Saturday, February 18, 2006

contoured, gestured, chewed up, and spit out in water color

Grace's miracle orchid coaxed out of its cozy home behind the woodstove and put on a cherry wood pedastle for our sketching pleasure.

Minnie pulled out her wistful, vivid, and sometimes dissected birds. She shared the contents of her special pencil box. Debbie the craft wizard came totally prepared, with sketch pads and a whole passle of color-making utensils. Andrea dances jazz, but only on the paper at the mo. E has some kind of neat software that turns her screen into a sketch pad. Now I know what those maneuverable screens are for--walking through Best (You Can Get, Sucker) Buy, ignorantly bargain hunting, I thought they were just extra features to add a few hundy to the price tag.

Horizons expanded:

"You are not drawing a plant, you are drawing a picture," says E. And I don't know how to draw a picture. My eyes are unreliable, even when I'm not using them to scrutinize the subject. So, we discuss the action of drawing, the seeing of art, the rules of creating aesthetic value (without using the phrase 'aesthetic value!'), and menopausal concerns.

Then we sketch some more and talk about the language of art. Who can 'speak' it and can you learn it in art school? Are there natural speakers, or do parents/society make some kids sort of "naturally" artistic by 'speaking' to them in the language of art? What language(s) did my parents speak to me in? And which did I learn later? And why?


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