[-art, process, tutorial-]

by Nancy S.M. Waldman

Time:
• 10 minutes or less

Materials:
two standard sheets of printing paper torn in fourths
marker, crayon, pen or pencil

Before reading this article, do one drawing each for 8 of the following words. I’ve given you more than 8 in case you prefer not to deal with some of them but, of course, do them all if you like. The drawings must not be representational. No pictures or symbols that represent anything. Stick to abstract lines and shapes of any thickness or type. Think about the word for only a moment and then begin to draw. Make them small, make them quick and don’t think too much.

peace/tranquility
anger
nervous energy
joyful energy
hope
depression
illness
fear
loneliness
femininity
masculinity

Done?
Now here’s another thing for you to do. Take a moment to decide which one of the two shapes seen below should be named “takete” and which one should be “maluma.”

I’ll explain what these shapes represent at the end of the article.

Words dominate our worlds, and even more importantly, our thoughts. We can’t even think about thoughts without using words. This dominance of the word is one reason art, craft, pure design and music are so vital in our lives. We need the balance that wordlessness can provide. Marks—the kind that you used to do your drawings—communicate on a non-verbal level.

This little exercise is meant to increase your awareness and give you the experience of the fact that non-representational marks carry meaning that can be *read* by others.

Below is a series of drawings that roughly correspond to the ones you did. Scroll down and look at each one. Notice the energy or lack of it, the placement, direction and movement of the lines. Think about how it makes you feel or what it reminds you of. Look for similarities between your drawings and mine. Then scroll back through them and try to match them up with the list of words (some of them are used twice).

peace/tranquility, anger, nervous energy, joyful energy, hope, depression, illness, fear, loneliness, femininity, masculinity

Here they are with labels (on top):

anger	loneliness
fear	anger
tranquility	depression
nervous energy	femininity
illness	hope
joyful energy	masculinity

The interesting thing about these simple drawings is that they tend to be so similar between people. Betty Edwards in Drawing on the Artist Within shows many examples of these drawings done in her art classes. They are not all the same—we wouldn’t expect or want that, would we? And, that’s not the point. The point is that they are amazingly communicative.

You might disagree with some of my labels—maybe what I call hope looks more like femininity to you (I was interested that my joyful energy and femininity looked so similar ), or my nervous energy might look like your anger. Come to think of it, my loneliness looks pretty fearful. I trust, though, that you can look at these and at least narrow the choice down to two or three. Sometimes we don’t communicate that explicitly when we’re using words!

If I did these drawings on another day, they would likely be different. If I were feeling especially lonely or fearful or angry, the marks would be even more communicative of that feeling. The fact that my loneliness drawing incorporates a feeling of fear is interesting to me. I probably am fearful of being lonely. That it came out in a drawing that took less than thirty seconds illustrates my point in a way that my words cannot.

I’ll be posting more about what you can do with simple non-representational drawings, but in the meantime, I suggest that you play with lines, marks and the expression of emotions.

In terms of other art that you do, remember these tiny drawings. Placement on the page, the energy and speed with which lines are drawn, the direction of the lines, whether they are straight, sharp, angular, wavy, curvy, upturned—all of these things and more carry information to your viewer. Whether you work in paint or clay, fabric or pencil, make sure that you know what non-verbal message your art is delivering. Harness this information so that you can use it in your work and in viewing other people’s art.

Most of my understanding of R-mind thinking, the meaning of marks and much of the rest of what I’ve come to understand about creativity was informed by the books of Betty Edwards, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain and Drawing on the Artist Within. I consider them essential so do consider looking more closely at them when you get the chance. (I’ll be posting a full review of Drawing on the Artist Within soon.)

So what about takete and maluma, the drawings at the beginning of this article? These nonsense words and two similar drawings were used in an experiment done by Gestalt psychologist, Wolfgang Kohler in 1929. 98% of respondents labelled the angular drawing “takete” and the curved one, maluma. This was strikingly similar across cultures. We can project why this is so (the letters of takete are more angular, the sound is sharper and so on) but it continues to be a fascination that there is this kind of brain universality associated with abstract shapes and sounds when so much of what human beings have trouble with is communication. According to Wikipedia it is known as the Bouba/Kiki Effect

Other posts about Marks:
Mark my Words - a graphic reminder
Making your Mark - essay about self-promotion

[-cartoon-]

The Adventures of Ohmiomyo and Karma

Read the rest of this entry »

[-cartoon-]

The Adventures of Ohmiomyo and Karma

Read the rest of this entry »

[-gardening article-]

Planting a garden is work full of hope and joyful expectation. If it’s time to plant seedlings where you are, this article will inspire you and help you to enjoy the fruits of your labours.

by guest contributor, Sherry D. Ramsey

As gardeners, we all share some of the joys that growing things can bring: the thrill when that speck of green pokes up, signaling an awakened seed; that heady raw earth smell when the soil is turned for the first time in spring; the burgeoning splashes of color as the garden fulfills its springtime promise. Walking the garden, reveling in our successes, and fetching a breath of that intoxicating scent of flower and earth and sun make all our hard work worthwhile.

But there are other, out-of-the-ordinary ways to enjoy the garden that many of us miss in the practical rounds of weeding and watering, pruning and cultivating. Here are a few simple suggestions for delving deeper and discovering the heart and soul of your garden this summer.

• 1. Make a point of observing your garden at different times during the day.

The dew-spangled garden just at dawn (or at least early morning) is different from the sun-swollen mid-afternoon garden, and a distinct experience again in a cool, misty twilight. Nothing compares to the magic of the garden limned by the silvered fingers of a full moon.

• 2. Walk your garden in different weather situations.

Most of us enjoy the garden on a sunny afternoon, but don’t miss its wild, tossed beauty in a windstorm or the deepening greens and cool wet scents of the garden in the rain.

• 3. Don’t just stroll in your garden.

Grab a blanket, stool, or lawn chair and settle yourself close to a flower bed. Now watch the interplay of blossoms, insects, breezes and birds. Observe each petal and leaf in its unique relationship to the plant as a whole. How many color variations are there in a single bloom? A single leaf?

• 4. While you’re sitting there, close your eyes for a few minutes and listen.

The drone of nectar-laden bees, the rustle of foliage, the background of birdsong, the skittering of insects through the grass, maybe even the swift whir of a hummingbird– they’re all part of your garden, too.

• 5. Display a big spray of cut flowers in your garden–they’re not just for inside the house.

Cut flower bouquets allow you to bring together blooms that can’t grow together because of conflicting light, water and soil requirements. The resulting combinations can lend a whole new dimension of beauty to your garden, and a lovely focal point for a patio, deck or gazebo.

• 6. Sprinkle your garden with tiny lights at night, for just pennies.

Tea light candles set in empty glass jars (Mason jars are excellent) weave a flickering path of beauty through the nighttime garden. Watch how flower colors mute and blend by candlelight as the garden takes on an entirely new persona.

• 7. Finally, keep a journal of your garden.

Not just the prosaic facts on planting and blooming dates, plant performance and propagation notes. Weave in your thoughts and observations as you follow the suggestions in this article. How did the garden look in the rain or at dawn? What made it different by candle- or moonlight? How did it sound? Did you learn anything new from your observations? Don’t forget to note down how the garden looked on special days throughout the summer–birthdays, anniversaries, family visits, holidays. Your garden journal will make great winter reading when the garden is sleeping and you’re curled up in your living room, browsing through seed catalogs and dreaming of spring.

The great gift of a garden is that it delights all of our senses. With a little creative thinking, it can delight the spirit and soul as well.

© 2005 - 2007 Sherry D. Ramsey, all rights reserved

About the author:
Sherry writes speculative fiction. She’s published many short stories and her newest SF novel, “One’s Aspect to the Sun” was recently awarded second place in the 28th Annual Atlantic Writing Competition’s novel category, the H.R. (Bill) Percy Prize. She’s also the author of many essays and articles especially on the craft of writing. She is the publisher and editor of the highly successful Scriptorium Webzine for Writers. You can read all about Sherry at her author’s website www.sherrydramsey.com.

Be sure to read Sherry’s other works in The PCQ.
short story
- Accidents Happen
poetry
- UPLOAD
- I, Galaxy

Originally published in the April 2005 issue of The Practically Creative Quarterly, theme: inspiration

[-practically mperfect, collecting-]

by Nancy S.M. Waldman

You might think this essay will be about how to keep one’s collections free of dust. It’s not. While I could easily and truthfully admit to hating to dust my various collections (and everything else), what I have to confess goes much deeper.

I’m the one who’s been gathering dust.

Apathy overtook me in August. Spring into summer were energetic and fun. I had the joy of experiencing the birth of my new granddaughter, took three trips, entertained house guests, started knitting a sweater, discovered the world of Artist Trading Cards, took loads of photos and made plans to spend August revising my last novel before I threw myself into the joyful job of putting this issue together.

What happened instead is that I became immobilized. Not only couldn’t I seem to get moving on that revision no matter what tricks I tried - and I know a lot of them - but I couldn’t get moving period. The more I forced myself to look at the first draft of my novel the worse I felt, not only about the writing but moreso about myself. Finally I let myself off the writing hook for the time being. However, I still seemed encrusted in apathy.

All my gorgeous and inviting art supplies were out, awaiting my next batch of Artist Trading Cards. I wasn’t interested. I wasn’t even interested in looking through other people’s cards on the internet to find ones to trade for what I’ve already made. I couldn’t work up the energy to garden. I couldn’t find the motivation to work on my sweater. Worst of all, I had no interest in THIS, my zingy zine! Since last January gathering articles, essays, images, poetry and fun web sites has been one of the joys of my life. When I wasn’t doing something else, I loved dipping into the internet to see what I could discover. But in August, all that joyful energy was gone. I had the creative energy of a porcelain bunny. A bunny gathering dust. A dust bunny.

I don’t tell you this because I think I’m unusual or weird or special or even interesting. I feel the need to write about it precisely because this phenomenon is so common among creative people. We zip along a cable wire high above the rest of the world and then - boom! - hit the end of our exhilarating run with a thwarting thud; we hit it so hard that we can’t get up, or move, or motivate. We lie where we landed, gathering dust.

And then…we begin to hate ourselves. We tell ourselves all kinds of horrible things. That we aren’t talented. That we were stupid to feel so good about our creations. That we never were an artist to begin with because we can never stick to something long enough. The negativities can go on and on, our minds filling with creativity sapping thoughts.

The problem isn’t the down time. The problem is that we kick ourselves when we’re down.

The best most of us can hope for is to learn enough to short cut the recovery time. Wait it out. Do new things. Rest. Veg. But above all, do not get down on yourself. Be kind. Be respectful, not only of yourself but also of your work. Gradually we will come out of it. I recommend an end of the month publishing deadline! It worked for me. Then you can dust yourself off and get moving, full of the knowledge that for most of us, part of being creative is needing to periodically take the time to sit still, gather a layer of dust and wait for the right time to begin again.

Originally published in the October, 2005 issue of The Practically Creative Quarterly, Theme: Collections

[-essay-]

by Nancy S.M. Waldman

This German word - zwischenraum - comes back to me from the past. I first heard it over 25 years ago soon after the funeral of my father. Grief is one of those painful but natural and necessary pauses in our lives. The kind of “time-out” that our minds tend to capture and highlight forever.
Because my father wasn’t a religious man, we called upon a previously unknown to us Unitarian minister to speak at Daddy’s funeral. He did a graceful job of it and the family - in thanks and in need - attended his church the following Sunday. He spoke that day of the importance to our lives of something we have no one English word for, something we rarely notice: zwischenraum, the gap between things. The concept and the significance of it has never left me.

Several weeks ago I attended my step-daughter’s dancing competition. During the adjudication portion, the judge told a group of student choreographers, that the most powerful moments in dance are often not the steps themselves, but the moments when they hold their bodies still and, by doing so, hold the audience’s rapt attention. Stillness between movements. Zwischenraum.

Musicians may have an advantage in this area because the rests - the pauses and stopping points - are not only ordered by the composer but also timed. The Ramones notwithstanding, most music would lose much of its power and pleasure without those moments of silence between the notes.

For the rest of the arts, the spaces are not always as obvious but they are just as important. When you draw something you see, do you pay attention to what you aren’t drawing? This is Negative Space and paying attention to it is a vital step in learning to beautifully reproduce what is in front of you. The air space around solid objects. Zwischenraum.

It isn’t just the arts that show us the importance of space. In our cities, the often almost non-existent breathing room between buildings, houses and signage has a negative impact on quality of life and how people respond to each other. In some places green space has become the rare oasis between everything hard and contrete. In our homes as well, we long for the luxury of more space in which to work and play. And in our days, time and space sometimes merge. “I don’t have any more space in my day” we say as if they were one and the same. Free time in-between what has to be done. Zwischenraum.

Nature abhors a vacuum and space - whether it’s actual physical space or, time - has a natural tendency to fill up before we’ve even had time to notice it’s there. When we don’t honour the spaces in our lives we feel stressed, even frantic. Overloaded and overwhelmed. Incapable. Exhausted. At times, for many of us, the lack of space/time overtakes even our most physically necessary space: sleep.

Pauses in life are restorative, necessary. A long soak in the tub. An afternoon fishing or lying outside with a good book. Meditation. Prayer. Naps. Vacations (though these have to be specifically planned to be restful!) A proper night’s sleep. These are indeed necessary. But essential time-outs aren’t always joyful. A time of grief or depression can be a time apart, a pause. These pain-filled spaces in our lives are as necessary as the pleasurable ones. These are the times when we grow into more evolved persons.

After reading this, take some time/space to consider zwischenraum. Close your eyes for a moment and think of how you feel when you are truly rested. Think of the feeling you get when nothing is looming. Or when the path ahead feels open and wide and unobstructed. It may even make you anxious if it’s been a long time since you’ve had this luxury of inner space. It is, however, vital to living life well and can be cultivated in our busy lives.

The minister from long ago was pointing out that the gap is as important to our quality of life, as what the gap is between. We must pay attention to it, or it will be filled and will vanish along with our peace of mind.

In the arts as in everything else in life, mind the zwischenraum.

‘Zwischenraum’ photo by nancy sm waldman © 05-07; all rights reserved
‘Mind the Gap’ photo by suze corte © 05-07; all rights reserved

Originally published May 2006, The Practically Creative Quarterly, theme: space and spaces