cloud studies 2016

A return to drawing practice in the early part of the year 2016. I made four or five cloud studies, then some tiny studies of black smoke rising from the ocean, none of which I kept, to my regret. The smoke studies were made on tissue paper and were extremely delicate.

There followed a series of looking glass egg drawings, but I did not keep those, either. Thereafter, on newly discovered creamy Lokta paper I made a series of drawings of black mountains, again tiny; I did not, and do not, seem able to work on a larger scale, although the cloud studies shown above are 22" by 30", as was customary for me. I found, and find something liberating in working small, which may seem odd; perhaps usually it is the other way around. But tearing down a sheet of Lokta paper into eight small pieces and working intently theron, I feel safe and able to begin to explore once more. I remember visiting an exhibition of William Blake's watercolours with my beloved father and being amazed at how tiny they were; both my father and myself had expected monumental works. It was my youngest sister who explained how working small could be a liberation, and after some thought, I understood why she had said that, although I am not sure that I know how to articulate this.
Certainly, I began working in a very different way when I began to work small. Perhaps I have been liberated from the hitherto ever attendant fear of failure.

cloud classification

The cover of a pamphlet published by His Majesty's Stationary Office, 1943.

Within, definitions and descriptions of cloud formations, including delicate, hand tinted photographs, and atmospheric black and white photographs.

A gift from my partner.

vacillation

On some days drawing clouds, especially storm clouds, seems like the way forward. On other days, difficult days of bitter despair and fathomless self doubt, it does not.

obscurus

This drawing was made sometime in 2005 or 2006; I cannot remember exactly when, although I know that it dates from the time after I had withdrawn from Winchester School of Art, during which period, before our removal to Somerset, I worked in isolation at the lodge in rural Hampshire. It is reminiscent of the Nimbostratus drawings, published in earlier posts, but I believe it to be a far superior drawing; indeed, I am uncomfortable about having published the Nimbostratus drawings, as to have done so evidences an assumption that I considered them worthy; a somewhat shaky understanding of their virtues as I now come to realise.

The cloud drawings had been becoming darker overall following  withdrawal from my PhD, and I made many studies of stormy formations on offcut pieces of paper, unfortunately without due consideration of the relationship of drawing to paper size and shape. None of these studies survive.
When I now consider a return to the making of cloud studies, I turn to just three drawings for reassurance and inspiration. This drawing is one. I was, at the time of making the drawing, enamoured of mass rather than form, or of line. I liked dust and powder, and found  it  a more intuitive, emotional way of working, to spill dust and powders onto paper and then ease them into the surface using a fragment of linen cloth wrapped about my forefinger.  Working thus I felt a more intimate connection with the drawing and materials; the tiny circular movements of my finger were like caresses, my breath was cast over the face of the paper, my entire being was concentrated, alert, vigilant, abstracted. It was an almost erotic experience; certainly an act of love.


I shall not remove the Nimbostratus drawings from this online diary, whatever the discomfort I feel on allowing them to remain, for I have learnt from them, perhaps belatedly, and they stand not only as failed endeavours, but milestones on the path to more mature and proficient works, which I hope that I shall be able to realise in the immediate future. I now believe that my intuition regarding the road ahead was apposite, and feel that I wish more than anything to resume my practice in the depiction of storm or rain cloud formations. To that end I direct my attention to the "overarching" skies, and rehearse in my mind the articulation of dust and powder upon the enticingly receptive surfaces of the papers I have stored away against the day when I feel able to make a new beginning.

presbyopia

Increasing longsightedness renders my vision imperfect for reading, drawing, writing and playing the piano, but perfect for gazing at the clouds.