Ghosts of art school drawing crits linger therein. And charcoal dust. Smudged drawings. No good drawings. Can't remember if good or not drawings. So over it drawings. They hang about, those drawings, piling up week after week after my Friday drawing class.
I took courage, a few weeks ago, and had a good clear out, which was also a good look through, because it is actually quite lovely, to appreciate the work I have done. And to discern which drawings work and why, which drawings are not for keeping and which drawings point to a new way forward.
When I started life drawing again a few years ago, I didn't keep any drawings. I thought of each session as akin to a musician's scale practice and happily binned the results. Freeing, to know the sketches were just a record of a moment of seeing. Nothing to lose, and no pressure to improve, no need to evaluate even, at the time. A good way to dodge the ghosts of art schools past, perhaps.
The class could be what I needed it to be - just a process of turning up week after week with no expectations and getting on with some simple observational life drawing.
Now that I'm a regular (at the Friday morning sessions with London Drawing) I've found my groove again so that I now keep, and document, my work even while managing my expectations on the Must Make A Good Drawing front.
I'm learning to accept my drawings, even the not so successful ones. I value the effort of drawing for its own sake: I've turned up, I'm doing my best and that's good enough. It's been a way learn to be fine with making mistakes, a way to try new things and a way to learn to be patient with the days when I'm not really that focused and the drawings seem worthless at first glance.
When I take my recent drawings out and spread them all out in the lounge like this, I feel satisfied at my progress. And, in a good way, I see I have many more dodgy drawings to get onto the page, so much more to learn and so many reasons to keep giving it another go.
