opening night

I am successful in submitting a drawing to the local art centre's annual open submission exhibition, and find myself in a state of nervous anticipation regarding my attendance of the opening night, where I shall encounter the drawing in public for the first time, in the company of other artists,  invited guests, and amongst other works.

The drawing is of a cloud formation entitled two clouds almost the same. It is now eight years old, made whilst living in very different circumstances, facts I did not disclose to the selection committee, and of the three entries that I submitted, was the only one to have been selected.

I am anxious as to how it will appear, and both dread, and look forward to seeing it. I had delivered it to the gallery in a portfolio, as it is as yet unframed, accompanied by two clips by which to suspend it, and a pair of white cotton gloves to be worn whilst handling it, together with an explanation of how I envisaged it to be hung. I need not have worried. The drawing hangs against the white wall, above an austere, darkly coloured abstract painting, and, as far as the somewhat crowded conditions allow, appears to have been hung sensitively enough.

Seeing it in the context of a group show is instructive. It looks succinct, conveys an air of stillness, reassures me that I am correct in judging it to be among my better drawings. I wish that I had been able to afford the expense of having it framed, which in my eyes would have conferred a sense of wholeness upon it, allowed it breathing space within the frame whilst quietly containing it, provided a critical distance from the viewer and the surrounding wall,  finished it, so to speak. In conversation with another artist present, I find that he does not share my view, giving instead  a refreshing and unexpected insight, although I remain unwilling to agree with him. We compare notes; I enquire about his painting, and we speak of the joy and pain in making art. I explain in brief terms my current inability to draw, confiding the age of the submitted drawing, and he offers me a solution, one which I had indeed thought of, written about, and almost determined to put into practise, a solution that I had employed once before in order to overcome a hiatus in my work, to wit, the drawing of clouds.

We move on, talk of other things, say our goodbyes, and I am left with a feeling of having had my previous intention endorsed, and, more importantly, with a sense of hope that I may be able to return to the drawing of cloud formations, my present fear of failure notwithstanding, secure in the knowledge that it is a fit subject for attention within the context of contemporary practices, even though I shall remain forever unable to produce works on a par with Constable's cloud studies, or Gerhard Richter's masterly paintings.

untitled cloud formation drawing

This untitled drawing would have been made in 2005 or 2006, and like some of its companion drawings, eschewed destruction, although it had been relegated to the bottom of one of the boxes where I store unframed works. Along with a contemporary drawing posted earlier, it had been in my thoughts for some weeks before retrieval, whereupon I decided to publish it, and include it in the suite of cloud drawings for which I still have some regard.

I feel a faint stirring of hopefulness when I look upon this drawing, and the other untitled cloud drawing recently reinstated in my affections. Both drawings lie on the floor of the back bedroom, and I look upon them each day, trying to find in myself the necessary courage to recommence the drawing of cloud formations, but with the precious gift of hindsight.

I am immensely heartened by the knowledge that there is an established canon of works depicting cloud formations- I often need reassurance of this nature before I can proceed, and remember feeling extremely insecure and somewhat embarrassed when I was engaged in drawing rainbows. I have not an idea in my head for a  new work, but a cloud is not an idea, the execution of a drawing of a cloud formation does not require one to be in possession of an idea. It is as close as I can get to making a purely abstract drawing, which I would love to be able to do. Always there is an imperative in my mind that whatever I draw has to depict some object or phenomonem - I can never escape into the realms of abstraction. However, it is eminently possible to take flight into a landscape of clouds, to find a release whilst gazing upwards at the heavens, rather as my mother did when a little girl, lying on her back in the grass during a Summer afternoon rest period at infant school.

It is not my intention to draw clouds from direct observation, at least, not at first, rather to attempt to construct drawings of imaginary formations, relying on remembered observations. I need courage in order to proceed. I am deeply afraid by the thought of committing myself to the making of suites of cloud drawings, am frightened by the spectre of self harm which forever looms in my psyche, and manifests itself in blows to the head and face when I experience failure. For failure is inevitable, but I must learn to experience it as a vital part of learning; one must make mistakes in order to make progress. There will be failed drawings, as, I am hoping, there will be drawings that I may regard as successful. I do not intend to attempt to copy the drawings above, rather to absorb them into my thoughts as gestures made in graphite and coloured pencil dust, which gestures I may consider on my journey to new works.