Today I finally grasped the nettle and began an overdue process of sorting, shredding and chucking-out accumulated clutter. After tackling some of the surplus paper in my financial records I turned my attention to the material I have built up over the years from the various life-drawing classes I have attended. There were several surprises, but two things stand out as a result of today’s re-acquaintance with stuff I have not seen for well over ten years.
The depressing lesson of the day is that I don’t think I have got any better at it. Oh, I can draw, and sometimes quite well, but several of the best pieces I have done date back quite a few years. In fact, one nude study I must have done at least ten years ago (possibly fifteen) is probably one of the best drawings I have ever done. It is certainly the case that I have learned a diversity of techniques in that interval, and I am able to tackle drawing with greater confidence, but honestly I don’t think that it is possible to trace a single, linear improvement.
The other thing I discovered is that regularly in that time the best pieces I have done have included, disproportionately, the drawings that are more attempts at a portrait rather than overall figure studies. This is odd, because I have very rarely attempted to do a portrait as a finished piece of work. It is clear that I can capture a likeness, and on occasions there is a real sense of character. Maybe I ought to try portraiture more consistently, despite the fact that I have hitherto regarded myself primarily as a landscape artist. I wonder, for all these years, I have missed my vocation.