Drawing, for me, is the conduit of vision. It moves me beyond looking to seeing and the more I strive to see the greater my vision. So this autumn, I've come to ask myself and my students: What have you seen? Because that is what is shaping your vision and hopefully taking you deeper in your practice.
This fall I had the opportunity to see three very different exhibits. The first was in Annapolis:
American Impressionism: Treasures from the Daywood Collection at the Mitchell Gallery
I think what stood out to me in this exhibit was the inclusion of works by both George Inness and Robert Henri in the same exhibit. They both are American painters, however, Inness is typically regarded as a member of the landscape painters of the Hudson River School of the 19th century and Henri of the Ashcan School of the 20th century. Yet, considering their works in the context of American Art as it sought to capture the light and mood of place, time and season, it makes perfect sense. It was a pleasure to see little known gems, not juxtaposed, but as unexpected participants in the artistic dialogue of a culture.
The next exhibit I had the pleasure to see was:
Charles Rennie Mackintosh and the Glasgow Style at the Walter’s Art Museum
For me, the purpose of art is not merely the representation of reality from a specific point of view it is a representation of the artist's journey within a reality and the truth that is revealed through the vision discovered through the acts of seeing and making. That being said, a "masterpiece" is a work which transcends time and culture and continues to invite us into the vision of the artist as it is represented in the work.
The third exhibit I saw:
Encountering the Buddha: Art and Practice across Asia at the Freer/Sackler Gallery
So that is what I have seen and how, I believe, at this short distance from the experiences, that seeing is developing my vision. I invite you to consider, "What are you seeing?"
I experienced two kinds of growth in knowledge: the new and the expansion. Now people have be asking themselves for thousands of years: “How do I know?” And “How do I know I know?” Indeed, there is an entire branch of philosophy, epistemology, which has numerous dense tomes dedicated to those very questions. But, for me in reflecting on my summer, I am examining slightly different versions of those questions: “How do I know I am ready to teach this?” And “How can this knowledge become part of making art?”
The terms art and craft since the beginning of the 20th century have been misused and misunderstood. This is beautifully discussed in the brief TED Ed video below. The first part of my learning this summer was what the Ancient Greeks referred to as the “techne” that is the craft. Understanding the media, the various skills, the logistics are all part of the craft of teaching a thing. But, I teach art, so it needs to be more than mere technical skill and well considered logistics, it needs to be, Art. Or Ars, as the Ancient Greeks called it meaning, excellence, mastery, imbued with a spirit of genius.
The 19th century philosopher Immanuel Kant said that craft can have mastery and purpose, but art is imbued with genius or innovation and a spirit which communicates to all people. For me, great art usually has all three: masterful craftsmanship, a genius or innovation born of practice, and a spirit which reaches out to engage the viewer in an authentic and meaningful way. But, how to teach..genius? Especially when I’m not one in any field, EGADS! So at the risk of being smote by the gods of the Ancient Greeks for the sin of hubris, I’ll at least share my thoughts on the subject.
Much of the research and writing in education circles in recent years have centered around how to teach innovation and creativity, aka genius. I’ve always found it somewhat strange that it has been only recently that education science has begun to look toward the arts in this regard. It was Albert Einstein who said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.” Now, as a card carrying life long day dreamer and visual artist I can speak with some authority about imagination. And with that and the hope that the gods will now indulge me, I will dare to elaborate.
In going deeper in my printmaking and as my skill and confidence increased in both book binding and printmaking, I noticed an interesting shift in my mental patterns. The more I practiced and studied, the more I saw. I began to see what I was working on in everything and everything in relation to what I was working on. There opened up beautiful mental and spiritual space of calm and clarity. There was an intricate interconnectedness in my universe because of my focus. And as I began to pursue those lines of inquiry, that is the why’s and what if’s I found that I was at play. This play was fun, but hard work, and at times exhausting and frustrating. It meant finding comfort in the open-ended questions and the possibility of the unfinished. But, I know that the embracing of the unknown was exactly what has brought me forward in my work, and that it is the practice of creative and innovative thinking. It is also where I think genius, that art spirit begins.
So, what is the most important thing I will return to my students with after a summer of learning craft, and seeking to create art? A Spirit of Play.
Perhaps you believe I have begun this blog post with a misspelling? The truth is I carefully checked the spelling before I posted. After all, it's one of my favorite words in the English Language, so I wanted to be sure I was spot on. I haven't know this word for very long, maybe only six or seven years. I like it so much that I even remember when I learned it. I was with a dear colleague, who has now since passed on. We were discussing travel plans for our students and he said to make our plan work we would need "syzygy." The temptation proved too great and I immediately followed with a "Blessed you!" And we both had a laugh. Never wanting to miss the opportunity to learn a new word, I asked him what it meant and of course how it was spelled. He smiled broadly and announced that it simply was his single, most favorite word in the English Language.
noun, the nearly straight-line configuration of three celestial bodies (such as the sun, moon, and earth during a solar or lunar eclipse) in a gravitational system.
Not only does it have an intriguing definition, it has a most curious spelling. No doubt it has been used to confound brilliantly competitive middle schoolers with dreams of being a Spelling Bee Champion. A word which would separate the merely solid grammarian from the true lover of words. Its etymological history, according to the on line Merriam Webster, can be traced to the Greek syzygos ("yoked together"), a combination of syn- ("with, together with") and zygon ("yoke"). My colleague, who spoke numerous languages with the greatest of ease, said he found that some words are just so interesting and so much fun to say that it is important to find opportunities to say them so they remain in use and others learned about them. So, My Dear Blog Readers, I give you Syzygy.
The coming together of three things has been much on my mind in recent days as I have been reading a little book which I had the good fortune to stumble upon in a used book store, ah serendipity...another wonderful word, but I'll save that diversion for another post. The book was The Three Perfections: Chinese Painting, Poetry, and Calligraphy by Michael Sullivan. I have long had a passion for all three. The author carefully presents a clear overview of the development of the intimate connection between these three art forms. Beginning early in the eight century, when a poet referred to painting as poetry without words and poems as painting without forms the author also discusses the development of the aesthetic principles governing the elements of art and principles of design in Chinese painting with rare simplicity for the Western untrained eye. Although the discussion of which came first: the poem or the image is somewhat of a chicken or egg question, the idea of space (note not referred to as void, for it is an active part of the composition) being that element from which forms emerge and the medium in which the written poem and the image are related and are equally part of the whole, as a goldfish in the water of its bowl.
The idea of collaborative works of art created by highly trained masters of each form within a single work seems almost antithetical our contemporary image of the artist in their creative occupation. In the 21st century, we have come to look upon the artist as highly individualistic, expressing their unique perspective through their work. Use of creative voice, medium, technique, elements or principles are no longer guided by aesthetic "rules." We no longer distinguish between trained and naive artists in defining mastery. We do not even have the expectation in necessarily understanding the work of the artist upon first encountering it. And we often rely heavily on text provided by the artist or informed guides so as to glean some insight. I will leave it to others in a different forum to debate the merits and limitations of artists and aesthetics within this current framework. Like most people, I have my own ideas of aesthetics and artistic standards that can make for interesting conversation if the company, food, wine, and setting are engaging for such an evening of high culture and conversation. However, one thing I have always found profoundly interesting is that even when I do not fully understand the aesthetic "rules" governing the last thousand years of Chinese poetry paintings, the beauty and excellence of a masterpiece bridges all gaps of time, and culture. It seems to me that somehow this truly is at least one defining characteristic of a great work of art: its ability to transcend time, geography, and culture and move hearts and minds in a far away place and not yet born.
It was with all this fresh in my mind, as well as my own recent endeavors in the summer printmaking studio, that I had the good fortune to visit the current exhibit The Life of Animals in Japanese Art at the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC. Covering 17 centuries of Japanese art and a wide range of media it was a beautifully curated exhibit that made artistic connections both cultural and across time by tracing a single universal and very human theme, the wonder of animal life. To learn more about the exhibit your can click on the button below:
For me, the highlights of the exhibit centered around woodblock prints, and silk paintings. The masterful balance of line and space create a sense of vitality, and yet seemingly contrasting composure, at times serenity, to even the most fearsome subjects as in the dragons and bulls of the Chinese Zodiac. Also impressive was the amazing variety scale of the works from the life size tigers inhabiting multi paneled silk screens to the tiny butterflies who take off in flight as the scroll they are painted on rolls out before the viewer. Being able to appreciate these works in a new way through my own better understanding of technique, aesthetic principles, and history, by my chance encounter with the little book The Three Perfections was indeed for me syzygy. Below are a few of my favorite works from the exhibit. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
Artists and teachers are by definition "givers." It seems impossible to have any longevity in either vocation without and innate desire in one's personality to give to others, whether that be knowledge, beauty, a shared experience. Creating and making is giving. Giving can be depleting though. One can begin to feel spent and isolated. Which is why I have selected this image of this post.
This weekend I had the opportunity to get away from my usual surroundings and return to one of my husband's and my favorite little corners of the world: Chadds Ford, PA and Wilmington, DE. In a culture of hyper media focused on the exotic: Wilmington...er..ah..Delaware? You may ask. But, I say to you: Yes, Wilmington, Delaware home of Howard Pyle and the Delaware Art Museum. You seem incredulous still? Ah, then let me enlighten you.
Howard Pyle is quite simply the Father of American Illustration. A Wilmington native, he taught art at Drexel University and later established his own school. There he taught some of the most significant artists/illustrators of the 20th century including N.C. Wyeth, Frank Schoonover, Rosie O'Neill, Violet Oakley, and Jessie Wilcox Smith. He also influenced Norman Rockwell and Andrew Loomis among others. You may think that you are not familiar with any of these artists and their works, but if you have read Treasure Island or seen a Kewpie Doll, you already know N.C. Wyeth (feather of Andrew Wyeth and grandfather of Jamie Wyeth) and Rosie O'Neill. Pyle's Book of Pirates even influenced the costume designers of the Pirates of the Caribbean films. His illustrated Robin Hood and His Merry Men is still in print.
The Brandywine School of Painting really begins with Howard Pyle. But, why this geographic area? My husband (an artist as well) and I have long pondered this. We've concluded that there is something about the landscape and the light. Many of Pyle's students wrote about this. In fact,, N.C. Wyeth in one of his first letters home to his mother remarked that this landscape was "more home to him than home." There is a serenity of the rolling hills of this region, and a quiet symbioses between the architecture and activity of human kind within this landscape. And then there is the light, long raking autumnal golds outlining the gentle landscape forms in deep blue shadows with the most azure blue contrasting the pure white of summer clouds. If you look at the paintings of the Wyeth's, I think you can see this.
After taking in the Howard Pyle collection at the Delaware Art Museum, we moved from the urban to the rural and forward in time and visited the Brandywine River museum and the studio and home of N.C. Wyeth. Landscape and spaces shape a person. In the best circumstance the landscape is a constant source of renewal and inspiration. This is important for artists and teachers. In viewing the Wyeth Retrospective Exhibit is was easy to see that this landscape that was more home than home was certainly that for him and the generations of artists that followed. Maybe that is why we keep going back, to take it all in and come home again.
I selected this image to mark this blog post not only for its beautiful depiction of a summer moonlit evening, which we have been recently experiencing, or because it is a woodblock print, but because of its title "Summer Studio." These past few weeks my life as a high school at teacher seems distant and I am indeed in my own "summer studio." The initial rush to summer has left me. I think you know what I mean: faced with an expanse of time most responsible and dutiful adults feel the call to obey a Puritan work ethic for the efficient use of time: lists of things to do, chores to complete, etc. etc. etc. Thankfully my wayward nature, strengthened by the distractions of so many things to draw and paint has silenced that voice (at least until the second week of August). So what have I been doing you may ask: playing, yes, Playing. And no I'm not even blushing or joking when I say that. Now we each have our own ideas of play. But, to be clear the Merriam Webster's on line dictionary defines play as the following (please be sure to pay close attention to the synonyms):
engage in activity for enjoyment and recreation rather than a serious or practical purpose.
"the children were playing outside"
synonyms:amuse oneself, entertain oneself, enjoy oneself, have fun, have a good time, relax, rest, be at leisure, occupy oneself, divert oneself, play games, frolic, frisk, gambol, romp, cavort, caper;
This brings me to my first and one of my most favorite activities that I have discussed here before, walking. I think there is little coincidence in the fact that I love both walking and Henry David Thoreau, who wrote an essay entitled Walking. Having recently finished reading this, I realized that he pretty much summed up all of his major themes in this little essay. I highly recommend it, especially if you have never read Thoreau before. One of my favorite of his quotes, although not from this essay specifically, is:
"Pursue some path, however, narrow and crooked, and walk it with love and reverence."
This seems so much to me a statement of the artistic journey as it does sage advice for living in general.
When one considers the circuitous path of any creative process it is easy to have the image of a maze come to mind. Recently, I read Henry Elliots' Follow This Thread. It is as the secondary title promises a delightful book about mazes to get lost in both literarily and visually. Inspired by this book, my husband and I visited a nearby sunflower maze. What a pleasure to spend a leisurely hour or more surrounded by flowers bigger than oneself, like Alice in her wonderland. These crooked paths were as Thoreau would say the "the enterprise and adventure of the day.” In all this, I was struck by how seldom we really do this in our day to day lives. But, if you like, you can get a small taste of the delight of the crooked path below.
I've just started Rebecca Solnit's Wanderlust in keeping with my theme of walking. I was drawn to this book by encountering a chapter title: "The Mind at Three Miles an Hour." I have this sense that three miles an hour, that is the average speed of walking, is all that my mind can really do and be truly present to my surroundings, thoughts, or the delicious mental spaciousness of no thought just sensory experience. This last one, I wanted to note is not void...it is space, not unlike the spaces in master Japanese woodblock prints. For the visual artist there is positive and negative space, both are truly present, both are truly necessary for balance and completeness in the composition. I think this is true for the human spirit/mind as well.
I used to be a wonderful letter writer. I used to carry letters with me for days writing to the recipient as if they were there to talk to. Describing this and that, musing to them in writing about the little things that transpired throughout my days. I learned this skill I think from my paternal grandmother who wrote me faithfully every month on a script typewriter no less!
One of the most romantic things my husband did when we were first dating was to send me hand written letters, even when we still saw each other most days. Somehow those letters revealed a part of him that was less apparent in person, more intimate and indeed brought us closer together in a truly meaningful way. I still remember receiving an annual hand written letter from a dear high school friend a Christmas. She was refusing to give up on real correspondence, but alas, even that annual letter no longer arrives.
Social media is in many ways the best of worlds and the worst of worlds. I love that I can have easy access to the latest works of hundreds of artists, exhibitions in museums around the world, hundreds of articles tailored to my specific interests and the ability to have a window into the world of those whom I often think of with affection but, because of time, distance, and circumstance have long since moved on from daily interaction in my life. And of course, this convenience means means I haven't put pen to paper as a means of connecting with another person in years. When I think of my students, I lament what they have missed: the anticipation of a letter arriving and then the thrill when it finally appears in the mailbox and the joy of seeing familiar writing on the page as you first look at the contents and so much more. I think of how reassuring it was to have friends "live" with you in your mind and heart as you would write them even though they many be very far away.
We are all too familiar with the shortcomings and the many faceted dark sides of social media. I think one of the worst parts of social media are the illusions it creates, e.g. comments instead of real dialogue, "hearts" instead of true presence, and the illusion of "keeping in touch" when you haven't actually exchanged so much as one specific, thoughtful word with your "friend" in years. I am guilt on all counts but, don't worry this is not yet another blog post in the ironic digital universe on the short comings of the digital world and how we're all going to hell in a social media hand cart...I actually have an idea.
Recently I was inspired by a small Facebook group (see it's not all bad...) that calls itself "Found Art Tuesday." If you are not familiar with them I encourage you to look them up. Their mission is simple: they seek to add unpredictable excitement in life and to try to make the world a better place through artwork. The feed is simply artwork someone has created and then left out for someone else to find. Make beauty, then give it away with no other expectation other than the hope that your work may make another person happy. I like that. But, more it is difficult than it sounds. I think every artist becomes attached to their work in a very real way. I know I do. I like to think that developing the practice of giving away things, makes room for growth and opens up more of life to me. That all being said, I have thought to start "at home" as the cliche goes. If you review my blog and works in progress you will notice that I am quite fond of little postcard paintings, most of which come from my walks and bike rides. So this is my "POST IT!" challenge to myself, quite probably to my students in the coming school year (like they will have a choice), and anyone else who wishes to participate: Paint or draw a postcard, make it anything and send it to someone who is a social media friend. Pick them for a reason or no specific reason at all, let that small voice within be your guide and trust that you will create and give the right image for the right person. Be sure to include a handwritten note on the back, something just for them, to them...remember all the time you spend making, and writing you are truly present to them and they are truly present to you. Set a goal: once a month, once a week, whatever you think is reasonable for you. I am wondering if something then truly wonderful can come from social media...let me know what happens to you!
Next to my field sketch kit, I think my bicycle and a cup of tea are probably my most valuable "art tools." Those of you who have read my blog before (and Thanks! if you have) probably know I get much of my inspiration from quiet cups of tea among my flowers and my long bike rides on country roads.
Artists, flowers, tea, and cats seem to always go together. One of my long time favorite books, Kazuko Okakura's The Book of Tea is a wonderful companion in consideration all this. Written for Westerners as an introduction to Japanese aesthetics and culture in the light of Teaism, it was the book Georgia O'Keeffe request be read to her when she was bed ridden near the end of her long life. I highly recommend the book. You will never look at things quite the same way again as this profound and delightful little book has a gentle way of opening your eyes a bit wider to the world around you with all its beauty, sorrow, joy and pain.
Yesterday I kitted out my bicycle for a very specific annual mission: collecting wildflowers. Normally, I would discourage anyone from going willy nilly flower picking. It really is nice to leave the flowers there for all to enjoy especially when I recall a quote from The Book of Tea:
“Why were the flowers born so beautiful and yet so hapless? Insects can sting, and even the meekest of beasts will fight when brought to bay. The birds whose plumage is sought to deck some bonnet can fly from its pursuer, the furred animal whose coat you covet for your own may hide at your approach. Alas! The only flower known to have wings is the butterfly; all others stand helpless before the destroyer. If they shriek in their death agony their cry never reaches our hardened ears. We are ever brutal to those who love and serve us in silence, but the time may come when, for our cruelty, we shall be deserted by these best friends of ours. Have you not noticed that the wild flowers are becoming scarcer every year? It may be that their wise men have told them to depart till man becomes more human. Perhaps they have migrated to heaven. Much may be said in favor of him who”
You may think me particularly cold-hearted to venture forth with my scissors (very sharp to keep the botanical shrieking to a minimum) and press after reading that quote, but my mission is a very deliberate, albeit somewhat futile one. I am trying to capture a season. And in doing so prod both myself and my students to truly see and see more. The contemporary Dutch artist Frederick Franke in his book The Zen of Seeing says that what he has not drawn he has not truly seen. These flowers preserved lovingly between the pages of my press provide endless opportunities for creativity and seeing throughout the year to come. They will be used as drawing and painting models, as part of art works and as ingredients to various art media, specifically dyes and papers.
In venturing forth yourself, I recommend that you familiarize yourself with the local pants (especially common allergens like poison ivy) as well as endangered or protected plants, such as the Black Eyed Susan in Maryland, which is the state flower and therefor protected. I also encourage you to make your own press. My husband designed and built mine for my specific needs and use. Here is a link to a DIY flower press:
I hope this post inspires you to read, drink tea, grow and draw the flowers and to go and see the world around you in a bit more detail. There are a few pictures below of some of my favorite local sights. As always feel free to ask me questions and/or leave comments below.
Like most people the white emptiness of a sketchbook page can intimidate me. Even with years of dedicated practice starting a new sketchbook or even a page can be a hurtle. I purposely purchase sketchbooks whose binding design inherently makes it difficult to tear out pages. I tell myself, and my students, that to tear out pages is to deny yourself the joy of seeing your own progress. Sigh, but which one of us does not have pages in are history that seem best left not revisited. Oh well, that's my mantra and I'm sticking to it, because I'm pretty sure it's good for me in the long run both artistically and humility is supposed to strengthen everyone's character, right?
So how to get past the whiteness and emptiness of the page? I've developed a few strategies:
1. Pre-painting a background color on a page. I find a better quality sketchbook allows you the freedom not to worry about it falling apart from months of hurried stuffing into this bag and that as well as being toss, dropped, and generally abused. In addition, acid free, mixed media (for both wet and dry media) paper allow you the freedom to use what every media you need/have for the situation and subject. I usually pre-paint a least a dozen pages in my sketchbook, some solid backgrounds, other I create shapes and half sheets with painters tape. I always keep complete blanks in between the painted pages, just in case! Then I choose the page that seems best suited in situ. I am sure to date my sketches because this of course means that you work is not in chronological order.
2. Decorative papers. Think "scrapbooking." My love of Asian Art led me to the practice of framing, edging and even binding in pages with decorative papers. Occasionally, I create pages with various shapes of pattern and then work my writing or drawing as part of an overall composition.
3. Sketches, seconds, and mementos, again scrapbooking techniques. Loose trace paper sketches can make wonderful overlays that you can incorporate into an overall page design and still include notes if you like. Printing seconds, works that you are less pleased with`, or loose small works (like postcards) with can be mounted and framed, or trimmed and employed as decorative elements. The same can be done with greeting cards. I recommend using a standard PVA white glue (like Elmer's) instead of a glue stick. Glue sticks are convenient and can work well on travel. However, I have yet to find the one that doesn't eventually give up after a few months.
4. Lastly, I am quite fond of little panoramic, accordion sketchbooks also known as Japanese albums. I have had good luck with Pentalic and Moleskin brands for mixed media work. One word of caution here. Be sure the buy two books, if possible, or remove one or two panels of the book you have purchased and rebind with a simple tape binding in order to have pages to experiment on. I have worked on some beautiful handmade papers but, fought them the entire time because I was really asking the paper to do something that it didn't do well. For example, Crow quill pen on soft cold press paper or ink washes on paper with little or no sizing so the bleed was difficult to control.
With these panoramic books, I like to keep a few blanks on hand as well as several with different pre-painted backgrounds. I prefer watercolor, experimenting with different effects like tea staining, salt, and plastic wrap. Sometimes simply daubing the wet wash with a sponge, or tissues can give a wonderful effect. Some are washed with non-staining pigments so I can lift later to obtain highlights. Others I just see what happens. I do try to keep a record of what the washes and effects are however, in tiny notes in pencil on the back of the page for future reference.
Above are some samples of all the techniques I have described above. Since it is summer, I make the most of my addition time to prepare a number of pages and books for the upcoming busy months. I hope this helps you overcome the white emptiness and feel free to share in the comments below any strategies/techniques you have discovered!
Pretty much everything with a friend is better and art is no exception! It was great fun a few weeks ago to be hostess to the Art Ladies, as we've come to call ourselves. This was the brain child of my printmaking mentor, just like mind women, getting together to draw on a Saturday morning once a month and then share over lunch what we made. Only our second outing, the group decided to explore my home Scientists Cliffs for sketch subjects and fossils. It was a wonderful exercise in appreciation to see where I live from the eyes of newcomers to the landscape. Also, it was a nice kick in the pants to myself to pick up my sketchbook and pencil here at home more often!
I feel in love with a wild grape vine while on the beach which turn into an ink line study that I'm hoping will be a fun start for a new printmaking project.
When I was a sole proprietor I learned very quickly there are many compelling reasons, besides monetary ones, for accepting a project. Experience/education in a specific field, and desire to work with a certain expert/client were all lures when I reflect on past commissions. There also was the hope of exposure to a broader audience, and meaningful purpose that peaked my interest. And last but certainly not least, love for the work itself. These are all important "rewards" that go beyond a simple paycheck. Of course, the best projects are some combination of all the above. A sense of doing meaningful work as well as a sense of accomplishment/acknowledgment and growth are essential in any profession no matter how grand or humble by societal standards.
This past month my colleague, who is a composer and our department chair, asked if I would be interested in participating in creating a gift for two administrators that were leaving the school where we teach. He noted that these two administrator had spent literally years working together across a table from each other. This inspired him to create a work of "table music." Now, I was a dutiful, albeit less than diligent and inspired music student in my youth and had never, to my knowledge, encountered this term. So, if you are reading this and feeling suddenly ignorant don't...I had to have it explained to me too.
Table Music or Tafelmusik in German originated during the mid 16th century and became popular through the 17th century at feasts and banquets. According to my colleague and the composer, these compositions were intended to delight and entertain. That being said, the sophistication and skill necessary in composing this musical parlor game astounds me! Here's how it works: There is one sheet of music between the performers sitting across the table from each other. I read/perform it as the music is written facing me and you read/perform it as the music reads facing you at the same time. Together we make Tafelmusik.
My colleague asked if I could calligraphy the final sheet music. The plan was then for another colleague, with far greater digital technical skills than me, to scan the sheet music and then laser cut it on to stained wooden plaques to be presented as gifts. How could I say no? This was new territory for me for I had never created music calligraphy before, it also was a chance to work closely with my two colleagues each in an area of expertise they possessed that I did not so I knew I was going to learn a lot! And lastly, there are few things more meaningful than being part of creating a gift.
Above you can see the gallery of my progress and hear Rob Redie's original composition "BeaLize." Rob made the composing seem as if it was fun and easy for him. But, isn't that always the way when someone is truly talented? For me, there were a number of challenges. The main one was my coming to understand how the music was structured and the different measures and notes related and aligned with each other vertically. The visual hierarchy of line based entirely on line weight was deeply considered as well. This was of special interest to me as it was a different way of using this visual tool than in my previous drafting experience. I also came to a deeper understanding of musical notation in general, which is an entire language of line, exquisitely beautiful lines. Working this way I had many hours to consider how we express ourselves through a seemingly endless variety of line, a very abstract and symbolic form of communication for our most concrete ideas. There is a terrific short video from PBS Art Assignment on the subject of abstraction and how it is not as foreign to our sensibilities as we might first think.
So there it is, one of those rare and wonderful times where I had the opportunity to do something new for my portfolio, learn from experts, work with great people doing something I love to do for a meaningful purpose. It was a good project!