The experience of suddenly being taken in by an image–a color I want to try to reproduce, the idea that I know I can, and want to be the one that does it–impels a work of art forward and magically brings it together on the page. What is the suspension of disbelief? What is the source from which the original image came? Some analysis takes place, it’s astounding that just finding the tube of Vat Orange, black Pentel brush pen, yellow and green Winsor/Newton inks and water on Arches paper, all come together in a gestalt that I enjoy more than the original postcard I was compelled to copy.
The whole piece took one hour concept to blow-dryer finish, looks so cool in my calligraphy journal.
Sometimes there is a fear, based on the memory of how long a project took and the steps and intricacies involved, that distracts me from beginning a piece–all the time it was all impulse and instinct that moved it forward, the delicious feeling of brushes on fine soft paper. Getting to that state is often elusive, and the thought of figuring it all out logically blows my mind!
Then there is the embarrassment of copying–without the years of whatever lead up to the style and composition–the original is a hard-edge painting on a glossy postcard. Somehow, though, it is very satisfying. Thanks, Tim!