Inexcusable Hubris

I went to Le Louvre today, but it was rotten. Had a serious bout of hubris, seeing three people planted around the "Bound Hessian" doing mediocre studies, and full of cocky-cock fer no justifiable reason, I decide to stand nearby and blast out what I planned to be a dominating study of a radically foreshortened view, done straight ahead in ink, without the aid of a penciled layout, and utilizing a battered brush pen.

(Already I'm blaming the tools...)

What a total dog bone. That taught me a lesson--y'know, the same lesson I've been getting taught with regularity ever since I first picked up a drawing implement (which have quite often been faulty, it must be said).

10 minutes into this mess, (the first one, the worst one, on the left--CLICK IMAGE to see larger, if you dare), I was blazing crimson in embarrassment, sweat pouring over my body and dripping into the most unnatural places. I gave up, just walked away, and found a window sill to lay my pad on, rest for a second, tried to cool off and collect myself, then decided to go back at it and see if I couldn't find some better solutions in a quick second study. It was done from memory, and that execrable first study. I think you'll agree it's much more palatable than the (let's face it) completely indigestible first effort. But still not good.

So why show it here? If anyone is interested enough in this blog to be reading about our life and struggles over here, I owe them some honest insight into the process of artistic growth. What better way than showing the evolution of my sketches, both long and short--and good or bad.

About the drawing: I'm not skilled enough to do tonal studies in black ink. Line should be the girding force for any ink drawing I attempt, not tone. Using line successfully is one of my glaring weaknesses, maybe my weakest, but that's why I'm forcing myself to do these studies. I am way too sculptural in my approach, and I consistently fail to grasp the graphic possibilities. In the second drawing, I think the pectoral/ribcage skin folds that cross the body are a better graphic solution to the problem of inking a dark bronze sculpture with no clear directional light source. But then, the ham-fisted thickness of these way-too-similar lines that cut horizontally through the torso have the effect of cutting the poor sculpture into something like salami slices. Not pretty. And that's on the GOOD one.


Here's the bulk of the day's work, mildly rearranged on the page to facilitate Blogspot layout. I STARTED with the kneeling cupid figure--it was kinda downhill afterwards, tho' I like the little museum-goer studies. It's a good lesson in how these things get away from you, and how hard it can be to regroup.

I don't know what's going on with that girl.

Had a decent cappuccino at one of the cafés inside the Louvre and did a sketch of a funny family where the wife was icily poised (in designer jeans and knee-high, six-inch-heel boots--worn to see the Louvre!), the father cross-armed and sullen in his low-key euro-chic, and their three preteen-to-early-teen boys arranged between them, all three sons with wildly gelled hair, hipster-baggy skater clothing, and bodies already beginning to chub up in a way unrecognizable as being related to their self-consciously attractive parents. But I won't bore you with the uneven sketch I made of this scene.

Oh, such a long way to go....