Stepping up to the plate again

 After my thrilling May session at Vancouver's Basic Inquiry Studio, it was another month before I went again -- even though my original plan was to make this a weekly practice.

My second session in early July was just as affirming -- terrific model, excellent moderator, great studio layout.  Without the angst of my initial visit, I moved with a little more confidence through the timed poses.  Some samples:

One-minute poses:

Five-minute poses:

Ten-minute pose:

 One of the final 30-minute poses:

 I was fairly satisfied but also exhausted at the session's end.  And sitting on the artist's donkey for three hours left me with a very uncomfortable behind -- it couldn't have been more so if I'd been sitting on one of the original bag-type bases of the schoolkids' baseball games of my childhood. (this link offers a fascinating more-than-you-ever-wanted-to-know history of baseball's bases!)

Thinking it over, I decided it was more realistic to aim for a session every other week.  And next time I'd take a seat cushion!  What's more,  I realized I could pre-plan what I wanted to focus on in each session's poses of different durations.  There are tons of ways to approach life drawing, and different drawing books, teachers, and my own inclinations have suggested different exercises.

Both the seat cushion and the "agenda" contributed to a fruitful and less tiring experience when I went again in mid-July.  The model was an amply built woman who, like the two previous models, was amazing.

Some samples:

One-minute poses, alternating straight and curved lines:

 Ten-minute poses, starting with a focus on "the main line that sets the pose" (not visible in the outcome, but the essential first step of my process):

 Fifteen-minute poses, placed in positions that yield interesting "spaces between" (rather tricky since you don't know what pose the model will adopt next):

And the two final 30-minute poses in which I've just tried to keep it all together.

 In my personal post-session evaluation, I had one more brilliant realization:--  It's summer, and summer won't last forever.  So I might or might not settle in to an alternate week schedule until the good weather begins to fade.  But I'm IN now.  I'm a member.  I have my member-discount tickets.  And I'll be back!

Best of class vs. Tried and true

A frequently quoted maxim in doing art is to use the best materials you can afford.  I suspect that's sound counsel for any craft or trade. Would my expert quilt-making friend use a fabric that didn't feel right? Would my friend the semi-professional chef/baker use a flour that didn't have the right oompf when mixed with liquid? And notice that determining what's "right" is an elusive art in itself.

Lately I've been working on my recently purchased Arches fine arts paper, the most expensive paper I've ever bought. Whether it will suit me as well as my long-time favourite Crescent brand, another more than respectable choice, remains to be seen.

As I get used to the slightly new feel, I've considered another maxim:-- Rely on the tried and true.  I'm willing to bet that the two skilled friends I've just mentioned each have a favourite tool for special purposes -- the first needle that's reached for when a hem needs sewing, the "only" knife that can really be relied on to chop onions.

So consider this 44-year old brush, the survivor of a 3-brush set that I bought when I first began to paint:

Even in its youth (and mine), it was neither my favourite nor my most frequently used brush. But when I have a large swath of paint to put down quickly, this is the brush for me. I know exactly  what thickness of paint it handles best, exactly how much paint it will hold, and exactly how it will behave on various surfaces.

And look at these two favourites, used in almost every painting I've ever done -- almost as old and showing their age.

I keep thinking it's time to replace them, but there's a problem. Although I religiously wash the brushes themselves after each use, the brush handles have acquired rather beautiful marbled patinas of paint splashes, and the brand name is obscured.

No matter. I have about 25 other brushes of various sizes. And I can't imagine living without these two until they're really unusable.

And while we're talking about tools and materials, let's consider another maxim: -- Experimenting with new material can generate a whole world of creative ideas.  For example, I was recently browsing in a specialty paper shop and noticed a name I'd come across in catalogs:-- Papeterie St-Armand, Canada's own fine arts paper mill in Quebec.

How could I resist buying their generous sampler pack with dozens of smallish papers in different colours, weights, textures? Here's a spread with just one each of the treasures I found when I opened the package at home.

I could almost have gobbled up the delicious deckles on this one. (An uneven deckled edge is the hallmark of traditionally made paper -- and unfortunately, it's often necessarily sacrificed in the final art piece)

Even the white St-Armand, with its intentional random texture, is enchanting.

Now what to do with this lovely stuff? Maybe my Chinese calligraphy-type brushes will come to the fore. Or pen-and-ink? How about a linocut? Or a collage? I'll be playing with these papers from time to time as the spirit moves me. And I'll let you know what hatches.