Illustration Interrupted
A note on the creative process and the reality of everyday life.
Before I can wind down, start dinner, walk away, or otherwise change my mind, I login into the figure drawing event and set up a new canvas. Three-hour long painting sessions take place every Wednesday night. It is scheduled at an ideal time, 6:30 PM (the end of my workday). Working from home makes this a seamless transition, which is perfect for my personality.
I approach early morning writing the same way. I wake up, and I start. Immediately. Given too much time to dilly-dally by making an elaborate breakfast or setting up the bike for a ride, and I’ll be off on a different adventure. Next thing you know, I’ll have hiked 8 miles, or I’ll read for three hours while consuming multiple coffees (instead of creating).
Four weeks ago, I attended a 6:30 PM Wednesday night figure drawing session via Zoom for the first time. Elated, I was back again a week later. The following Wednesday was St. Patrick’s Day, so my partner and I chose to have a date night. That Thursday, there wasn’t time to hit up the short pose session due to work priorities. No matter, there is always Saturday at five… oops, okay, next time. And so it goes once you veer off track.
Eager to reinvest in my personal figure study mission, I was quite looking forward to last night’s session. Almost immediately after the model chose her pose for the evening (a seated position accented with blush pink flowers and slate grey drapes), I decided to portray her as a mermaid. Maybe it was the creature designer in me; perhaps it was the angle of her legs? Either way, the slate grey drapes were about to become crashing ocean waves or a Nor’easter sky. Pillows transformed into craggy rocks slick with salt water, and the model sprouted two Neptunian tails.
She held the pose for nearly 40 uninterrupted minutes. Typically, the model poses for 20–25 minutes, rests for 5, and repeats. In total, an artist can expect about 2.5 drawing hours from one three-hour session. While one could power through the breaks to flesh out the background, I don’t recommend it. I often do, but returning in a few minutes with fresh eyes is actually a smarter move.
For the first 5 minute pause, I ran into the kitchen to inhale Tuesday night’s leftovers. My partner is a tremendous cook. A chef, even. I am not, and I appreciate access to these superior leftovers like non-other. Rushing any meal is counter to my yoga mentor-influenced belief that all meals should be savored slowly with a present mind. That said, I live in reality, and sometimes you have five minutes to eat.
That is when it happened. Our household experienced a mini personal emergency about 4 minutes into my 5-minute dinner that could not be left unattended. Fortunately, everyone is okay. After all, it was a mini emergency, but it would require fast action and planning. Things that don’t mesh with timed drawing sessions. So, I paid the model for a screenshot and shut Zoom down. Again, I live in reality.
So here we are, with slightly deflated sails. But I do have the reference. I have the 40-minute headstart. I will finish the stormy sea mermaid painting, and I will only allow myself another 110 minutes to do so. Otherwise, where is the challenge? With digital painting especially, you can paint over your piece a thousand times. You can control Z your way to perfection without ever damaging the canvas or muddying the color. But overall, I am thankful that I have the chance (and the ability) to paint at all. Last night, right now, or later, I am lucky. I’ll finish it.
