People are so willing to be amazed by art. As if it happens out of nowhere, and the fairies came down and bestowed their magic upon the little girl and her crayons. Or a strange metamorphosis—you spend a few years mastering your skills, hidden away in the dark, and then you step out as a fantastically shiny art butterfly and announce yourself to the world.
It just doesn’t happen that way. People don’t realize that the actual learning of art is right in front of them, and they can see it. It might be gradual, but it’s right there. And in fact, they’re supposed to see it, you know? That’s the point. That’s the cool thing about art. It’s not a product—it’s a process, and you get to watch it happen. You have front row seats to How the Artist Got So Good. That’s probably why artists tend to be a nervous or sensitive bunch, because it’s not like we can practice our dance steps and then perform a ballet for you or memorize our lines and then act a scene. Our practice is our performance, and we’re letting you see both.
People ask, “How did you learn to draw?” And I’m like, “You’re looking at it.” Every drawing I make is how I learn to draw. Drawings I did a year ago aren’t as good as ones I did yesterday. And drawings I do tomorrow will be better. No artist ever says, “Okay, I’ve gotten this good, and that’s good enough, so I think I’ll stop learning and just draw at this skill level from here on out.”
That’s impossible to do.
Anyway. Hi. :B (Euclase)