So, I finally started adult art class last Tuesday with a freelance instructor. I’ve been wanting to get some basic techniques down, but it seems no one ever teaches that. You’re supposed to read it up on your own, improve through practice and, by some stroke of luck or talent, get there. I guess my shapes aren’t that bad. I probably have some semblance of a chance at eventually drawing something decent.
On Thursday this week I had my second lesson, with a classmate who has improved by leaps and bounds since she started sketching with US earlier this year. She’s in her forties, I estimate, and apart from enjoying the lessons, I appreciate more the opportunity to analyse the dynamics between the instructor and her. From observing them, I realise that my instructor has more to give than pointers in art. He can handle people.
Anyway, since the art lessons I’ve tried to do away with my usual rigidity in sketching and apparently style of an illustrator, and adopt the more non-restrictive style that my instructor propagates. It’s in a way liberating. I could see it in my sketches on the second lesson, and by how much less he needed to remind me that lines don’t have to be straight.
So the weird thing then, is that I dreamt of lines. I dreamt some scenes in black and white and shades of grey. Earlier on last evening I was scrutinising objects and the way shadows form when the light hits them.
Isn’t it funny how people are just the same? “The darkest dark will make the picture pop.” You need that little bit of black for the white to flow.