Every day I bump into a new artist whose style just leaves me in complete awe. It looks so effortless and so easy.
I imagine dipping my brush in water, grabbing some color and setting it to paper and magically those wonderful colour mixes will happen.
There is so much practicing ahead of me.
I have such incredible highs when I complete a drawing in five minutes and it looks wonderful, but then I go back to the paper and I try again and blobs of paint happen, eyebrows are too thick, eyes look like manga, lips are too red.
These times I fight a lot with my evil self.
Today was one of those days. I found an artist, who I first knew because she developed websites.
Her work is beyond amazing. I have my top illustrators. I think she just bumped to the top of the list because she made a wonderful portrait of Virginia Woolf.
What happens in my head at that moment is I drop everything and I go to my paper and brushes. I want to get ONE stroke like that.
Today I ripped a page off my watercolour pad. It was terrible.
But then a magical thing happened. Instead of drawing with pencil again, I was so irritated at my horrible painting that I took a pen and quickly sketched another portrait from a Vogue spread. I took black gouache and without reservation I touched the paper.
The illustration came together, little by little, it doesn't look like this artist's at all. It's mine. Without the anger, without the attempted imitation this wouldn't have happened.
I think about Karl L.
Il faut dessiner pour la poubelle…