Last month, I restarted drawing and sketching regularly again.
I’m a self-taught artist… or maybe should I say, “I’m an individual who is re-learning how to draw again from the time of childhood, where drawing came naturally, freely, without self-judgement and overthinking”?
Is that precise?
The last time I restarted drawing was back in 2014-2015 – the period where I turned to art for healing and recovery after my first major burn out. I left the job without any plans or backup for income, but somehow manage to give myself a year to rest and enjoy the simple pleasures in life.
I lost my writing voice then. To a point where I couldn’t bring myself to look at words, let alone to write.
I also wanted a break from screens, so drawing on paper was the traditional remedy I prescribed for myself and I spent my days in art treatment.
Looking back, it was one of the best things I did for myself, despite the risk of financial instability. That decision even led me to surprising paths, like an offer to publish my first book. It wasn’t a bestseller, but the experience was priceless.
My first love has always been line art in ink. Just a single colour – usually black – on paper. Lines and dots.
Like those illustrations I’d seen in the pages of old books and comic strips in newspapers. I always admire at how, with just black lines and dots alone, can convey such detailed beauty.
I don’t particularly have a favourite artist I lean towards, East or West. I appreciate both the same.
I’m not exactly skilled at line art techniques, but I enjoy the process of putting ink on paper, either with a pen liner or a brush pen. It is somewhat calming to me, and quiets down the noise in my head.
Time stands still when I draw. It freezes even more when I stipple.
Stippling or pointillism is basically drawing with dots. Thousands of dots, if it’s a bigger or more complex artwork.
The act of placing one dot at a time on paper or a preferred canvas – almost akin to tattooing paper. Or maybe like a Dot Matrix printer stabbing onto paper, except this is all done by hand.
A lone dot is just a speck, dust-like, on a blank canvas. But when it meets with other dots, they collectively form a bigger picture. Much like the universe, don’t you think?
“How did you do this? All these dots?” People asked me before, closely inspecting the dots on paper.
“One dot at a time,” I said.
It is tedious work. Glacial pace. Total focus. A dot is stamped onto parchment, where it needs to be to create texture and tone. Decision made on the spot. Slow, steady breaths.
The brain thinks of nothing else but dots. I must say, the process does force me to be in the present.
I get impatient at times for wanting to breeze through a piece to the finishing line. But no. I chose this very specific art style that calls for more patience and presence. Slow and steady it is. No other way around it.
I don’t always stipple an entire piece. Sometimes I do, just for the heck of it. Or maybe to stop time or silent my monkey brain.
Quite a thrill when it’s all done and the art piece turns out decently well. Sense of achievement: checked!
I was quite pleased with the one I did last month, especially after some years of not really drawing much. Did it in red ink instead of my usual black.
That was fun. And therapeutic. I will do it again. Maybe an ambitious, bigger piece next. That’s possible, right?
Stop time.
Be present.
Create a universe.
Andrealism holds essays on lived experiences, and making things. It also features my art and photography.
Thank you for reading and for your company.
~ Andrea
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