As some may have noticed, the time between postings has grown lately. While the cooler, wetter weather discourages me from going out to draw, I also need time to work on two book revisions. And so I will be taking a break from posting for a while, leaving you with this ink sketch I did of a bicyclist relaxing on The Mall in DC in 1973.
The Northgate Extension added three new stations to Sound Transit’s Link Light Rail system—the underground U-District and Roosevelt stations as well as an elevated station at Northgate, where the Seattle Urban Sketchers met this past Sunday. It was a cold, breezy day with rain showers and so I chose this view looking south from under a covered entrance to the station. The Northgate station is located near a park-and-ride, has frequent bus connections to the greater Seattle region, and is connected via a bicycle/pedestrian bridge across I-5 to the North Seattle College campus to the west. It also leads to the former Northgate shopping center, which is being converted into a mixed-use, transit-oriented development, built around the Seattle Kraken offices and practice facility, and the Kraken Community Iceplex.
Above is a site plan for the INA–Casa Tiburtino project in Rome, designed by Mario Ridolfi & Ludovico Quaroni in the 1950s. It shows how one can think with a free hand holding a pen or pencil while exploring possibilities, looking at alternatives, working out problems, even doodling on a sheet of paper. Below is another, more personal example of similarly exploring design alternatives, by hand, on paper.
A few two-page spreads of the small sketchbook I am using while teaching a short-term course on drawing on location at the UW. Quick sketches, freely drawn, to illustrate selecting viewpoints, outlining process, roughing out structure, gauging proportion, and establishing scale.
Almost all drawing is memory drawing—drawing from memory. Even when drawing on location, as soon as we turn our gaze from the subject of our drawing to the page, we rely on our visual memory of what we have seen to be able to project this image onto the page and to draw it. Nurturing this ability to see, scan, visualize, project, and draw takes time and practice. But once we are comfortable with the process, drawing from observation will become that much more fluid.
Before the advent of computer graphics, meeting lines deliberately at a corner had long been a maxim in the manual drafting of architectural and engineering documents. This may appear to be a minor detail, but in freehand drawing—from direct observation—how lines meet, or not meet, can convey much about the nature of the forms we are capturing.
Take, for example, the drawings above, where meeting lines at corners can convey a crispness of planes and edges of volumes.
On the other hand, not meeting lines can convey the softness of curves and curvilinear forms, as in the sculpted nature of a marble bust or the contours of a landscape.
At times, the deliberate gaps between lines can merely suggest a form or create context without calling too much attention and detracting from the focus of a drawing.
In shifting our gaze from the subject before us to the paper surface with pen in hand, we must be able to hold the seen image in our head and recreate it on paper. Oftentimes, this translation can result in faulty proportions, as in this drawing of Michelangelo’s Moses in S. Pietro in Vincoli, in Rome. You will notice that I made a couple of attempts at getting the length of the lower right leg to match what I believed I saw in Michelangelo’s sculpture. This is an example of how the process of drawing from observation requires continually assessing whether the proportions and scale of the drawn image matches those of what is seen—a matter of trial and error.
Above is another example, where, beneath the gridded facets, you might be able to see my initial attempts in roughing out the forms of the Seattle Central Library by OMA/Koolaus. Initially, I drew the forms too narrowly given the building’s height. I kept increasing the width as the drawing developed. In looking at the drawing now, it seems that it could be wider still.
This a line drawing of the Danube, one of the Four River Gods in Bernini’s fountain in Rome’s Piazza Navona. The line is the quintessential element of drawing, able to convey to the mind’s eye three-dimensional forms in space, often not by its presence but rather by its absence—where we decide to stop a contour…and pick it up again.
These cropped enlargements of the original drawing use areas of black to emphasize the negative spaces of the drawing and the white of the sculpture. This brings to mind notan, the Japanese term for “light dark;” some translate it as “light dark harmony.” It is a concept revolving around the placement and interplay of light and dark elements in the composition of a collage, drawing, or painting. It is valued as a way to study possible compositions without the distractions of color, texture, or details.
From a Rome journal, two pages of sketches drawn during a teaching session. The first page contains explanatory sketches accompanied by bits of concise text: “Pay attention to profiles”…“Suggest details within shadows”…“Visualize shape of curves.”
The second page illustrates how to estimate proportional heights above and below an imagined horizon line.
Around ten years ago, I posted a few drawings from a journal I kept during a month’s stay in Japan in 1990. Wiley subsequently published a facsimile in 2000, Sketches from Japan, which is now out-of-print. Here are a few more pages from that journal, all drawn with a Mont Blanc fountain pen and using a contour line approach to the subject matter. The page above contains details that caught my eye as I walked the streets of O-Okayama. Below are a couple more street scenes of O-Okayama, a suburb of Tokyo where the Tokyo Institute of Technology is located.