I was thinking today, as I worked in the studio, about my old art master in my former grammar school. He was an unlikely candidate for the role. A former soldier, he had also been an army boxing champion. His appearance reflected both of those positions. Neither his trimmed moustache nor his terse Scottish delivery seemed, at that time, to announce an interest in art. Nevertheless, I perhaps owe a fair bit to “Tug” Wilson and his encouragement of my interest in art.
As I laid the foundations for a new piece this morning one of his regular phrases came to mind. He was noted for insisting on, as a foundation for the skill of drawing, the development of the “small muscles of the hand”. Drawing was nothing to do with some airy-fairy inspiration. It was a matter of skill, which had to be developed with practice.
This was entirely relevant to the activity on which I was engaged at the time, laying down a foundation of carefully-graduated colour as the background to my composition. It was to be the pastel equivalent of the water-colourist’s “wash”, built up steadily, stroke by precisely-judged stroke, dependent upon control of the “small muscles of the hand”.