A new place can be a fresh inspiration in art. It’s easier to see what’s really there and feel curious and interested in a scene which you’ve never seen before – there’ll be fewer existing assumptions or pre-conceived ideas about it. You can enjoy that child-like experience of exploring and discovering, and it’s also an opportunity to find out what you’re interested in, so that you can consciously pay more attention to that.
How to find out what interests you? Start by wandering, and absorb. Let yourself relax, let what’s there flood in without judgment. Be curious and playful and notice where you want to look more closely.
Wandering around the gardens at Belton, I found interesting contrasts and effects of light, patterns of foliage, shadows, different shapes, colours and strange things. The iron architecture of the conservatory gives structure to the green lushness and contrasts of the planting within. Windows give a frames work and let in light creating patterns on the walls and floor. It’s a sheltered indoor contained world of rare things, full of interest fro tiny details to how all the parts relate.
We will be playing with this process of drawing inspiration on the in-person drawing weekend I’m running in July. This year it’s located at Belton estate in Grantham, Lincolnshire. We’ll be based in the spacious and quiet venue of the old School in Belton village, and have access to the grounds and house of the estate.
Particpants in previous years have valued the time, space and supportive atmosphere of this yearly drawing event. It’s flexible so that your csan pursue your own interests throught eh weekend, but we will start together and you can get guideance on your develop through the weekend. There are opportunities to socialise as well.
To find out more, and register your interest, follow the link below.
I effectively have two sorts of journalling: my sketchbooks which are very much drawn from and of the outside world, and written ones. There are lots more sketchbooks than written journals. The sketchbooks are on open shelves in my studio room, the journals are not. There are lots of drawings of places I’ve been, people I know (and sometimes people I don’t), some more detailed studies, rapid lines taken during a concert, studies made in museums, and sometimes written notes; it’s a place to record, remember and gather for future use. People look through my little sketchbooks sometimes but that’s ok because I don’t think they contain anything secret or controversial that I don’t want anyone to see. Most of the drawings were done in public anyway.
The journals are different. They are messy, written with no concern for spelling or grammar, not organised and sometimes illegible. These are not pretty journals; there’s no artwork or colour. Page after page of inky scrawl, which if you could unravel it, would be miles and miles of blue black thread which would probably go around the earth a few times. Often I write in a stream of consciousness which just goes wherever it needs to, and sometimes in more structured way around a question or a idea which has emerged. I write down reflections about my artwork: what I’ve tried and what I want to do next, which really helps me to pick it up again after a gap.
Sometimes I’m just dumping thoughts. I read them back later and that gives me some objectivity. It turns out that being able to do this for yourself has the added benefit of protecting your relationships from the strain of oversharing negative emotions (Kross, Chatter – The Voice in Our Head (and How to Harness It) p31, Vermillion 2022) without tiring the empathy of listeners.
I can then review it, giving myself the chance to consider it with some distance. Are there any negative assumptions underlying my reactions to something? Is there a different, more enabling way I could see it? What are the options for response, if any? Or do I need to just accept it?
Sometimes, on re-reading, I can find insights. if I repeatedly write about a problem, it flags up that there really is something I need to address. Coloured pencils come in for a bit of highlighting, things that pop out as important.
It’s also useful to write sometimes in a deliberate attempt to find the positive.What’s gone well today? what did I particularly enjoy, however small, or what am I grateful for? That can give me something to focus on when I wake up in the small hours ruminating.
Researchers are finding evidence of all these benefits in the practising of writing reflectively about one’s own experiences. It’s one of the practises being offered by Laura and myself on the Retreat Day we’re running next March. So if it’s new for you, give it a go and see how it changes things.
A few things to try:
setting a timer and writing in a stream for, say, 15 minutes.
writing down what you feel grateful for.
writing about an experience; who was there, what did you see, hear, smell, taste; what did you feel, what happened? Try writing it as if in the third person. Imagine you are observing yourself.
finding some affirmations and writing them down. This is very literally telling yourself that you’re worthy, deserving of love and affection, are capable, have talents – whatever it is that you need to hear to feel more safe, secure and supported, especially in areas where you feel vulnerable.
look up some journalling prompts. Specfic questions like: what behaviours do I want to grow? what do I want to stop doing? What new thing would I like to try? Who gives me support?
Research also shows that the benefit are felt over time, and that you don’t have to write every day to feel them. The important thing is to choose a way that suits you, and keep it private.
Working as an artist means a lot of time spent not knowing. I get an idea, or I carry out some experiments, but often I don’t know where they’re going, and whether the result will be something I’m happy with. There’s a lot of taking the next steps forward and remembering to trust the process, usually working in isolation, without knowing if anything of worth will come out of it – or whether it will be of interest to anyone else. There are still times when it can all feel rather uncomfortable.
As an artist and a teacher, I’ve had to get used to not knowing – my own, and other people’s.
The most important part of my role as a teacher is to support others through their uncertainty, vulnerability, and fears. To do this it’s crucial that I support myself – by taking time regularly: time out, and to reflect, and to consider if I need to do anything differently. This has similarities with how I assess a piece of artwork as it’s coming along. I need to pause every now and then, step back from the active making, and look at it.
I get relaxed, -sit back on my chaise long (it’s the guest bed futon really, but dressed up with blankets and my special cushion), with my tea, and the piece propped up. I allow myself to pay attention, in a soft focus sort of way, to what’s going on – with the piece, and in myself. It’s a sort of attentive waiting, allowing the space to see what pops up in response – to find out what’s going on under the noisy surface of the cerebral mind.
I can reflect on formal elements: colour, composition, proportion, balance, harmony. It might become apparent what needs adding, altering or taking away. More than one relaxing and looking session might be needed to arrive at the insights needed to move forward. That could be solitary time, musing and journaling, or it could involve talking it through with another. I like a mixture. It’s about creating the right conditions for the insights to arrive.
When the moment is right and the ideas appear, I feel a little surge of energy to take the next step, because I’ve got some clarity and confidence about what that should be. Quite often not beyond that, but the next step is enough. If, eventually, I am happy with what has appeared on my paper, canvas or fabric, then there’s the next step of putting it out in the world and finding out what others think. Putting myself out there, which is often scary.
Being an artist or maker of any sort has valuable lessons for living: in dealing with uncertainty, finding authenticity, finding out out what one wants to envision. It also involves dealing with fears that might block, and finding the courage to be fully oneself. Finding ways to cope – and to thrive- for myself has gone hand in hand with finding ways to support my students in whatever it is they want to achieve. It’s not possible to talk about art and not talk about life. Creativity is not only for artists. Those ideas and strategies for creating a vision and removing the block towards it are useful whatever you’re wanting to move towards
Finding ways to cope – and to thrive- for myself has gone hand in hand with finding ways to support my students in whatever it is they want to acheive. It’s not possible to talk about art and not talk about life. Creativity is not only for artists. Those ideas and strategies for creating a vision and removing the block towards it are useful whatever you’re wanting to move towards.
As a result, I’m bringing my experiences to a new venture. Next April, my friend Laura and I will be running a retreat day designed to give space, away from the noise of everyday life. We’ve chosen to set our day in the tranquil surroundings of a beautiful retreat house in Surrey. There’ll be time to relax, and settle into the beautiful surroundings of the studio. We’ll take time to reflect: with each other, talking, listening and journalling. There will be space to dream, using paper and colours. You will leave with tools to help you make choices and move forwards with whatever you want to grow in your life, as Spring surges into growth.
It’s just £60 to attend for the day. See below for more details and to register for a place.
How to take the skills you’ve learned on a small scale into the outdoors.
Go on a small local expedition first.
A Simple Kit. Take familiar materials which are convenient and easily portable. What are you most comfortable with? Perhaps just starting with a 2B pencil and small sketchbook is easiest – you can fit thos into a pocket. A little case of select coloured pencils? You can work with 12 and make most colours. Take a camera too, if you like to record information that way. It’s especially useful for things which are transient or in motion and are hard to capture without that magic of being able to freeze them in a photo.
Clothing. Wear clothes and shoes or boots in which you will be comfortable, and will protect you from whatever elements are at play – whether it’s sun, wind, or even rain. Remember if you are standing for any length of time without moving, you will cool off, so might need another layer, thicker socks, a hat. How are you going to access your materials? A small bag or a pocket might be enough. Decide if you are happy standing or sitting on the ground; you could take a small stool, or something waterproof to sit on (I often sit on my waterproof trousers, or a carrier bag, on the ground).
Optional: portable cup of tea. I always take one! Some water is a good idea, especially in hot conditions. When drawing one can forget the passage of time and ‘come to’ feeling hungry and thirsty.
Sarah prepared for all weathersSome unexpected spots of rain – a coat over the head kept the paper dry!Plenty of layers hereDrawing outdoors means being prepared for different states of wet and dry, warm and cool. Sarah and I demonstrating outdoor kit.
Start walking. Amble, in a non-purposeful, easy way. You want to feel unpressured and be able to pay attention to what’s around you. One way to do this is to pay attention to your senses – not just sight, but scents, and sounds; the feel of the ground, the smell of the earth, the noise made by your footfall, and any sounds you can hear, whether wildlife or man-made. These can help you get into the ‘right mode’ way of being, which is optimal for creativity (see Betty Edwards, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, for more about that).
Look and See. What catches your attention? Here are some things which caught my eye three different local outings recently, two in gardens, one on the river Wey.
The subtle colours of the mossy rocks, and their shapes, against the leaf mould; the strong lines of the lock sides gates and the water pouring over the gates; the texture of the delicate spring flowers and the path receding away to …who knows where?
Start simple. All those things which apply to drawing small subjects indoors apply outside, it’s just on a different scale. You might start with drawing a detail – some leaves, some bark. If you’re drawing a scene, the trick is to focus on the larger aspects first – the large shapes, the colour contrasts, the textures and what marks might convey them. Make studies, not a finished drawing: get the composition right with a quick sketch of the large shapes; record the colour, either with colour swatches or notes about what colours are there; make some sketches of the details. This is drawing as a process, to learn about the subject.
Set a time limit. Draw for 10 minutes, to capture some element of what interests you. Draw for longer and you’ll have more time to investigate some other elements, as above.
I don’t really draw this fast….
Revist. If it’s local you can go back and look some more. There is always more to see; one reason for specialsing in a subject matter is because it takes time to truly see that subject and get to know it.
If you are anxious about being observed. A small sketchbook is very hard for others to look into. You can discourage looking with your body-language, hiding behind sunglasses or wearing a large hat! However, in my experience if anyone is curious, it is because thay have an interest in art and wish they could do it themselves. They might even be wishing they had your spirit of adventure to try.
Have you tried drawing outside? I would love to hear about your experiences: how was it? and perhaps what you drew, if you’re willing to share. Did any questions arise for you? Use the comments section below or send me a message via the contact form.
It’s chilly out this morning. Across the river, the grass is a very pale blue-ish green with its coating of frost. The bare treetrunks are dark umber browns, with a surprising cast of purple around the haze of twigs at the ends of their branches. The deep browny purple is lifted by the golden ochre colour of the grasses nearby. Behind, the soft, indistinct masses of hedgerows and trees are the stubtlest hues of blues and purples.
I’m surveying my selection of coloured pencils, tuning in to find the ones which will enable me to create the right hues for the landscape I’m in, how they look to me at this point in the day, in these conditions of light and cold. This red-violet, this ochre, this turqouise blue… how will they work together? I’m absorbed, and even though I’ve seen this view many times a week over the last ten years, I haven’t seen this version of it before.
That’s one of the things drawing does for me; gives me a way to be present, to really look, and look again. It stops me assuming I know what things are, prevents me from getting stale and becoming bored by my surroundings – and how important has that been, since our lives have been circumscribed by the pandemic and kept close to home? What a gift, to have a way to see the familiar afresh.
It’s also a tactile process. I love to focus on the feel of soft, creamy pencils or paint sticks; the sudden burst of colour as water brings a solid paint block to life; the feel of a paint-loaded brush moving across the sandy texture of a heavy watercolour paper. Do I like how the paint sits on this paper, or that paper? Do I prefer the feel of this pencil, as it leaves a trace of pigment from the stroke I make, or that one? Finding materials which feel right is part of the process, grounding and comforting, connecting me with my own tastes in a small but crucial way.
Since March 2020 drawing has become a mainstay, and I am lucky to have been able to share it with my students. Real-life classes which I taught before the lockdowns became virtual, and instead of constricting my world, running them live online has enabled me to connect with others across the country and the world. I’ve had students from the US, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Spain, Brussels, Germany, and Russia join me and share their drawing journey together, many through the classes I teach at the Royal School of Needlework, and some from classes I run. I learn as much from students as they from me, and we have had moments of realisation, empowerment, joy, and laughter as we try things out, explore basic principles, find out what we like and don’t like, discover what we want to express, and how to encourage ourselves in the cradle of a supportive group.
I love to share what drawing gives to me, and to hear what it does for others, so I’m running another class for total beginners live online, starting on Janury 19th. It runs over three weeks on a Wednesday evening, via Zoom, and will be a small and supportive group. There will be plenty of opportunity to share and ask questions, but also no requirement to share if you don’t want to – after all, participants are at home and one of the benefits of that is that you can control your privacy. There wil be some suggestions of things to try between the sessions, and the chance to join one free Thursday evening or Monday morning drop-in session for free after the course, should you wish to. More information is available below on the learning page, and a link to book.
‘I feel like I have new eyes – when I’m out for a run I keep stopping to look at shapes and colours I didn’t see before’. ‘I hadn’t realised just how intricate that shell is and how many colours there are in it.’ ‘I really have to concentrate, to look’…. just a few of the things students have said to me in drawing classes over the last few years.
My sister Sarah and I have been running drawing classes for about 3 years at the Royal School of Needlework in Hampton Court, Surrey. Sarah had initially designed the course for embroiderers who wanted more confidence to design their stitched pieces; we offered it at Hampton Court with great success, succeeding in giving students confidence, tools and the courage to experiment and believe in their own vision.
In the teaching I’ve bcome more aware find drawing has a great value for itself, for centring my focus, calming me and above all helping me to really pay attention: to the moment I’m in, to what’s in front of me right now, and following my observation down a path of curiosity and discovery.
The three-day classes are an intense blast of information and activity, and both students and ourselves as teachers are often exhausted by the end of it. It’s great fun but intense! I wondered what it would be like to run a class where we have time to relax into drawing, that anyone, whatever their background in art, can enjoy.
Now I’ve started running a class once a week in Godalming, for two hours of drawing in a very relaxed and supportive environment. There’s no aim other than this: to observe, to draw, to play with materials, to explore colour. There’s certainly no pressure to produce finished works. It matter because for me observational drawing is about connecting with the world, by trying to see as truthfully as possible what is in front of us and attempting to capture this. We normally see so little of what’s around us, being inundated with demands on our attention. Taking the time to pay close attention has really enriched my life; taking up some colours grounds me in times of stress and helps me to stay present in myself.
wax crayon colour play; studying a pine cone.
I also wonder if taking the time to be present, to overome visual assumptions about what the world looks like and to check in with our own response is connected to being able to ‘see’ more clearly in other ways as well. It’s a practise of gaining clarity, and can often show me something about what I’m thinking and feeling that nothing else can.
NEW! Drawing, once a week, Mondays 10-12 in Godalming. £27 a session, pay on the door. Please contact me if you’d like to come! it’s a small class.
Caroline Homfray 