Drawing is something I’ve always liked to do but of which have never had the pleasure of being very good. Occasionally I’ve gotten lucky and had something turn out nice – or at least interesting.
Now with all the free-time I’ve had lately I’ve taken to pursuing it more seriously for personal satisfaction. I’ve painted around 7 or 8 pictures in the last couple months. But I’m stuck and not getting any better.
I looked into drawing classes here in Chicago but unfortunately they’re up North in the rich and stuffy part of town – which besides being full of insufferable people is also too much of a commute. Despite all that, though, Vitrivian Fine Art Studio looked pretty good. But not at ~300 smackers for a 6-week class. The Art Institute was 560.
WTF. Why would something as civilized as drawing which should be enjoyed and learned by everyone be so fucking hoity-toity and exclusionary?!
So instead I got a book. Actually, we got it several months ago at Open Books and I forgot all about it until last night when I lamented how horrible I am at something I like so much. Tim said his father used it in the 70s (not this particular copy) and became exponentially better at drawing.
I’ve only read through the lengthy introduction so far.
As a starting point reference, I drew and painted a self-portrait, which is pretty fucking awful; I am horrible at drawing people and their noses and eyes and everything else. I guess that’s the point of learning, eh. I’ll try out another one once I feel I’ve made any progress.