Square One

Main Desk.

Interior studio / Student work

Bargue drawing. Look closely to see the three lines.

Last Monday I heard from the The Center of Academic Study and Naturalistic Painting (CAS) that I'd been selected as their summer scholarship second place winner. This is a huge honor because not only is CAS an incredible academy, but it's also the first time I've ever entered and won a prize by the merit of my art.

So I'd heard from CAS Monday morning, and Ryan, the head of the academy, invited me to stop by their Springville studio for a tour. I emailed him back pretty quickly and at 11:30 that same day, I made it to CAS' studio.

The interior was incredible. The walls were lined with beautiful works of art, it was absolutely breathtaking. He took me to the interior studio where the walls were lined with exquisite student work and studies. Within the hour I signed up and within two hours I was set up to start studying. It was all very cool and exciting until I realized that I can't draw.

So for the next 14 weeks I will be rebuilding my foundation. Mondays and Fridays I'll be at the studio from 9-7, and Tuesdays and Thursdays I'll be working from 9-9. I have Wednesdays and weekends off. Two weeks in I can feel myself getting better, more precise. They literally expect perfection, but this, of course, has its own consequences.

On Tuesday night I pulled off the side of the road and just ugly cried my eyes out. I was so tired and so frustrated. I had worked on a live-model portrait for about two sessions or six hours, before my teacher came around and told me to start over. My lines were off, my proportions were off, and it wasn't until she pointed them out that I saw my many many mistakes. This wasn't the first time I was told to start over. Part of my training includes "Bargue Drawings." My first task was to draw a plumb line or a center line that runs through the center of the model, and two perpendicular lines. Once I thought I had those set, I proceeded with my drawing. I had about three hours of work down on paper when my teacher came around and told me that my first three lines were off and that I had to start over. I erased my entire page and spent the next two hours perfecting three lines. Three. Lines. I just couldn't get them right. I was so frustrated.

This is the refiners fire, I'm rebuilding my foundation, whatever you want to call it, it's good for me. Also, I don't think I'm ever going to get time like this again to just work on my skills, unless I become a full time artist. I'm incredibly lucky, this is great training, but goodness it just throws you for a loop. It's made me question my capacity to even be an artist.

I want to tell myself to keep things in perspective. To stop comparing myself to my peers. To enjoy being amongst incredibly talented individuals and to enjoy being educated by extremely talented and well trained teachers.

Tuesday night, LinkedIn sent me an email about a series they're doing called "If I were 22" (I'm 22). Influencers on LinkedIn write up pieces of advice they'd give to their 22 year old selves. They talk about things they'd change and things they'd keep the same. I spent an hour reading through these essays trying to rebuild my own confidence and courage. One quote really resonated with me. Dr. Chopra talks about his experience and resilience through med school, and he says,

"My 22-year-old self needed to hear something important. Being on track is rarely workable. Setbacks, swerves, and curves await everyone. He needed to pay attention to something foreign to his nature: resilience in the face of difficulty. This means the ability to bound back emotionally, to take no obstacle as a sign of one's inferiority, to establish a strong sense of self that external circumstances and other people cannot undermine."

I guess what's haunted me the most is the fact that this is a five year program. After one week, I've witnessed all that I have yet to learn and all that I can learn, but I don't feel like I have five years to do it. And because of that I feel like I can't be an artist. That's the kicker for me.

Love \\ Christelle

Frost-y

I packed a bag and went for a hike. Last week Alex took me into the Provo canyons where we hiked into the most beautiful mountains. It had been dark, but it had also been peaceful and beautiful. I decided to go explore that same trail in pure seclusion and bright sunshine.

About halfway through my planned hike I found a less nicely paved trail and decided to go exploring. I later found a sign that named the trail I'd been hiking and distance to the nearest landmark, but at the time I was hiking blind. I was definitely nervous, I had no desire to get lost. There were times where I seriously considered turning around but I figured I'd come too far, and that I needed to at least find some kind of interesting landmark before quitting.

After about forty-five minutes of climbing I came to a fork in the road - It was the first fork I'd seen since leaving the main road. The left road was clearly the main road, but since I was at eye level with and could see the details of the nearby mountain ranges, I decided to see where the right road would take me. I knew I wasn't going to reach the top of the mountain which is where the left trail seemed to be headed because it still seemed a ways off.

A hundred meters in I was in a small clearing. Ahead of me were snow capped mountain ranges, and below was the valley I'd walked through on the main trail. There was a campfire setup made of rocks, with sticks and kindling already set up for use, and a seating arrangement made of stone. It was absolutely breathtaking .

What does any of this have to do with painting?

First, I noticed colors and shapes that I'd never noticed before I started painting. Like how shadows cast outdoors will typically have a blueish tint, and everywhere the sun shines will have a warm yellow tint. I noticed fractals on leaves, on flowers. I noticed how light objects grew darker in recession and dark objects grew lighter in recession.

Second, I thought about my obsession with leaving my mark. Plants and bees and birds certainly don't care about my paintings, nor do they care about how much money these works earn. It was quiet and secluded out in the mountains, and I just kind of fit like a piece of a puzzle. That's as uncheesy as I could get it. (Part of a larger picture - yeah?)

And finally - taking the road less travelled by. Though their methods may seem archaic now, the old masters were some of the greatest innovators of their time. I recognize that I can't make reproductions forever (see here), but I also don't plan on throwing a shark in formaldehyde any time soon. So... innovation... taking the path less travelled by... making culturally significant art using adequate technique and perhaps a bit of abstraction to connect my viewer to my work. Nothing extraordinary comes from sticking to the main trail.

Of course there are far more variables to consider when considering success in the contemporary art market, but that's a rant post for another day.

Love \\ Christelle