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Owl Post Drawings FAQs

Kim. 21. Philippines.

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chirart:

artist-problems:

Submitted by: thatoneguyontumblr
[#647: That feeling you get when you see an artist put out something amazing online and the description says “Oh, this was just a doodle I did in like 10 minutes.”]

I actually want to comment on this! Because I see the reaction to something like this (and something I used to do, actually) is being dissuaded and screaming “HOW DO I DO????” internally to the heavens, balled fist shaking with dramatic woe at your figurative maker. And as fun as that is I think it just puts a lot of pressure on a developing artist. It gives the impression that skilled artists are just kind of born skilled and here you are, some commoner unable to climb Mount Olympus to join the ranks of Godly Talent.
Also, this has kind of been rocking in my head for a while, so.
I think a turning point in my artistic development was something an animation teacher told me: He was discussing Picasso and the merits of which he was called a genius, and exactly what a definition of a genius was. And basically what it came down to is: amateurs create flukes, those once-in-a-while odd pictures that stand above the rest of their work, and geniuses are able to repeat “flukes” every time.
Now, first of all, this isn’t a statement to be taken 100% literally, since “genius” is just a convenient explanation for this to revolve around, but it does kind of shoot back to the ol’ artist proverb, “You’re only as good as your worst work.” A lot about self-improvement actually has little to do with the final product, and more to the point the effort you put into it. Anyone can make anything look good if they have all the time and care in the world to play, fix mistakes, revisit, and experiment—the challenge is being able to make something that looks like you had three months to perfect and doing it within a matter of hours, or even minutes.
There is, after all, nothing that takes more effort than making something look effortless, something that looks so easy that you think “I can do that.” Like how ballet dancers making five-foot leaps look as easy as yawning and gymnasts doing triple flips with about the same energy it takes to order coffee. It’s not about the result, but the years of dedication and practice and innate understanding that it took to make that result. Hell, just look at all the people who look at Bugs Bunny (or any cartoon character) and go “that’s so simple a five-year-old can draw that,” but when it comes down to it they can’t ever reproduce how clean and flawless that design is—even when they try to copy it exactly. It’s because the understanding and study that went into why those lines are there and how they come together to make Bugs Bunny just isn’t there.
Everyone and their little dog told me to pursue an art career as long as I can remember, but it took me forever to finally consider it seriously because while there were a lot of works that I did that turned out decently, no one really knew how long and slow I was to produce something that looked decent in the first place. The sketches I did in 10 minutes were the more honest look at my skill: inconsistent, inefficient, half-realized and full of indecision.
So when I heard that teacher’s remark, that an amateur has flukes and a genius “fluke” is the basic default setting, I understood instantly what I had to do to improve. There was no reason, I thought, that my best can’t be my default. It’s a standard I strive for in anything I do. Whether or not I reach it is another issue entirely, but the goal is important. The importance of developing method and understanding can go a long way. What I can do in ten minutes now compared to what I could do five years ago is drastically different, and it’s still an honest look at my skill. Back then I couldn’t even draw a face in ten minutes, now I can sketch an entire comic page and start the lineart in fifteen. The greatest improvement within five years, for me, has less to do with the final product and more the speed I know I can do the final product.
Funnily enough, ever since, whenever I see a mindblowingly good artist just go “eh, this was a five minute sketch” and it’s some flawless piece of art, I don’t go “I’LL NEVER BE THAT GOOD” but instead I go “huh, what can I do to be that good all the time?” There’s just kind of an understanding about the 10 000 hours you KNOW they must’ve put in to do that in ten minutes. They didn’t always. Every artist starts out with a blank slate.

artist-problems:

Submitted by: thatoneguyontumblr

[#647: That feeling you get when you see an artist put out something amazing online and the description says “Oh, this was just a doodle I did in like 10 minutes.”]

I actually want to comment on this! Because I see the reaction to something like this (and something I used to do, actually) is being dissuaded and screaming “HOW DO I DO????” internally to the heavens, balled fist shaking with dramatic woe at your figurative maker. And as fun as that is I think it just puts a lot of pressure on a developing artist. It gives the impression that skilled artists are just kind of born skilled and here you are, some commoner unable to climb Mount Olympus to join the ranks of Godly Talent.

Also, this has kind of been rocking in my head for a while, so.

I think a turning point in my artistic development was something an animation teacher told me: He was discussing Picasso and the merits of which he was called a genius, and exactly what a definition of a genius was. And basically what it came down to is: amateurs create flukes, those once-in-a-while odd pictures that stand above the rest of their work, and geniuses are able to repeat “flukes” every time.

Now, first of all, this isn’t a statement to be taken 100% literally, since “genius” is just a convenient explanation for this to revolve around, but it does kind of shoot back to the ol’ artist proverb, “You’re only as good as your worst work.” A lot about self-improvement actually has little to do with the final product, and more to the point the effort you put into it. Anyone can make anything look good if they have all the time and care in the world to play, fix mistakes, revisit, and experiment—the challenge is being able to make something that looks like you had three months to perfect and doing it within a matter of hours, or even minutes.

There is, after all, nothing that takes more effort than making something look effortless, something that looks so easy that you think “I can do that.” Like how ballet dancers making five-foot leaps look as easy as yawning and gymnasts doing triple flips with about the same energy it takes to order coffee. It’s not about the result, but the years of dedication and practice and innate understanding that it took to make that result. Hell, just look at all the people who look at Bugs Bunny (or any cartoon character) and go “that’s so simple a five-year-old can draw that,” but when it comes down to it they can’t ever reproduce how clean and flawless that design is—even when they try to copy it exactly. It’s because the understanding and study that went into why those lines are there and how they come together to make Bugs Bunny just isn’t there.

Everyone and their little dog told me to pursue an art career as long as I can remember, but it took me forever to finally consider it seriously because while there were a lot of works that I did that turned out decently, no one really knew how long and slow I was to produce something that looked decent in the first place. The sketches I did in 10 minutes were the more honest look at my skill: inconsistent, inefficient, half-realized and full of indecision.

So when I heard that teacher’s remark, that an amateur has flukes and a genius “fluke” is the basic default setting, I understood instantly what I had to do to improve. There was no reason, I thought, that my best can’t be my default. It’s a standard I strive for in anything I do. Whether or not I reach it is another issue entirely, but the goal is important. The importance of developing method and understanding can go a long way. What I can do in ten minutes now compared to what I could do five years ago is drastically different, and it’s still an honest look at my skill. Back then I couldn’t even draw a face in ten minutes, now I can sketch an entire comic page and start the lineart in fifteen. The greatest improvement within five years, for me, has less to do with the final product and more the speed I know I can do the final product.

Funnily enough, ever since, whenever I see a mindblowingly good artist just go “eh, this was a five minute sketch” and it’s some flawless piece of art, I don’t go “I’LL NEVER BE THAT GOOD” but instead I go “huh, what can I do to be that good all the time?” There’s just kind of an understanding about the 10 000 hours you KNOW they must’ve put in to do that in ten minutes. They didn’t always. Every artist starts out with a blank slate.