This week I publish my first pseudo-complete illustration for Lucy's Dance in the form of a landscape. I used to have a marked aversion to rendering landscapes. I pretended that the subject matter was just too traditional and that I was edgier than the plein air crowd, but the truth is that landscapes, as painting subjects, require a very contemporary stomach for abstraction that I sometimes lack. I am an instinctive illustrator, interested in defining shapes clearly. As such, I once twitched a little at the prospect of painting landscape forms (foliage, distant objects, etc.) that I couldn't honestly identify. I preferred to identify all parts of my subject, then render them to my satisfaction, using a ruler if necessary.
I experienced a mix of envy and horror while watching impressionists swab away, working right through the nebula of colors and forms. A blob for a human head, then a similar blob for part of a tablecloth. Was this justice?
I eventually learned that the best way to draw landscapes is to act like a politician at a pre-election debate. The secret is to shape your limited knowledge/observations on the subject to your party line/campaign platform, or in this case, to your preferred style of rendering. If possible, seize the subject and use it to wander off in a direction that you find satisfying.
It's a bit easier for artists to pull off this kind of distortion than for the politician because:
a. It is highly unlikely that if I mistake the identity of some blob, I will receive a curt letter from a resident of the landscape in question, saying, "Darling, that small, ovoid, blackish bit in the lower right, which you drew as a willow frond . . . is actually a derelict pianoforte that has been sitting my my driveway for four odd months. Due to your oversight, no landscape will ever work with you again."
b. Landscape art can sometimes succeed merely by building a charismatic style. This difference of art from politics is perhaps debatable.
In this case, a compromise between fidelity to style and subject is in order. I do have a specific migrant Yup'ik village, Stebbins, to imitate, along with a few artifacts in the form of qasgi communal huts, kayaks, and one yaranga tent. These I have modeled from a composite of photos and drawings, but I have nonetheless taken liberties to depict the artifact and landscape with a similar lens.
The rendering style for Lucy's Dance has grown somewhat from the shapes of Art Nouveau and late-1960s gig posters. I recently discovered that J.R.R. Tolkien was an avid nouveau-style artist, dabbling in ink line-drawings and watercolor paintings. I recalled the appeal of a few of his more controlled works while polishing this illustration. My natural line, I flatter myself, somewhat resembles Tolkien's, so it smarted a bit to read that Tolkien felt he had no talent for drawing. I'm hoping that he did have talent for false modesty.
I have decided to limit the color palette to add a graphic simplicity. This allows me to color with scanned watercolor textures similar to those in my snail fallacy collages, only here I paint in the image from a Photoshop mask rather than swatching it into vector art. Again, I've layered the color in a way that imitates screen printing. I've left the lines a bit sketchy, though -- a habit belonging more to contemporary printers.
As always, I welcome feedback regarding style or any factual inaccuracy; early corrections will save me time scrambling to correct after the cultural anthropologist gets her crack at it in May. Be gentle, though, and bear in mind my artistic license, which is currently printed on tissue paper.
In this case, if you left a piano on the Stebbins tundra in roughly 1903, you should probably let me know.
I experienced a mix of envy and horror while watching impressionists swab away, working right through the nebula of colors and forms. A blob for a human head, then a similar blob for part of a tablecloth. Was this justice?
I eventually learned that the best way to draw landscapes is to act like a politician at a pre-election debate. The secret is to shape your limited knowledge/observations on the subject to your party line/campaign platform, or in this case, to your preferred style of rendering. If possible, seize the subject and use it to wander off in a direction that you find satisfying.
It's a bit easier for artists to pull off this kind of distortion than for the politician because:
a. It is highly unlikely that if I mistake the identity of some blob, I will receive a curt letter from a resident of the landscape in question, saying, "Darling, that small, ovoid, blackish bit in the lower right, which you drew as a willow frond . . . is actually a derelict pianoforte that has been sitting my my driveway for four odd months. Due to your oversight, no landscape will ever work with you again."
b. Landscape art can sometimes succeed merely by building a charismatic style. This difference of art from politics is perhaps debatable.
In this case, a compromise between fidelity to style and subject is in order. I do have a specific migrant Yup'ik village, Stebbins, to imitate, along with a few artifacts in the form of qasgi communal huts, kayaks, and one yaranga tent. These I have modeled from a composite of photos and drawings, but I have nonetheless taken liberties to depict the artifact and landscape with a similar lens.
The rendering style for Lucy's Dance has grown somewhat from the shapes of Art Nouveau and late-1960s gig posters. I recently discovered that J.R.R. Tolkien was an avid nouveau-style artist, dabbling in ink line-drawings and watercolor paintings. I recalled the appeal of a few of his more controlled works while polishing this illustration. My natural line, I flatter myself, somewhat resembles Tolkien's, so it smarted a bit to read that Tolkien felt he had no talent for drawing. I'm hoping that he did have talent for false modesty.
I have decided to limit the color palette to add a graphic simplicity. This allows me to color with scanned watercolor textures similar to those in my snail fallacy collages, only here I paint in the image from a Photoshop mask rather than swatching it into vector art. Again, I've layered the color in a way that imitates screen printing. I've left the lines a bit sketchy, though -- a habit belonging more to contemporary printers.
As always, I welcome feedback regarding style or any factual inaccuracy; early corrections will save me time scrambling to correct after the cultural anthropologist gets her crack at it in May. Be gentle, though, and bear in mind my artistic license, which is currently printed on tissue paper.
In this case, if you left a piano on the Stebbins tundra in roughly 1903, you should probably let me know.
Hi Nancy, We in Stebbins wanted to say that we are very impressed by your drawings. We love the illustration of old-time Stebbins a lot. Many of the students had fun pointing out where their houses are in this picture and comparing it to the picture of modern day Stebbins. They also loved the picture of the dancing Apa, half in the new gym and half in the old lodge. This will be quite a wonderful book.
ReplyDelete-Matt Anderson and the 5th & 6th grade class.
I'm glad that I was able to make the landscape recognizable enough that people could point out the locations of their homes. The picture of the dancing Apa is one of my favorites, too, because it reminds me of the way old, old, memories can suddenly seem very fresh. I'm excited to turn it into a finished illustration. Thank you for reading and sending your comments -- I'd love to hear more.
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