weight than the image created from a photograph. There are wonderful examples of the opposite, but that’s when the image itself is the art. I believe that when an image is made from life it can seem to possess something deeper. This may be going off the deep end philosophically, but it’s not too hard to think that the experience gained not only by the artist, but also the object during the process of creating a work of art can charge the work with some kind of life that an image which is made only in the studio from a photo may not have. The idea is based solely on the value of an object, not unlike the value of a civil war artifact (“This hat was worn into battle” vs “This was drawn in the presence of that model”). A history is formed that the photograph can not give. Again, this is just some thinking I’ve been doing, and it’s not a stance against using a photo to create imagery. Like the model, photography is a tool used by artists to build an image, to gain understanding of the subject. Sometimes all an artist needs is that one moment in time the photograph gives us, others need the minutes, hours, days, and years that the model can give.

I seem to have strayed from my starting point, and I apologize for my clouded writing, but that’s how it goes.

Here’s a Manifesto by Pietro Annigoni, a fantastic artist and inspiration of mine. I don’t agree with all of this, but it’s an interesting read. Especially if you consider the time in the art world in which he wrote it.

Annigoni’s Manifesto of “Modern Painters of Reality”:

(Pittori moderni della realtà) Milan, Italy, November 1947

We, “The Modern Painters of Reality” are gathered in a brotherly group to show our works to the public.

The favor and understanding with which the public has accompanied and supported our efforts over the last few years, our certainty to be in the right and that the others are wrong, have convinced us of the advisability and necessity of this exhibition.

We stand united with our strength, our faith, our ideals and our absolute mutual esteem. As opposed to the Ecole de Paris, born in France, but representative of a universal tendency of decadence, our art born in Italy represents an event of hope and salvation for art and this exhibition is meant to be a first effective contribution to the fight that is about to blaze.

We are neither interested nor moved by the so-called “abstract” or “pure” painting, procreated by a decaying society, which is empty of any human contents and has retreated into itself, in the vain hope of finding a substance in itself.

We disavow all contemporary painting from post-impressionism till today, regarding it as the expression of an age of false progress and a reflection of the dangerous threat that looms over mankind. On the contrary we reaffirm those spiritual and moral values without which painting would become the most fruitless exercise.

We want painting to be moral in its most intimate essence, in its style itself, a painting that in one of the dimmest moments of human history should be filled with the same faith in man and his destiny that had made the greatness of art in times past.

We recreate the art of illusion of reality, the eternal and primeval seed of figurative arts.

We do not lend ourselves to any comeback, we simply keep on with our mission of true painting, which is the image of a universal feeling, which we want to be understood by many, not just by few “sophisticated ones”.

Long before gathering, each one of us had deeply felt the need to research in nature the leading thread that would allow us to find our true nature in the labyrinth of schools that have multiplied over the last half a century.

Each one of us has spontaneously addressed himself to reality, the first and eternal source of painting, confident to find his own expression in it.

In the face of a new academism or conventionalism, made up of the remnants of cubist formulas and of a standardized impressionistic sensuality, we have exhibited a way of painting that, mindless of fashions or aesthetic theories, is striving to express our feelings through the language that each one of us, according to one’s temperament, has found by looking directly at reality.

———

I found this copy of Annigoni’s Manifesto on http://chambersartstudio.wordpress.com/. A fun blog that has some great information on it, and some wonderful illustrations to help us all break from the seriousness of traditional art from time to time. Keep up the great work Robert.

Both of my drawings were done on clay-coated paper in graphite, the first has a touch of silverpoint. 12″x9″, 2010.

I’ve been keeping busy with work, but not too much of it is photographed yet- Here’s some more anatomy goodness:

After reading countless anatomical texts, and pouring over even more images throughout art history, I must say that having a place to study anatomy from life with an instructor who really knows the information is quite invaluable. Somebody can tell you all about the shoulder’s muscles, what they look like when the arm is raised, or rotated in any way, etc.. They could even draw you a picture showing you, but until you see the model do it in front of you, with the instructor showing you the muscle, you have no idea why you’re learning what you’re learning. When drawing anatomy like this from life, you really start to see the anatomical landmarks in the body, across all body types. Amazing stuff.

Here’s a sketch I did in prep for a painting in school I was working on. The model kept moving his hand on his knee, and no two model sessions would be the same with this guy. So rather than give up and make it up when it came time to paint it, I drew myself a sketch to go by as a new model for that area of the painting. This was common practice hundreds of years ago, and only recently has it been replaced by most artists just taking a picture to use as reference. Doing sketches like this can really help break down problem areas in a painting too- such as the foreshortening on this leg. Also- the drapery always changed each day, so by drawing the folds now, I had a good guide to go by when I add the color from life. If you have the luxury of time on your side, use it.

I’ve also redone my website again- I really cut the fat off of it and now everything is on one page, with a nice, simple menu bar up at the top. I hope to add my paintings to the website soon, and add a lot more work to it in the future!

-Evan

These anatomical sketches are interesting, it’s a very fine line between drawing the model in front of you objectively and then conceptually placing in the muscles. No matter how good you are at it, it won’t be perfect. So you end up with a perceptively objective shell encasing highly conceptual forms. Sort of forcing a gray area on what is usually black or white. Somewhat interesting. Either way, I’m learning tons from my anatomy class.

I’ve been drawing a surprising amount of knees lately, and the muscles of the forearm. I’ve also been hard at work on my project for my composition and design II class. I’m going to be able to finish the first piece (of three) tonight, so I should have something to post sooner rather than later. I promise I’m keeping myself quite busy.

More and more I’m finding the links between a physical drawing/painting/sculpture and “life”. Although, if you look for something long enough, you’ll find it one way or another.

Everybody should come to the open studio night at the Academy- The whole school will be opened up for the public, and you can get a first hand look inside the studios of all the students. This is an amazing opportunity because for the MFA Diploma show, it’s my understanding you’ll only be able to see one or two pieces from the graduating students. If you come on Friday, you’ll see everything they have.
New York Academy of Art -
Friday, April 29 · 5:00pm – 9:00pm
111 Franklin St.
New York, NY

Also- some awesome news for Art fans, the Root 222 Crew has started a blog! Root 222 is made up of three awesome painters that somehow can all work together on one work of art. The result transcends what any one person could ever achieve alone. What they’re able to accomplish is truly astounding and incredibly rare in the world. Check them out, and make sure to keep checking them as their blog grows.
http://root222.blogspot.com/

More to come soon…

“Death of a Concept” Graphite & White on Paper, 9″x12″ 2010-11

This is an older drawing that I’ve reworked many times… It’s a drawing that I keep coming back to in a number of moods, many times in sorrow or nervous anger. I came upon this old thing while I was going through my drawings that I have in storage, looking for work to put up in my studio for the TriBeCa Ball on Monday night. I decided it needed some work, so I “finished” it. It’ll be hanging up in my studio on Monday night, and I’m happy to say it’s done now. This is the first drawing I’ve spent well over a year working on. There’s tons of things I’d change and fix, but sometimes you just have to know when to let things end.

I just finished uploading my new website- I’ve added lots of images of my work, and the way the images are presented is a vast improvement over the old system. I also put together a slide-show of sorts for my sketchbook images. Every now and then I like to dive back into web programming, and running my own website lets me do just that. Hope everybody enjoys!

I couldn’t sleep one morning when I moved back to my old house in New Jersey. It was right after I had graduated from PCAD, and I realized I really hadn’t drawn anything since I’ve been back. I got up out of bed, and went into my backyard and drew this from a cut down rose bush. It didn’t take long to do, and it definitely served it’s purpose.

After the workshop, I brought home my painting, and put it up on my wall which I can always see, no matter where I am in the room. This painting is far from finished, and frankly, I don’t think it’s very good- but it reminds me of many things. First, value relationships are first and foremost. Without them color is just a crutch, and form is an illusion. The next being that the painting process is a never ending cycle of trial and error, and one shouldn’t be afraid to scrape down or paint over anything. This echos back to my days in undergrad where my mentor and instructor Jeff Geib would constantly remind me that if I drew it once, I can draw it again- erase it already because you know it’s wrong. Sound advice for all aspects of art. The painting also reminds me that no matter how much reading, drawing, painting, schooling I have- I will never know it all, and there’s always more to discover, learn, and practice. A workshop painting isn’t a final work of art, it’s a learning tool, and a record of trial and error that we keep to remind ourselves. Next time you find yourself in a workshop, keep that in mind and make sure you don’t leave with a finished work of art, if you have- you’re just missing the point.

-The Teaching Studios of Art and Adam Miller are offering this workshop again, I highly recommend it to all skill levels.