Take Your Winnings

By Lynne K. Perrella, copyright 2004.

http://www.LKPerrella.com

Several years ago, an inauspicious postcard arrived in the mail announcing a ³Drawing Marathon² at Bard College. A no-fuss-no-muss all-text announcement that hardly even seemed to WANT to be noticed, much less responded to. But, without really knowing what to expect, I found myself driving to Bard College one drizzly morning, planning to spend the next few days immersed in drawing.

Here was the basic concept: We would draw from 9 until 5 every day, working at large easels with various materials, and models would be provided, and an artist/facilitator would be present to give a general overview to the proceedings.

As the rest of the artists entered the room, carrying their supplies in varying containers ---- tackle boxes, wooden cases, canvas tote bags ---- I was suddenly transported back to my art school days. The scrape of the wooden easels, on the floor. The smell of paper and charcoal and turpentine. The scuffling noises of artists setting up their materials. Not much being said. Each person claiming their place in the room. I had no idea what to expect.

I certainly did not expect Ed Smith, or the effect he was about to have on me. He strolled in.......yes, ³strolled² was just the right word.......his casual posture provided good strong cover for his intensity and passion. He wore a tattered red baseball cap, carried a Styrofoam coffee cup, and the stub of a cigarette burned close to his fingers. Ed circled the room, giving quiet looks of curiosity to the artists, making eye contact, or not, sometimes nodding --- he reminded me of an animal who was checking out a new nesting place. Settling in. His body language could not have been more relaxed; and yet, oh, those eyes. They burned with the unbridled possibilities of the whole thing, and the joy of being alive, making art. Soon, a male model arrived, wearing only a thin gray cotton robe. Already, life was throwing me a curve. I love drawing the female form ­ in fact, I had come to the Marathon with that in mind. The model stretched a bit, and slipped out of his robe. He was about my height, with lank blonde hair, and numerous facial piercings, and (I noticed) a finely crafted silver cock ring at the shaft of his penis. He began to assume various poses, really just rotating his body around, with a ³stop me when I have it right² look on his face. Very relaxed. Ready for a day's work. I wondered what his ³real² job was. He looked like a shoe salesman. Or a gas station attendant. Or maybe a bartender. Yes, I think a bartender. I watched Ed, curious to see what he had in mind, and noticed that he seemed to be thinking through a sudden impulse.

Clearly, a new startling idea had just bolted in a side door in his mind, and he was grappling with it. ³hmmmmmmm². A low murmur of ideas, an inward drag on his cigarette, a juggling of thoughts was audible to the class. We waited.

With a little eager jump, as in: ³I've GOT it!², he had all of the men in the class tugging large planks of wood up onto the modeling stand. ³O-kay! Here! Prop this up, just so.......² etc. All right. Now, here's the deal. He beckoned us close, and enrolled us into the exercise ..........We were going to draw The Stations of the Cross. Christ's ultimate journey. There were some muffled gasps and groans. I don't recall my initial reaction ­ I just knew I was ready to work, and already felt a strong sense of trust and adventure. Although I had hoped to work from a female model, I now saw the narrative possibilities of this new brainstorm, and was eager to grasp it. Yes, I had the same considerations that the other students had. This concept could, in theory, be much too narrow and specific. Limiting. But, I trusted Ed. After watching him for a brief time, he seemed like someone with a keen, interesting mind, and I could tell he was eager to take us to new territory. Let's get started. I noticed that he was not shy about looking deep into the student's eyes. Scanning for some response, feedback. I caught his eye for only a moment, and my eager nodding -- ³Let's go. Let's begin.² got a quick happy eye flick from him. Indeed.

Let's start. He clapped his hands together, one quick call to action, and we all went back to our easels. It was going to be an amazing day.

He posed the model for the first ³Station². The first of many. We all worked eagerly, going through the whole torrent of feelings and set-backs, and jettisons that happen when an artist enters unfamiliar territory. Every artist in the room had been just as startled as Ed was, with this concept of The Stations. We were disarmed, surprised. Perfect. We were all equally unprepared, and all had an equal chance of creating something startling. Working on huge white paper, using charcoal, I started my drawing with the profile view of the model. Soon, I realized that I simply hated the whole viewpoint, hated working at the easel, hated my placement in the room. Bad, bad, bad. I grabbed a big Masonite drawing board from a corner pile, and moved to another part of the studio, and began a different drawing. Eager to just get started, I allowed the previous mark-making to remain on my page......and soon realized that the combination of the first drawing and the second was compelling. It was a gift from the Universe. A happy accident. Ed would occasionally come and stand at my shoulder, and I could hear the buzz of his breathing near my ear. Then, he would prowl along to the next artist, etc. When he wasn't circling the room, he would sit at the edge of the model stand and read from favorite books. I liked seeing the eager way he would cruise through books, letting the pages flip back and forth, and then stab his finger at an apt quote. ³Oh. Here! Listen to this......². He seemed to have an uncanny talent for finding quotes that illuminated the model's pose, giving us a wider insight into the whole process. After the morning session and the first pose, we gathered into a circle. The artists were eager to talk about how they were responding to the assignment. The overview was positive, and everyone seemed energized; especially Ed. He picked 3 or 4 drawings to bring into the circle, to critique and comment upon. For the first time, we were able to see some of the other work being done in the class, and it was a moment of electricity and exhilaration. The drawings were nothing short of amazing. Like no Stations of the Cross I had ever seen. New territory. ³Now. I want you to look at one that is............Well, I've never seen a drawing quite like it. Ever.². Ed prowled over to my little outpost , grabbed the Masonite board with my big drawing clipped to it, and brought it to center stage. The hardest thing in the world, for an artist, is to really ³see² their work. Zero objectivity. When he held up the drawing, I saw something that was completely Outside of my usual liabilities. None of my illustrator tricks, none of the touches that I usually incorporate into a drawing, none of my customary techniques were present. I was filled with that rewarding feeling that we have when we have done something truly good. Something unprecedented. Ed hunched down, baseball cap pulled low, downing the last swig of cold coffee. ³Damn. That's a good drawing.². We broke for lunch.

For the next two days, we pursued the various Stations. There were moments of fatigue, both mental and physical. It was arduous to keep at the assignment, and of course each pose became more contorted and expressive, demanding more of the artists. In the long wide hallways, outside the studio, we began to tape up our huge drawings, and they eventually spilled out into a mammoth outer gallery which was empty, awaiting the next exhibit. Someone dubbed us ³The Society of The Stations², and the drawings eventually overlapped, creating big flapping sails of impressive images, layer upon layer. Empty cans of fixative piled up in a corner of the studio. I had a 45-minute drive home, each day, and often I would whimper with fatigue behind the wheel, wondering how I was ever going to make it to my country road. It was an exquisite kind of fatigue; indescribable, really.

I had amazing results all week, but the very last day was difficult for me. Looking back, I know that I had one foot in the Marathon, but the other foot was already back in my usual Reality. For whatever reason, I could not fully commit to the last day of the event, and had very tepid results. My drawings, all day, had a familiar I've-done-this-before feeling, no surprises, no insights. The lack of sparkle and verve in my drawings was discouraging. I had forgotten the whole larger lesson of ³Get it. Lose it. Get it. Lose it.² I guess I thought I was permanently ³cured² of making predictable ³Lynne-like² drawings, and was ready to spend the rest of my life doing really remarkable work. Almost, like some kind of clockwork genius.

I gathered up my supplies at the end of the day. I felt like the cartoon character who walks with a gray storm cloud above his head, furrowed brow, and disgusted mutterings. I made several trips back and forth to my car, placing the rolls of ³good² drawings carefully into the trunk, protecting them with bubble wrap, etc.

What to do with the ³bad² drawings? Well, that's easy, I thought. I jammed them into a huge trash barrel, and then walked out to the car with another bundle of supplies. Flinging the stuff into the front seat, my mind was already recalibrating to the Real World, and I was quickly losing the magic of The Drawing Marathon. I heard the rustle of crumpled paper behind me, and turned around to face Ed Smith. He dropped the big pile of ³bad² drawings in front of me, and fixed me with a steady look. There was no escape from whatever wisdom Ed was about to deliver. Over the past few days, we had a shared the exultant high-fives and happy exclamations about drawings that were good -- truly good ­ but now there was one more lesson, left in the hopper. He said simply, ³Take your winnings.²

Whenever I lose my way, I remember those 3 words. Thanks, Ed.