Notes of Music
I’m walking around my neighborhood some more, and making drawings at places that people congregate. It’s still just cold enough to stop me drawing at a lot of places, especially where it’s windy. But I always wanted to draw at the English Bay Beach, since I made it part of my jogging route. Every time I jog past this small stretch of beach, I see people walking on the sand, or chatting on the benches. It’s a spot full of life, even on days that aren’t very sunny. It’s also favored by sea-gulls and geese, because there is invariably someone feeding the birds here. Lot of action, lot of events happening. I had to do it.
So, on a day that wasn’t very sunny but seemed nice otherwise, I walked up Davie St and found myself some space on a bench. It was overcast and a peaceful wind blew from the west. I sat down, breathed deeply, and observed the action. I find this useful. The first few minutes after I find the spot, I watch and let it come at me. I gather a sense for where the different moving parts are, where the still life sits, and I think thoughts about balance and composition. I map my journey across the scene. I imagine the sketch, tracing on the page with my finger the route I will take. This route is crucial, this journey makes the flow.
I never know how the journey will be. Every situation is a fresh situation, and I am excited only by scenes that challenge me. With every page, I try to step a small distance out of my comfort zone. So these moments, when I just arrange things in my mind, are the most important. It lets me move quickly once I begin, and not need to stop until I’m done.
I’m happy with how it came out.
An Imperfect Circle
I stopped drawing when it felt like I had come close to the end. The wind had picked up, dropped the temperature, and my fingers were suffering. There’s never a best time to stop, but avoiding painful fingers is a good decision to make.
But thinking purely of composition, I am reminded of a time 8 or 9 years ago. My friends and I had a chance meeting with the pianist Aaron Parks, right after we had caught his show at the Lantaren Venster in Rotterdam. My friend Gaurav, who is a brilliant guitarist himself, asked him - “How do you know when a song is finished?” With all the mystery of a jazz musician, with a beautiful girl on his arm that he was clearly trying to impress, Aaron thought for a moment, and replied: “When it starts to resemble an imperfect circle.”
He walked away, leaving us at the edge of comprehension, wondering whether he was bullshitting us, or if there was a wisdom here beyond what we understood. Gaurav repeated those words on the train as we returned to Delft, said them again and again as we rolled a joint that night. He didn’t let it go, and it has stayed with me too for some reason. Sometimes I think I know what it means.
Sheet Music
I posted this drawing to the Urban Sketchers Facebook group, and someone commented that it reminded them of sheet music. What a beautiful comparison, I thought. Since then I cannot un-see it. This horizontal Stillman & Birn sketchbook is making me draw long horizontal lines. The page you use affects the scene you compose, the boundaries you work inside, the elements you place, and the things that have prominence over others. In a double spread of this sketchbook, I see long, horizontal lines playing a stronger part in my art than they did with the earlier, portrait-orientation Moleskine sketchbook.
So now I see the sheet music too. Every person is a unique note. Some of them stand close to each other. Some of them are related with each other. Some are loud, others are nearly silent. The notes far away are higher in pitch, and the birds at the foreground are keeping the bass.
Speaking of birds…
Speaking of birds, another thing I learned from the Reddit post was that Canadian geese are notorious trouble-makers. Someone described them as cobra-chickens. Another redditor made a mafia comparison. I was told in no uncertain terms to steer clear if I valued my safety and the well-being of my loved ones. The one in the picture above was unhappy at my invasion of its privacy, clearly I had ignored some turf boundaries. A woman passed by it on the footpath with her little dog in tow, and the goose flapped its wings and hissed and waddled aggressively towards it. The lady laughed it off, but I could sense an underlying nervousness. I hope she’s okay.
Drawn with a Lamy Safari fountain pen (fine nib) in a Stillman & Birn sketchbook.