the cassandra pages

Drawing Conifers

 

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Drawing conifers is different from drawing deciduous trees, and it's an example of where "what we think we know" can get in the way of "what we're actually seeing". We all have a kind of "idea" of what an evergreen tree looks like -- most simplistically, think of a kid's drawing of a Christmas tree -- but most of them don't actually look like that. Not only is the overall shape and arrangement of branches difficult to capture, it's easy to make evergreen trees look very flat, like paper cutouts, because it's hard to see and depict the branches that come toward us and are essentially foreshortened. We don't see bare deciduous trees that way: what we see is a silhouette of the branches against the background or sky, which is easier to understand and capture in a drawing, even if the arrangement of branches is complex. But unless you are drawing an isolated evergreen tree in detail, you really don't need to struggle with this problem, and there are ways to make it easier to convey the feeling of a forest of conifers, or a mixed forest, without getting bogged down in details.

Detail of yesterday's drawing

In the video demonstration, I'm showing how I approached the conifer forest in the drawing posted yesterday, by making a new drawing of just the background right section, and explaining the process as I go along. Obviously this isn't aimed at beginners, because it's a response to a comment by someone with experience who had a specific question, but I hope you'll find it interesting to watch anyway. I don't know about you, but I have a fascination with how-to videos, especially when the subject is art, or cooking, sewing, ceramics, or other creative disciplines, where we start with nothing and end up with a finished "something", often something quite beautiful. (I've also been known to get fascinated by hair styling videos.) So I have to make sure I don't go down the famously time-draining Instagram rabbit-hole.

So here's where you come in, even if you have no artistic ambition! I'm using these videos as a way to work out how to do the photography, the narration, the video editing, the titles -- all of that. J. helped me with the camera mount, so this time the drawing paper is straight and we're looking down on it directly and squarely, which should be a lot easier for you as the viewer. I'm looking for feedback, so please let me know what works for you. I'd like to know if you'd prefer to have some sections fast-forwarded or if you like seeing the whole process as it is shown here: does the video bog down, or is the pace OK? (You can always grab the red circle on the leading edge of the video time-indication line, and drag it forward to the right.) Also, I am referring to a photograph as I work - would it help to see it again from time to time in the course of the video? What sorts of instructional videos would interest you the most? I will be doing an entry-level video soon, talking about drawing media and tools.

Thanks very much for your input!

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Note: we are dealing with the illness and possible end-of-life of our beloved 14-year-old cat, Manon. Making this video was part of how I distracted myself and tried to look forward this past week. I know many of you have been through this before, as we have -- it's never easy. I find myself pretty much unable to write about her, but wanted to share this news with you.

 

 

A Winter Stream in the Adirondacks

My weekend project was this charcoal drawing of a stream near Lake Piseco, in the southern Adirondacks. We had stopped by a culvert in the road where the stream passed underneath it, and I got out and took some photographs in both directions; that was late January and the stream was flowing strongly -- which seemed unusual for that time of year, no doubt a consequence of the warming climate. Lake Piseco is a big body of water, and normally is a haven for ice fishing, but we saw very few ice fishing shanties out on the ice this year.

There were lots of challenging aspects to this drawing, from depicting the conifer forest in the background, ringed by shorter bare shrubs, to the mounded snow and trees reflecting in the flowing water. I simplified the scene from what it actually looked like, where there was snow on every branch, and the brush and twigs coming out of the snow seemed much more complicated and detailed. This little 38-second time-lapse shows how the drawing evolved:

Over the past couple of days I made a short demo video just about drawing the conifers in the background, in response to a request made on the previous video post -- I'll post that tomorrow or the next day.

Still lives in black and white

Hyacinth in a foil pot. Charcoal drawing in Fabriano sketchbook, 14" x 11".

The monochromatic exploration continues here, along with the snowy days and grey skies. Unlike our neighbors to the south, we've had snow on the ground pretty much all of the time since December. Friends who have a house in the country said there was three feet of snow on the ground, with snowbanks towering well over four feet. So it probably makes sense that I'm still thinking in black-and-white, although I'm missing color and thinking about getting back to it -- this week I've prepared four birch panels for eventual paintings in oil or acrylic.

There are a couple of still lives that I haven't posted yet. The potted hyacinth was a most welcome gift from a visiting friend.

And here is a plate of fruit, drawn very quickly. I like the freedom and spontaneity of this drawing.

I'm continuing on with the series of charcoal landscape drawings, and did a new one last night, not from central New York, but of a stream in the Adirondacks. This one began as a start of a response to a comment on the last post - a reader asked for some guidance about drawing conifers, because she's right that the approach needs to be different from what I said about drawing deciduous trees. I'll respond in more detail to her question with a post about that drawing later this week.

How's the weather where you are? If you're in the northern hemisphere, is spring evident -- or do you live somewhere that stays warm? If so, please send some sunshine and flowers our way!

Aleppo

"Go to Aleppo!" my father-in-law exhorted us, on many occasions. It was his favorite among all the ancient cities, and he wanted us to see its beauty, which he described to us in detail, eyes closed, rhapsodizing. He and his two sons had gone to Damascus in 2000: a nostalgic final trip for the 90-year-old father and a bonding and learning journey for the sons, the elder of whom had been born there.  My husband, the younger son by 11 years, came home and immediately wanted to us plan a trip to go back together, to both Damascus and Aleppo. And we did just that, sending our passports to the Syrian embassy for the requisite visas. But shortly before we were supposed to leave, the political situation became very unstable, and we decided -- most unfortunately, in hindsight -- to postpone. As we all know, our entire world, and the Middle East in particular, changed irreparably after that, so we never made it to the city Mounir had loved and which no longer exists; what he remembered will never be seen again.

Back in 2016, Charles Wilkins, a professor at Wake Forest University, was interviewed about Aleppo on an episode of All Things Considered. He spoke of how Aleppo, one of the longest continually-inhabited cities of the world, had been well-placed historically as a caravan city and meeting point of east and west, and survived many occupations and sieges over the millennia.  Called "the Jewel of Syria", he described it in terms my father-in-law would have loved, before saying "I can hardly put into words my emotions in seeing this city brought to its knees in this way."

My father-in-law fortunately didn't live to know about the destruction of Aleppo in the civil war, and now that part of Syria has undergone yet another tragedy. To make matters even worse, international aid to the region, some of which is held by non-government forces, has been delayed or refused by the Assad government, which makes it hard to know if contributions of money are even getting through. 

I have nothing wise to say about any of this, just that I am sick at heart about this degree of suffering, and felt the need to put that into words here, for the sake of my family, the people I know who care about this region, and all those I don't know who are still there. Someone commented, after seeing the pictures of the earthquake devastation and the death toll figures, "There is no God," and I understand their reaction. Why this should happen, to people who have already suffered so much, defies comprehension, not just faith, if one is supposed to have faith in an intervening deity. However, there is one truth that believers and non-believers ought to be able to agree on, which is that human beings can either love one another or not; when we do, we are able to help one another in the midst of great tragedy, and when we don't, we not only create but compound enormous suffering. 

 

On the question of teaching art...

 

 

For best results, watch full-screen.

For a long time, both here (quietly, in some comments) and in my head and heart, the question has come up as to whether, during the next part of my life, I might do some teaching. What I'm most interested in are the people who, for whatever reason, loved to draw and paint when they were younger, and then gave it up. Far too often that was because of a teacher making disparaging remarks, or it may be because life -- and other paths and responsibilities -- simply intervened. But now, later in life, the call to do that once-loved creative activity is resurfacing. How to begin? How to get over those nagging insecurities -- that voice in the head that says "you aren't any good" or "it's too late?" -- and enjoy the process, have fun, and stay with it? 

I'm also interested in drawing and other forms of art as a meditative practice, which involves setting aside one's internal judging voice, and learning to become immersed in the act of creating for its own sake, and for the good it does to our spirits. In both of these areas, then, there's a psychological aspect which is often missing in traditional instruction but which actually forms a stumbling block for all creative pursuits and must be overcome, not just once, but repeatedly. However, once we understand it, it gets easier.

The possibilities for art instruction have changed so much in my lifetime -- when I was young there were correspondence courses for would-be cartoonists or illustrators, but anyone serious about fine art went to "art school". Personally, I'm glad I didn't, because I never got slotted into a particular style or type of work, and so I've remained quite open to all types of art and ways of approaching it. Now there are so many ways for people to learn, and to teach: from online courses to in-person workshops to one-on-one live zoom classes. 

I have a lot of work to do, myself, to figure out what I might want to do and how to do it. This past week I made a narrated video of myself making a charcoal drawing, in order to observe my own process and make myself talk about it. Of course, this isn't a "beginner" video, and as such it doesn't fit into either of the categories I've mentioned above. But I learned a lot of technical things doing it, and it suggests other subjects that might be addressed in a series of videos -- like a deeper look at materials, for instance. I thought you might be interested in seeing it.

Any comments you may have are welcome! Next time, I'll try to set the camera up so that it's more over my shoulder, and the work is parallel to the camera frame -- no need for the viewers to get a stiff neck! It feels to me like introductory videos should be short, from 5-8 minutes perhaps, while a demo like this -- which shows an hour-long process condensed to 16 minutes -- can't really be much shorter. If you get bored at any point, you can skip forward!

Thanks for watching, and for any thoughts you may have.