I feel like I'm in a zone right now. Creatively, that is.
I shouldn't be talking about it. I'm a bit superstitious about scaring away creativity and bringing on a block. A drawing block, not a writing block. I can always write, but sometimes when I get a drawing block it just paralyzes me and it makes it hard to do anything at all. But superstition aside, I feel like I've shifted into a new gear with my drawing and I thought it was significant enough to write up a Part 3 in the continuing analysis of my artistic evolution.
I think that my experiences at the last few cons have really helped to move me to a new level of confidence with my drawing. The San Diego Comic-Con was the first con that I sold sketchbooks with a space for a free sketch inside. It was really the first time that I put myself in the position of having to draw in front of people, draw what they wanted and draw very quickly. This is something that I was not looking forward to in any way, shape or form. I'm usually very slow at drawing. I'm also very methodical. This stems mostly from a lack of confidence. I usually do small roughs and then enlarge them for transferring to paper on a light box. And I hate it when people are looking over my shoulder when I'm drawing. Partly because I like to work in isolation (not unusual for an artist), but also because I'm deathly afraid that people will discover that I don't know what I'm doing. For the most part, I've avoided doing sketches or full drawings for people at conventions for just those reasons.
So I was not looking forward to doing sketchbook sketches at a convention. But that was exactly why I needed to do it, because it was another step in my creative growth. That's the reason that, at the last minute, I decided to add a blank page in my convention sketchbook for custom sketches. I was afraid of it, so I had to do it.
And boy am I glad I did.
After spending the past couple of years working through issues in my drawings in a slow, methodical way, forcing myself to draw quick pen and marker sketches in a convention setting, in front of onlookers, was a great way of building confidence, muscle memory and speed. It forced me to turn off the part of my brain that usually slows me down and just get down to business laying down the lines and color so that the person standing in front of the table can get his or her sketchbook. By the end of those four days in San Diego, I felt like I could draw anything.
And I haven't had that feeling since I was a child, when drawing was just pure joy. No thinking, just doing. And (knock wood) the feeling has persisted since I've returned from San Diego and attended other cons. Every time I sit down to draw something, the lines seem to flow freely from my pencil. I no longer fear the blank sheet of bristol. It's a wonderful feeling, but it's a dangerous one. Dangerous because it's never a good thing to feel like you can do no wrong. And certainly, I don't think that. I'm still my toughest critic and it takes a while for me to warm to any finished piece. But when too much confidence comes into play, there's always a danger of loosening up on the drive to improve. So I like that I have a new confidence with respect to my work, but I don't want it to pollute my thinking about personal artistic growth. I just need to find the next goal post. Always look for the next goal post.
And that next goal post is to get good and fast. With regard to artistic progression, I've always heard that "first you get good, then you get fast, then you get good and fast". I always thought that this expression was a bit odd. I mean, if you get good, and you get fast, wouldn't you then be good and fast? But now I understand the distinction and I know that this is more than a silly expression. It has real meaning for artists, and I'm experiencing that progression right now with respect to my drawing.
Another reason why I feel that I'm in a zone right now is because I'm starting to really cut loose and apply some lessons I've learned over the last year or so by studying the work artists that I admire. I've been closely studying why certain artists' work appeals to me, how they lay down their lines and build their forms and compositions, and I've slowly but surely tried to incorporate the techniques to my own work.
Late last year, when I really began going to school on the techniques of the artists I admired, I printed out a "guide" and taped it to the lamp next to my desk. It was intended to direct my thinking when I started a new drawing. It looks like this:
It got a little bent up in a move from Newport News to Woodbridge, Virginia. But I kept it for sentimental reasons.
The guide was an attempt to get back to basics and redefine the way I worked in terms of trying to go in the opposite direction of representational drawing. I wanted to break images down to their basic shapes and build from there. The effects of this guide can be seen in the work I did on the Star Wars 30th anniversary sketch card set, most notably in the way I drew the Tusken Raiders.
In recent months, I've started to pay more attention to how I lay down my lines, and tried to be less casual about line placement and the flow of one line into another. I've also begun to add small flourishes to certain lines. These flourishes came out of nowhere. They were not based on any research, but were simply a natural extension of where my style was heading. Just today, I printed up a new guide for myself that reflects my current thought process when starting a drawing. It reads thusly:
This new matra has been in the back of my head for a while now. Since about the time I drew the Davy Jones and Captain Jack Sparrow pieces. It's very evident in my recent Heroes and personal sketch card work (I'll post samples of the Heroes cards very soon). I hope to push this even further in the future. I think my work can only benefit from further application of what I've learned. And it will also help to further solidify my own style and work as my own.
And isn't that what art is all about?
-Otis
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Here are Part 1 and Part 2 of this series of posts.
It's that time again. July . . . and that means that the 
