Blind Contour Drawing

and other leaps of faith

The magic of getting it down on paper. Imperfection, we discover, is very interesting. It allows the viewer, the listener to enter in, to fill in, to dream.

People object, but I don’t know what to write! I’m not an artist…I can’t even draw a straight line! Good news, you’re already on the road. Draw a bunch of crooked lines! Write the first thing that comes into your head. Let go. Disappear into the unknown. Into yourself.

Blind contour drawing is a process where you are not concerned about outcome. You are concentrating on learning to see. You keep your eyes on the subject and move your pen on the paper, recreating the contours you observe, whether it’s arms and legs, tree limbs or saxophones. No fair looking down at your paper until you’ve finished recording what you see. It’s an exercise in freeing yourself from the confines of your conscious mind. It may seem silly at first, but with time, it becomes life itself.

Blind contour drawings are full of life, of motion, emotion, of the unknowingness of the world.

In 2007 I picked up a postcard with a painting that swept me off my feet, a free-wheeling watery cityscape, abstract but real. I pull it out when I am laboring over some highlight on a donkey’s ear or the value difference between the dark side of a Chinese vase and the reddish bookcase in the background, dragging around the ball and chain of realism from one picture to the next. I know how small-time composers must have felt, obsessing over their perfect little counterpoint pieces when Schoenberg swept through with his traveling circus of  twelve tone clowns, speaking in tongues and doing whatever they damned well pleased at any given moment.

I did not want to be in that room with the outraged classicist, huddling in his cramped but tidy garret, grousing about The Emperor’s New Clothes. I emailed the lady who painted that painting and asked her how she does it and does she give lessons. I sent the feeble question out into the world hoping she might take a moment out of her brilliant day to respond to a poor lost painter.

The answer came back. “I find my most successful paintings are the ones where I do not even know what color I am going to start with. In other words, stop thinking it out, just start and see where it leads you. We get too caught up in thinking it has to be something from the beginning. I like to let it evolve.”

•••••

This notion of blind contour drawing works across all creative pursuits. In songwriting, you might start with a few words - ‘You’re my mango, you’re my sweet potato pie.’ Words have a rhythm. Say them out loud. Let a tune arise. The rhythm will lead you to other words. And of course, a group of musicians lead to more ideas, more fun!

You’re My Mango, Phil Swanson, Trombone; Tim Jackson, Drums; Dave Doms, Bass; Frank Wilson, Piano; Barry Marshall, guitar; background vocals, Cecily and Olivia Beane.

I’m sure there are writers who know exactly what they’re going to say. I need to start, to write without limiting myself. If I’m afraid I’ll lose track of what I wanted to say (often), I jot down a quick list so I won’t get totally lost in the weeds.

Years ago, I spent several months ‘automatic writing’ with my neighbor Jane. I would go over to her house at 6 or 6:30 in the morning. I forget the time, but I know it was ungodly. Automatic writing is blind contour drawing with words. Try to chase away your thinking mind. Set the timer and GO! write for 10 or 12 minutes without stopping the flow of ink. After the writing, we would read what we wrote to each other, then I’d go back home. I still have all of those notebooks…and many more.

•••••

And so, dear reader, embrace the unknown, venture off the edge of the earth as we know it. Have fun, discover yourself!

•••••

One last thing, I’m am very excited to announce that Sleet Magazine has nominated my flash fiction piece ‘MUDLARKING AT THE BEAUPORT’ for a Pushcart Prize.

https://www.sleetmagazine.com/selected/sullivan_k_v15n1.html