When walking into a coffee shop or a store at a mall or a lifestyle center, some of these places might have a floor decorated with a pattern entirely made up of tiles. Sure, it's not the first thing we think about when walking in, but we might be aware that the color of the tiles are purposefully set up to match the store's brand color scheme, but could something as simple as floor tiles tell a story we often overlook? In an episode of NHK World Japan's The Mark of Beauty, hidden stories are not only told, but there is a level of craftsmanship that makes tiles into a true work of art.
The Mark of Beauty is an NHK World Japan original documentary series that centers around the arts and crafts unique to Japanese culture. It features the art of everyday life arts and crafts that go unnoticed at a first glance, but upon close examination, there is a greater depth and meaning which creates the beauty of such techniques. The episodes center around topics such as the craftsmanship behind embroidery, jade, kiriko cut glass and lacquer-ware. The episode delving into the art of tiles stood out the most to me because whenever one steps into a store or shop decorated with tiles, the last thing that comes to mind is how can it be seen as an art form. Within the three main categories, Style, Versatility and Art, the viewer receives new insights into how something so simple as the way tiles are set up can contain a greater story and craft than they realize.
As Part One of the episode starts with Style, we are introduced to writer, Eri Nishimura and photographer, Junichi Okugawa, who are traveling around Japan taking snapshots of the various tiles they come across. Impressed with the tile work, Okugawa takes pictures of the floor at a shopping arcade clothing store. The narrator then delves into his and Nishimura's fascination on the subject.
"Their love for tiles has culminated into a photo book. They put their feet in the photos for size comparison and also to show that the tiles are indeed on the floor! They say an old shopping arcade is a treasure trove of tiles. Nishimura takes us to a shop that has one of her favorite tiles."
Thus, she leads the viewer to a meat shop, which opened in 1936. It contains such vibrant tiles, shining with reds and oranges with white outlines, laid out in front of the display case. At that point, we hear a bit of backstory behind how such tiles were chosen. "The owner's mother laid these tiles around 1975. She chose this design in hopes of giving the shop a modern makeover" says the narrator. Shop owner, Masayuki Arai tells Nishimura and Okugawa that after plumbing work was being done on the shop, a few of the tiles were cracked, that they had to be replaced. His mother had hoped to find the same colored tiles as the original, but they were so rare, they are practically irreplaceable. Arai goes on to say that "they've been [t]here for so long, so [he's] attached to them". Okugawa "pays homage to the shop's history and snaps a pic", which features Arai's feet standing on the floor as well as another photo with Nishimura's beside his. "It's been taken care of, so the color is still there, not faded. And the cracks in them actually make them tasteful. I feel attached to it and I really adore it" says Nishimura. The narrator then states how much the tiles had supported Arai's shop over the course of four decades, which brings us to the first mark of beauty: "Aging Together". Aside from how long the tiles had been around for, the reason for their selection and what they had endured over the years, even within all their simplicity, they carry a meaningful story altogether. Upon hearing the story behind the tiles, it's no wonder Arai has such a personal attachment to them.
The narrator even goes as far back in history as the 6th century when tiles were transferred over to Japan from China with the example of the Todaiji Temple in Nara. Although tiles were ultimately used in temples to design the floors, it was after the earthquake of 1923 that prompted a more common use of tiles. Since the buildings were wooden structures, making them a fire hazard, this evoked a shift in the type of materials used to build buildings. From wooden structures to concrete ones, tiles became the norm. In the intervening years, they eventually became more and more artistic and stylish as seen in the Tokyo National Museum with a work created by Taishin Ikeda. The wall designed by Ikeda features a pattern of an imaginary flower, which is plastered before the tiles are applied. According to the narrator, "drawing a motif with small pieces of tiles was a revolutionary method at the time" the piece was made. Even in modern times, artisans are always developing new methods to designing with tiles. Contemporary artisan, Amane Shiraishi demonstrates his craft, process and the art behind them by demonstrating the making of a living room wall. The project was made for a client who wanted a 'happy and colorful wall', so Shiraishi explains that he made it colorful, but the important thing was to make it stylish. Citing the works he had been exposed to while being trained in Morocco, he highlighted his observations of tile work done on a mosaic. Along with the array colors used in the design, white tiles were always present between colors. As we often hear the phrase, 'less is more', the end results are a prime example of such. With the large curvy white tiles in the center of each triangular shaped color tile, the ambiance the of wall texture sets a different mood each time of the day. As the sun sets, the bumps in the white tiles change the feel of the setting in the living room than that of how it looks during the day. "And it will watch over this family from here [where it stands] always" says the narrator to conclude Part One of the episode. The tiles will all age together with their own story to tell for years to come.
Part Two, Versatility, as the title implies, delves into the various functions tiles are adapted to. In Kasahara, Gifu, the highest amount of tiles are produced as seen in their shops and cafés. The café featured in this documentary, for example contains colorful tables, decorated with tiles that immediately catches the eyes of visitors. What's even more fascinating is how the tiles are used to create various sections of the shop as if they were separate rooms. This is achieved by decorating the floor with a flower pattern on one section of the shop and using the same pattern, but with opposite colors on the other. The vibe of the pattern feels like a 'charming flower garden' as the narrator describes it. These small sized tiles are used to create a big picture. Café owner, Kumiko Tamesawa offers her insight by indicating that "[t]iles can be used to create designs in infinite ways" and that she "discovered that by just changing the colors you use, you can give a totally different impression". After the narrator highlights how the various combinations of tiles can display an array of expressions, the second mark of beauty is "Tiny Tiles, Infinite Possibilities". Small sized tiles open a window of possibilities for artisans to create an assortment of new patterns as seen in the Mosaic Tile Museum, which is located in the town of Kasahara. The museum itself is a major staple of the town with its historic origins as a town known for its pottery making until the 1950's when manufactures shifted their focus to tiles. Since then, the tile factories produced creative new pattern designs, even drawing inspiration from fashion magazines. "I think most factories then did not have their own designers, so the President or the salesperson of each company were the ones who designed the tiles." recalls chairman of tile trading company and former tile designer, Kazuyuki Nakane "We used to always be thinking of tiles, looking at everything, thinking how they could be motifs for tiles. We were always looking to create new designs". In addition to finding innovative design methods, the traditional means of craftsmanship is still active even in the age of machines. The viewer is then introduced to a tile manufacturing company, founded in 1957, where traditional, hands-on tools are still in use. The viewer then meets a fifty-year veteran tiler named Masako Matsuyama, who demonstrates her process and showcases her craft as well as the reasoning behind her design choices. So, why is such a task still carried out to this day if with all the technology given at our disposal is an option open to designers? "When this is done by humans, you get a soft impression. It's more beautiful!" Matsuyama pinpoints. "When done by machine, it feels calculated". Indeed, there is an organic quality that goes into the craft of tile making that machines simply cannot capture or replicate. This goes to show that tiling is more than just applying a pretty pattern on a wall or floor to simply look nice, but it truly is an art form. This brings us to the final segment of the documentary where Style: Aging Together and Versatility: Tiny Tiles, Infinite Possibilities start to come into full circle.
Art is the third and final segment the episode explores. At this point, we know that style is how tiles age gracefully and versatility is how tiny pieces can paint an even greater picture, but did you know that there are public bathhouses in Japan that contain murals made entirely up of tiles, forming a complete image? A public bathhouse located in Kamigyo, Kyoto has a scenery image on the wall, depicting a lake surrounded by grassy hills, snowy mountains, sail boats and a castle. The lake being placed in front of the bath gives an illusion of flowing water as if the water in the image is flowing into the tub. Because tiles are resistant to water, the mural is still in perfect condition even four decades later from the time it was created, once again highlighting how they age together as well as how such tiny pieces are formed to create endless possibilities. At another bathhouse, located in Itabashi, Tokyo, is decorated with an image of sea fairies, which was completed in 1953. In fact, a Japanese painting piece from that same year also served as an inspiration for its motif. A combination of the light reflecting on the image as well as the steam depicted in the image and coming from the bath give visitors a mystical type of aura. According to bathhouse owner, Shinichi Zenimoto, people post positive comments in their blogs about how relaxed they feel when they see this piece, much to his delight. People even come to the bathhouse because they really want to see the mural. That said, the third and final mark of beauty is "Art, Savored from the Tub". The viewer then receives a glimpse into the creative process behind one of the murals made by architect, Kentaro Imai. The piece he made for a bathhouse in Machida, Tokyo is based on a piece by Yokoyama Taikan. To differentiate his piece from that of the one made by the iconic painter, Imai limits his palette to twelve colors to keep it from being too over saturated in gold. He utilizes a select few yellows and variate with other colors to give visitors the feeling as though they are bathing in the clouds. With a simple color palette, there is a great deal of depth that creates a three dimensional feel. As Imai goes over his process and the reasoning for his design choices, the viewer can see how and why his efforts paid off in the end with comments from guests saying that the mural belongs in an art museum as bathhouse owner, Taichi Tsuchida mentions.
It's interesting and amazing how some of the most everyday structures can be easily taken for granted at a first glance. When taking into account how something seen in everyday life like tiles can be used to create so much more than a commodity, the possibilities start to seem endless. With an array of art styles, to creative techniques, to craftsmanship that can go into tile work, one can garner a new found appreciation of it, be it from the simplest of patterns to more complex variations, to those that form an image. So, the next time you come across a wall or floor with tile work that sticks out to you, don't be afraid to ponder its backstory and ask about it. You might be surprised by what you learn.
Photo credit: Larry Estes
Last July, I wrote a blog post about Cool and Eclectic, a store located inside the Pembroke Mall at Virginia Beach. It's one of those rare and unique stores where you can come across all kinds of neat nostalgic items and find yourself exploring their selections for hours on end. I interviewed Mark and Diana for last year's post about the store and while it's been relocated in a new space at the mall, the variety the store offers continues to flourish and deliver on its slogan, "Where it is Usual to Find the Unusual".
This year's trip was an extra special treat. As part of a continuing series of giveaways, Cool and Eclectic was giving away prints of an original comic strip, Artchilles, illustrated and signed by store owner, Larry Estes. The story is about a Virginia Beach native who works at a factory owned by Kempsville Building Materials. As he continues to work there, he desires to keep his artistic dream afloat and goes out of his way to keep it alive, so he takes on the journey of the individual and puts his salvaged drawings together, revealing his story. I spent an afternoon chatting with Larry about the project and the themes he explores via its narrative and its imagery. The character, Artchilles reflects the journey Larry experienced (and continues to experience). We see that Artchilles takes a series of drawings, pieces them together like a puzzle and thus, we see his journey take shape. As stated by Larry himself in his video, Drawings Survive to Tell a Story, he is "piecing together this extraordinary journey, using copies of actual drawings from the journey to authenticate its unfolding". Through mixed media, Larry goes from a standard illustrated page, which is crafted similarly to that of the classic comics of the 1950's and 1960's and then on the next pages, he incorporates the copies of the drawings into some of the panels and arranges them to match the narration. For example, on page 2, we see a copy of each drawing laid out with one flat in the center of the first panel. The perspective of the ones on either side of the drawing are morphed to appear facing inwards. They are apparently going into the direction of the one in the center and all together, they are close to fading into a black hole. The letter boxes in yellow are from the narrator's perspective while the ones in white delve into what Artchilles is thinking. "Initially, Artchilles created sketches of random subjects he was to make into large paintings..." the narrator highlights. "[B]ut, as the prospect of acquiring a studio grew dim, drawing took over. Focus turned to his own life." The use of perspective in a panel painted pitch black accompanies this narration so effectively, especially with Artchilles' own words below the drawing in the center saying, "I yearned to paint..." The sentence is incomplete as if fading into the abyss along with the drawings. It highlights the sense of being on the brink of obscurity.
The next panel is a close up of the drawing on the right hand side, focusing on Artchilles' narration: "But the brush kept eluding my grasp". The drawing depicts the brush falling out of his reach as a foot steps on his hand. An onomatopoeia that reads crunch! is belted, all together demonstrating how limited in his options Artchilles really is.
In the third and final panel of the page, the narrator describes the monotony Artchilles is locked into. With six drawings of a man boxed in lined up in a perspective that gives the illusion of ascending forward, towards the reader's right hand side and descending into obscurity looking into the left, we see the repetitive nature of the job. Even so, Artchilles' words above the drawing facing the viewer boldly say "I Was Stuck!" This use of perspective fittingly gives the sense of endlessness.
Onto the next page, which as the title implies, "Taking the Leap", Artchilles does precisely that. He is seen surrendering and then dives into the unknown. Afterwards, he sees a vision of a muse, who guides him to his desired destination. When delving into the significance of this page (and the entire story at large), Larry offers a question that prompts readers to ponder for a moment over what might be holding them back from seeking his/her own journey: "Have you ever seen a more poignant expression of that pivotal moment before taking the leap? With arms raised, you have surrendered to the unknown". With that said, the third page not only serves as a rising action, but it also invites the readers to assess a time when he or she was confronted with such a moment. And if they haven't already done so, it encourages them to seek it. As Artchilles raises his hands to the sky before taking the plunge, the text in the yellow boxes is no longer written from the third person perspective. It transitions to Artchilles' point-of-view as if he's finally taking control once again. The next page depicts how Artchilles fares trying to balance out his work at the factory and listening to the muse, which eventually results into a sudden halt. It is then revealed in a typed text in yellow boxes that he conceived this series of drawings thirty years ago while he was still working in the factory, which eventually became a homeless center. With the old drawing board destroyed, Artchilles then resorted to using invoice paper to illustrate on. Below the drawing of the building, we see a real-life sample of the invoice paper.
The fifth page depicts Artchilles gradually freeing himself from the grip of the factory work. Although its a very small start, it serves as a spark to grow and flourish. All he has at this point is a brush and coffee. From there he lets his inner individual out as much as he can, but realizes he needs more to continue that journey of growth. "Duality continued to manifest. The path was filled with ups and downs. I needed more than a brush..." This gets us to think that while we are maintaining the endless cycle of monotony without taking the time to seek out our individual journey, eventually the desire to seek it starts to break through in some form or another. We may not be aware of it at first, but when we become too accustom to a routine, somewhere in the corners of our minds we are called to seek beyond that repetitive nature and consult every means possible to fulfill our individual journey and find who we truly are to reach our true potential.
Taking a moment to step back, the story of Artchilles is indeed the story of Larry's own journey. It's told in ways that simple words could not express. Through its imagery, the way mixed media is utilized and how text accompanies and plays into the narrative in unison showcase the journey. It's true that it's highly difficult to make art a full-time career and it's important to obtain a good paying job, but at the same time, being so caught up in an endless cycle where you function like a factory machine without any time for self-reflection whatsoever is detrimental. It will eventually lead to that craving for self-reflection. The desire to seek the individual journey, whether we are 100% aware of if or not will gradually make its way to our conscious mind and when the timing is right, we will seek our own journey of self-discovery tenfold. Taking such a concept into account, even as you go about your everyday life, I highly encourage you to take the time to reflect on your own journey. When you have some time free of monotony (and distraction), think of something that is inspiring to you or something you've written or pieces you've made that can be put together to tell a story. Experiment with those ideas and see what kind of story unfolds. That there is the road to discovering your journey as an individual.
Once again, huge thanks to Larry for his time and sharing his work with me. To learn more about Artchilles and Larry's other works, check out his website and his Instagram.
To learn more about Cool and Eclectic, visit their Facebook page.
Blending the Traditional with the Modern according to Takashi Murakami. Post MFA Boston Visit ReflectionsRead Now
To say that the art of Takashi Murakami is eccentric is without a doubt a huge understatement. With a fine blend of traditional Japanese art and modern day pop art, Murakami mixes, not only the old and the new, but elements of the high art and the low art in ways that leads spectators to another level of imagination. From October 18th, 2017 to April 1st, 2018, the Museum of Fine Arts Boston presented an exhibition entitled Takashi Murakami: Lineage of Eccentrics, which featured a selection of traditional Japanese art from the museum's own collection and a selection of pieces created by Murakami himself.
At first, it seems like the most unlikely combination one could dream up of, but given the context of the rich history behind the arts of Japan and how it shaped the Japanese pop culture of the 21st century, the meaning behind the art of Murakami becomes clearer. The exhibition, fittingly titled Lineage of Eccentrics showcases the heritage Murakami's art depicts through a display of his own works and which traditional pieces influenced them. On one side, museum visitors will see a piece of traditional Japanese art and next to it, a piece created by Murakami himself that borrows from it, mixed with vibrant colors and his signature cartoon (anime) character art. For example, the 17th century folding screen, Poppies from the School of Tawaraya Sōtatsu is among the featured pieces from the MFA's collection. The materials used to create it consists of gold-leafed paper, ink and color paint. Looking to the wall on the right, viewers would see Murakami's rendition, titled Kawaii - Vacances (Summer Vacation in the Kingdom of the Golden) circa 2008, in which one of the materials similarly consists of gold-leafed paper. In contrast to Poppies, the flowers are made with acrylic. Also, the flowers depicted in Poppies are rendered with a slight sense of simplicity, yet more realistically detailed while set in front of a spacious golden background. Murakami's Kawaii - Vacances flowers are arranged in a similar fashion as the ones from Poppies in that they are also in front of a golden spacious backdrop (with clouds behind them in contrast). Unlike the more realistically rendered Poppies, Kawaii - Vacances features flat lined multi-colored anthropomorphic cartoon-like flowers with smiling faces.
So what is it about the collection that makes it so appealing? What possible sort of cultural significance could an art form known for blurring the lines between high traditional art and low commercial art have to offer? Why does something 'commercialized' even need to draw from traditional art? For artists who want to learn how to create his/her signature style, Murakami sets a superb example of how to do it. Because he is both a fine artist as well as a commercial artist, he knows how to build from the arts of the past and offer new insights into them with a modern twist. Without drawing from the traditional arts of Japan as a foundation, the response to post WWII Japan would be very disconnected. To delve into specific detail, when taking Murakami's early career into account, it's known that he is a fan of anime and manga. Even so, at one point, he had dreams of working in the animation industry. Although initially he went to school to garner the skills for it, his career focus shifted and thus majored in the art of Nihonga (traditional Japanese paintings dating back to 1900), instead. Despite earning his Ph.D, he became disenchanted with the art of Nihonga due to its overtly political nature. As a result, he went on to expand his artistic boundaries. The main set back he could see in modern Japanese art was that there was a major focus on incorporating Western trends, which his 90's projects would satirize, receiving less favorable reviews in Japan. Murakami did however, receive a fellowship from the Asian Cultural Council (ACC) in 1994 and traveled to New York City as part of a studio program from the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA). While he was living in the city, he discovered modern Western contemporary artists and became influenced by their works. The works of Jeff Koons and Anselm Kiefer stood out the most for Murakami. Upon his return to Japan, Murakami defined his signature artistic practices and showcased his recent works at major exhibitions in Europe and the United States. By establishing a cultural foundation for himself as an artist both in the West and Japan, Murakami could take full control over his work and build his own market.
Once he was already well rooted in the high arts, he started to blend the "low" arts of Japanese subculture such as manga and anime into the mix. Eventually, he coined the term, Superflat in 2000, which is a term to describe the 2D flatness of traditional Japanese art and anime and manga. The term, Superflat also takes on an array of other meanings as well, such as the superficial nature of the consumer culture in Japan. It also represents Japan's post-war society, where according to Murakami, trends and various social classes were geared towards flatness, by which he means that after WWII, tastes regarding what can be defined as 'high' and 'low' art have been blurred. When asked about the over commercialization of today's art market in a 2007 interview with BLOUIN ARTINFO, Murakami's response is as follows:
"It's always funny when people say this, because it sounds like they don't understand what a "market" is. Isn't it a place to buy and sell? Personally, I think that the more commercialized the art market, the easier it is to understand strategically. I do appreciate all different kinds of art, though; just like I appreciate all different kinds of people. There are some people who compete in the commercial arena and there are some who abide by more personal, spiritual or idealistic guidelines. If done well, both can be equally satisfying".
And when asked if there is a risk involved in 'straddl[ing] between art and commercial products', Murakami replies:
"I don't think of it as straddling. I think of it as changing the line. What I've been talking about for years is how in Japan, that line is less defined. Both by the culture and by the past-War economic situation. Japanese people accept that art and commerce will be blended; and in fact, they are surprised by the rigid and pretentious Western hierarchy of "high art." In the West, it certainly is dangerous to blend the two because people will throw all sorts of stones. But that's okay - I'm ready with my hard hat".
To summarize Murakami's statements as well as his experiences throughout his career, whether artists are meeting the criteria of 'high' art or 'low' art, either way, they are all in it to market and sell their works. Regardless of their values represented in their art, all artists are marketing and branding themselves every time they put their work out into the public eye. In either case, if the art the artists are selling display a level of craftsmanship and a solid understanding of stylization, the end results that come of their efforts are truly rewarding. As for the 'straddling' effect, Murakami deftly puts it that in port-War Japan, both 'high' and 'low' art intertwine and receive an equal amount of respect and acceptance. Blending the 'high' and 'low' art in the United States on the other hand, often receives a negative reaction and thus, are seen as separate.
Returning to the question of what possible cultural significance could art blurring the lines between high traditional art and low commercial art have to offer and why would commercial art even be drawn from traditional art, it all boils down to a deep rooted connection to one's own heritage and that the commercial world would never have existed without such a rich history. As bizarre as the works of Takashi Murakami tend to be, when given context from the traditional art of Japan, the branded art contains a deeper meaning behind it. Murakami demonstrates that without that connection and understanding of cultural heritage, what is defined as commercial art wouldn't have a platform to stand on. Even so, in order for artists to come up with a signature style, (as discussed in my previous blog post), understanding that lineage is what gives the artist's effort a significance. It is truly quite surprising to see how much of commercialized art came to be as a result of art history and Murakami as both a branded business man and traditional artist proves it best.
Early this year, Chris Oatley, founder of the Oatley Academy, interviewed animator and fine art painter, Stan Prokopenko for the 107th ArtCast podcast. The podcast, titled How Distractions Help You Become a More Focused Artist delved into topics regarding some of the major potholes artists easily fall into, such as ‘why speed feels like a waste of time’, ‘why being “self-taught” can be a problem' as well as a particular topic that often appears to be the elephant in the room, ‘how to avoid “The Beginner Style”. On the discussion of being ‘self-taught', Stan describes some of the reasons behind art students’ reluctance to attend art schools.
“Some people have a thing about that academic style…People would say, ‘oh, the people from [Watts Atelier] or wherever, it all looks the same’…They all look like it’s the same artist that did this thing, because it looks like reality. There’s no style to it. And so, some people might avoid that and try to be self-taught or some people might not have access…or they just don’t want to be part of a school and they say they’re 'self-taught' and it’s like a good thing…That always kind of bothered me.”
On the surface, it would sound liberating for someone to say they are ‘self-taught’, but Stan and Chris speak from experience about why this mentality can be very troublesome. Chris highlights how artists want to have their art done in a specific way, but when artists don’t practice or learn the proper technique, the defense reaction of ‘I wanted it that way’ is the excuse that usually comes up during critiques. But, are these ‘self-taught’ artists truly pleased with their skill level? Mostly likely they’re not. To play around with the rules of reality, artists must understand how the real world works. In other words, to experiment with things like color, lighting and shapes, artists should observe how they look in the real world, practice and refine their drawing skills before making style their goal. Attempting to stylize without the basics can result in creating something quite untidy. As an example, Chris describes a critique from when he was still attending art school. On of his classmates presented a piece, depicting a character wearing a robe. Although, the drawing technique of the figure was somewhat adequately refined, the folds looked incredibly ‘soupy’ rather than stylized. Caricaturist and illustrator, C.F. Payne, who was the instructor from that class pinpointed the problem with the robe and how it was lacking the realism the student was trying to depict. The student’s reply was very simple: “that’s my style. I wanted it that way”.
So, why is the ‘self-taught’/’that’s my style’ excuse easily brought up? According to Chris, the reason behind this reaction is because “human beings in general lock into this thing where we start telling ourselves a story that feels comfortable enough to help us avoid growth...and avoid change and I think that’s what’s really going on there.” On that note, when it comes to being ‘self-taught’, Chris says “[n]obody’s 100% self-taught. You don’t actually learn in a vacuum, even if you’ve learned from books.” Stan replies in agreement, indicating that artists are “taught by the people that wrote the books. They’re still communicating stuff.” Stan then highlights what people actually mean to say when they say they are 'self-taught'. What they really mean is that they didn’t attend art school or receive formal training. The problem he sees is that these aspiring artists use that term to solely credit themselves for what they learn.
As someone who's main struggles are with form and technique in attempt to stylize and has received similar feedback, I can totally see where Chris and Stan are coming from. It can be hard to admit it at first, but there is a certain arrogance about claiming to be ‘self-taught’ that puts one’s own skills above those who attend art schools or have formal training. Stan reminds listeners “you’re taught by the many masters that have come before us”. That said, everything you learn on your own, you are drawing from knowledge of the past that is being passed down onto other aspiring artists. These established artists, however already understood/understand how to draw from life and then bend the rules of reality to create something visually distinctive. Every renowned artist who is known for having a distinctive style in history started by drawing from life before creating their signature style. In fact, that’s how their style came to be. Even so, an unpolished drawing reaching out for a personal style, does not make the art stand out from the craftsmanship of traditional art. The goal is to avoid creating art that all looks the same, yet the ‘Beginner’s Style’ produces the opposite effect. By practicing traditional art, artists can expand and explore beyond their boundaries.
Understanding basic drawing techniques as well as drawing from life go together before stylizing, not against it. And as far being ‘self-taught’ is concerned, it becomes more of a stumbling block for artists than empowerment. The sense of pride that tells artists to skip ahead and take credit for what they learn gives them even less freedom to pursue the skills they would need to bring their visions to life than taking up formal training. Artists are always growing and developing. As Chris himself always says, we are all lifelong learners. Stan states in his bio that "[a]t the age of 13, [h]e pronounced [him]self as a lifelong student of art" and still sticks to that student mindset to this day. Whether you’re a still life artist who wants to bend the rules of color, a portrait artist who wants to draw caricatures, a cartoonist or a manga artist, it never hurts to explore art schools, consult experts for feedback and attend classes that can be of help to further your growth.
Ever (re)discovered new facts about any art form or part of pop culture that you thought you knew before and realized there might be more to the story than what meets the eye? The Blog section debunks common expectations and assumptions in the art world.