One December day last year, I decided to sketch my sleeping son just before I started my day. That initial "success" at artmaking kept me happy all day, even when I had to go through my mundane tasks of keeping house. I did the same thing over the next few days and then it dawned on me--I should be sketching! I mean, I should approach my artmaking with a "sketching/playful" mindset as opposed to a "drawing/serious " mindset. I used to draw with not much care as to the end result. I simply enjoyed the act of putting ink on paper and observing things around me. Somewhere along the way, as I acquired what I call the Instagram mentality or the constant desire to make things look pretty ("Instagrammable" as others would say), I became more conscious and too concerned with making my drawings worth sharing online. I became too concerned with having a finished look to my art--getting the proportions right, the values correct, etc. Not surprisingly, the act of drawing frustrated me and scared me. I ended up not making any thing at all for days and months.
After months of not putting anything down on my sketchbook, the desire to pick up my brush pen was stronger than ever. I was so eager to put ink on paper, I didn't care if I made anything "instagrammable" or not. The experience of not caring, of making mistakes on paper was so freeing and so relaxing. I was at play again. I wasn't scared or frustrated about my art any longer. I became more convinced that this is the right direction for my artmaking when I began to read Felix Scheinberger's book, Dare to Sketch. His words resonated with me. I take to heart his advice to deliberately begin every sketchbook with a bad drawing. In my case, I do a bad drawing intuitively. I start every day with a bad sketch of whatever piques my interest. It's a very liberating exercise and it helps me get through the roughest days.
It doesn't really take much to make the kind of art that makes me happy. Five minutes is all it takes. If I spend more than that on a sketch, the critic in my head begins to make itself felt and ruins the whole purpose of my activity. I guess, Felix is right. I mean, he's right: "the fear of the empty page is the fear of making mistakes." It takes some kind of daring in order to sketch. I'm so thankful I found my daring again. I sincerely hope that you find yours, too, and get those sketchbooks filled up this year.
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