My Approach to Making Art
Making art is an act of love.
When I pick up a pencil or brush, different regions of my brain light up in ways that otherwise lay dormant. In this state, I patiently wait and look. When I land on a subject, I feel a surge of enthusiasm, of reverence. Roused, I get to work.
The aim is not personal expression — in fact, it is the opposite. I dissolve into the experience, recording what impresses me without concern for self or any external reward. There is no pressure to make a masterpiece — it feels more like playing guitar on the porch.
Like the musician, I am communicating a feeling using a language that is nonverbal — in my case, a visual language made up of abstract shapes, that when seen in relation to the whole, take on meaning.
In practical terms, I am drawing and painting the effects of light. Light shines on a subject creating beautiful tones and colors — relationships that have a distinctive harmony, a logic, an order, analogous to musical chords. Like the music composer, with adequate study and practice, I can recognize this order and put it use to make my art (I share in detail how to do this in my online classes in drawing and painting).
As a craftsman, I want the art materials to convey their authentic beauty. This means in a drawing, I want to see the graphite strokes and the grain of the paper. In a watercolor, I want the paint strokes to look like paint strokes. I want the watercolors to be laid down simply so that the unique character of each pigment can shine through, and I want the surface texture of the paper to leave its trace on everything.
Through the end I hold onto the initial inspiration, the highest pleasure. I accentuate those things that spark an emotional response in me, and simplify or edit out everything else. This process of making art is more akin to poetry than a written report.
When an artwork “works,” a great deal of time has gone into creating something that is seen and felt by the viewer in an instant. It is this transfer of feeling to others that is the point of sharing the work. It has taken me a lifetime to develop the skills, awareness and patience necessary to make it.
I carry on a tradition that goes way back. Drawing and painting predate writing — the artworks discovered in the Chauvet-Pont-d’Arc Cave in France laid hidden away for over 30,000 years. The lessons in these artworks are especially relevant to me. From them, I have learned that the impulse to make art is not rooted merely in self-expression, but in reverence and curiosity (this was the insight of art historian Jean-Michel Geneste in his lecture on the artworks at the J. Paul Getty Museum in 2015).
When holding a pencil or brush, I try to tap into that same impulse and spirit, driven by reverence and curiosity … and love.
Artwork in Chauvet-Pont-d’Arc Cave in France