Frequently Asked Questions

When I went searching for my pen-and-ink drawing with the bit of wasp nest resting on a desiccated magnolia leaf, I came up with a small stack of 6" x 8" pen-and-inks I'd done twenty years ago. At that time, I was very engaged in drawing and had become fascinated with the patterns in JT's bandanas played against the shapes and designs of shells, seedpods and dried flowers.
I can remember working away, small stroke by small stroke (or dot-by-dot, as for the magnolia leaf) to develop the shapes and tones. The darks and the shadows in this one must have taken me 3-4 laborious passes of cross-hatching:--
And this next one, in fact, was left unfinished because I realized its completion might require another year of my artistic life -- with dubious outcome.

Thinking about the time I spent on these small drawings, I recalled an article I'd once read by a painter who worked out of doors on urban subjects. He described his common experience of having a casual audience gather to watch him work. He said he didn't mind this at all -- unless someone asked the one question that made his blood boil: "Hey, how long does it take you to make one of these paintings?"

He perceived this inquiry into "production time" as a very low-brow response to the painting process. (Imagine the tourist in tropical shirt and baseball cap, tapping Leonardo on the shoulder and asking him the same question. "...and by the way, don't you know her smile's kinda crooked?")

So this author/artist had mulled things over and devised his own satisfactory answer to this Frequently Asked Question. The dialogue now goes like this:

Question from uninvited commentator: "Hey, man, how long did it take you to do this painting?"
Superior artist, after pregnant pause: "My whole life. It has taken me my whole life to get to this point."

Well. That should put a stop to any further intrusive questions.

Personally, I think the deadly FAQ is a natural enough one, especially coming from someone who doesn't paint and is wondering what it might involve. Documenting the development of my own paintings, I've found it revealing to learn that for a typical still life, I average 15- 20 hours on each one, preliminary sketch to sign-off (not including "all my life to get to this point.")

There are lots of ways to look at time. Rainer Maria Rilke suggested this viewpoint for artists.

Being an artist means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree,
which doesn't force its sap and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not
afraid that summer may not come. It does come. But it comes only to those who
are patient, who are there as if eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly
silent and vast. I learn it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am
grateful for: patience is everything.