The Two Camps of Artists: Some Thoughts on Sketching
On the subject of art, you probably fall into one of two camps: either you are an undiscovered genius or you can’t sketch a sheep to save your life. Either you are a member of the relatively small camp that claims “some artistic ability” or you swell the ranks of those who never draw unless conned into playing a round of Pictionary. That’s it. Those are your options.
I was fully convinced, until only a few years ago, that this was how life was. It’s like magical powers, right? My mother has the gift of “the artistic eye,” and those things skip a generation, as everyone knows. So naturally, when I was twelve, I thought taping yellow construction-paper smiley faces to my bedroom walls served as elegant decor.
You can imagine my surprise when I discovered a commonly used modern drawing book by Mona Brookes called Drawing With Children: A Creative Method for Adult Beginners, Too that told me, plainly, that anyone can learn to draw. I was skeptical, to say the least. However, I was also desperate. I had just learned that I would be teaching art to a bunch of eight, nine, and ten year olds, along with twelve or so other subjects. So I decided to give Ms. Brookes a try and start sketching.
And wouldn’t you know it, she was right. You see, there is a third camp. Well, actually there aren’t any camps. Instead, while there are certainly those who possess natural artistic talent, it turns out that anyone can learn the basic principles of drawing (or painting, etc.) and produce a picture that looks like the object he had in mind.
But, in my five years of teaching, I discovered that just about every child instinctively believed in the two camps. I had students who just wanted me to give them the paper, tell them what to draw, and let them have at it. They were not very interested in my lesson or the seemingly tedious process of learning to hold the pencil correctly, sketching a perfect cube, designing a proportional archway, or replicating the feathery branches of the beautiful old tree outside. They had that natural, near-magical talent and wanted nothing to do with “instruction.” (Yes, I was tempted on many occasions to simply ask them to teach the class so I could go grade the mountain of essays on my desk. No, I did not succumb to temptation. Yes, it was one of the most difficult temptations I’ve ever overcome.)
Meanwhile, and far more often, I also had students who basically refused to pick up their pencils. They would draw a line, erase the line, and repeat that six more times before dropping the pencil and flatly declaring that this devilry was impossible. Woe to the teacher who asks that pupil to sketch a simple square! The tears. Oh, the tears.
It makes perfect sense that Mona Brookes discovered the simple dichotomy of artistic attitudes while teaching children to draw. I discovered the same thing. One of her key lessons that helped most of my students was to draw what they saw and not what they thought they saw. It is far easier to draw a series of curves than to draw a dog. The trick was helping my students only see the curves and prevent their brain from thinking, “That’s a dog. I need to draw a dog.” The difference proved essential, though it took a great deal of practice to develop the discipline.
When I began teaching older children to draw, I dove more deeply into classical sketching methods and techniques. I needed to learn how to teach both types of students and I also needed a better understanding of why it was so important for these children to learn how to sketch. I discovered J.D. Harding, a lesser known artist of the nineteenth century. His book Lessons on Art, more recently published under the title Harding’s Lessons on Drawing: A Classic Approach, tied together very practical drawing lessons with a rich and full philosophy of education. He argued that if the power to draw, and furthermore to appreciate art and nature, were an inborn faculty, this would be true of all other particular faculties. Only great orators and writers would handle language, only philosophers would study science, and only great composers would study music. Life’s most beautiful and creative pursuits would remain unexplored by most of humanity.
It is, unfortunately, rather easy to see what he meant. In our present society, we have almost, though not exclusively, reached the point where people only develop a skill or pursue certain knowledge if they intend to use it in a career. If Harding witnessed the degree of specialization in our educational system today, he would recognize it as the natural outcome of the attitude which he called false in his drawing books. The correct understanding, he explained, is that the power either to draw or to appreciate art is the result of education, and is not limited to those select few who have received a professional calling or gift.
It came as no surprise to me that the attitude that Harding vehemently opposed was exactly the same as the “two camps” dichotomy that Mona Brookes had identified and that I had discovered in myself and in my students. He said, “The faculties of the mind called into action by the practice of Art, belong to all men in some degree - they are the same as those employed when the mind essays any other mental acquisition…[Art] cooperates in the development of every mental faculty and feeling, and especially helps to bring into life and activity such as, without its aid, would lie dormant or unknown...it may be fairly asserted that no mind can be fully developed but by its assistance.”
That is a strong argument for general artistic education. A mind can only be fully developed once it has studied some form of art, even simple sketching. He goes on to argue that one cannot be fully alive to the influence of nature’s beauty without the medium of art, and claims that those who have not studied art see the beauty of creation only “through a glass darkly.”
Reading Harding was like a breath of fresh air in comparison to the common practice in elementary and middle schools to either “do a craft” with students or simply allow them to “express themselves” in whatever form they would like. Harding’s lessons were attainable by my students, though some would need more practice and patience than others (Harding never denies that drawing may come more easily to some than others.) I watched a number of my students transform from the quivering, weepy, negative child into an artist who was able to complete the project and also carefully critique their own work. An eye towards careful critique was the quality needed by the “naturally talented” student, as well. A key lesson every student learned was that while their work was never perfect and could always be better, they could accomplish their goal. They were able to do a close study of an object in nature, a replica of great architecture, or even an imitation of a master’s work, and by doing that study they were carried out of themselves. They were able to interact closely with whatever they sketched, learn that object well, and begin to love it. I seldom needed to remind them to do their best work once they learned this mindset because they began to possess proper humility in their own work. They knew they could sketch something, wanted to try, and knew that in a year they would be able to do a better job, and this fact did not deter them. It was incredibly rewarding both for me and for them.
Harding said that his object or goal for his lesson books was to cultivate a just taste for a useful and intellectual pursuit. I believe anyone who takes up his books and learns from them will discover that sketching is both of those things, useful and intellectual. The greater lesson is that all human beings can and ought to pursue beauty through artistic endeavors.