Embracing imperfection

How can you embrace the impossibility of perfection? Is there a way to find the sheer scale of a challenge liberating?  That was the task I set myself for this all-weather outdoor drawing workshop.

As the sun set in the gardens of Worcester College in Oxford, a full moon rose in the sky. The atmosphere was magical. The twilight cast the trees and lake into an ethereal light, and it became increasingly hard to distinguish our surroundings as the night drew in around us.

We’re used to artists having high standards for the quality of light: a north facing studio for neutral light; coastal locations for big skies. I sometimes get curious glances when I say that I prefer compromised conditions to make work. I find that limitations can often unleash more creativity than the perfect set-up.  

So what happens when you can’t fully see what you’re drawing?

My students came from all walks of life. Some draw regularly in their spare time, while others hadn’t drawn since they were a child. I gave them prompts that were primarily non-visual: how would you draw the way this leaf feels? How about the bark of this tree?

As we moved from the enclosed space under the trees, we emerged into the wide open space of the lawn, with a huge Hunter supermoon overhead. How would you capture that sense of expansiveness in a drawing? Is that even possible?

We found ourselves in a walled garden with aromatic herbs and sweet-smelling leaves. How can you draw the atmosphere those aromas create? What about the pungent scent of fallen apples in the orchard nearby?

These tasks are impossible to draw accurately. For me, that is the point of them. You cannot fixate on perfection when the thing you are trying to draw defies clear definition. That means you cannot fail. The effort of trying is all that matters.