Realism????

I long to stand shoulder to shoulder with other artists and advance a movement celebrating beauty and representational work. However, the more we label the rebirth of figurative work 'realism', the less it sits with my conscience, and the more I push myself silently to the back of the crowd.

I understand and respect the artistic roots of the 'realism' movement. I too want to create honest and objective portrayals of humanity. But I sense the connotation has changed in this rebirth of the movement.

Now, I feel this pressure to stage or manipulate imagery before I ever put a pencil to paper. But, how can I call a work 'real' if the composition is a lie before I ever put a mark on the paper? Even worse... I feel pressured to draw beyond the truth - creating details I do not see and rendering forms I do not understand. In the end, I am supposed to sit back from my finished work and watch quietly as it's marketed as 'realism.'

The entire conversation is ridiculous. Who among us can say with certainty that we understand what is real?

After twenty years of seeking to comprehend what it appears I see, I most definitely cannot. Nor do I believe the ability to render life motionless, from a single vantage point, somehow classifies me as a ‘realist.’ Nothing could be further from the truth.

Instead of solidifying my knowledge of tangible form, the quiet, often maddening deconstruction of form in the studio has taught me that I am more likely deceived by an elaborate illusion. The more I learn, the more I recognize I do not understand.

A ‘realist’ I am not...

I am increasingly convinced what is ‘real’ has little to do with form and is more likely the invisible force suspended in the space between. Maybe it’s the energy I can feel but cannot see, taste, or touch. (And I am blessed to know some who can render, harness, or allude to it in their work.)

While I have my doubts about representing reality, I am convinced there are ‘real’ truths hidden in the drawing process. Like those mistakes I make – all those lines drawn with arrogant certainty, those incorrect value sets, and the poor judgment I cannot erase. They build upon each other, and blur together to create atmosphere as the story develops with the soft and painstaking application of medium. Through time and delicate layering, everything once shamefully deemed wrong somehow helped illuminate what was closer to right.

The drawing process reveals ‘real’ dangers too… such as the risk of viewing form from only one perspective and the falseness that comes from falling victim to the alluring deception of details. Leaving me to wonder if ‘real’ lies not in what it is I think I see or touch, but in all the lessons learned through suffering in the pursuit of truth.

Now I’ve spent another afternoon wandering out on some tangent, withdrawing from the pack, wasting my time arguing over semantics instead of making work.

Figurative Realism???? I’m not too sure about that… In the end, I cannot confirm or deny that the work I create represents what is real. I’m just a woman captivated with making dark marks and the slow, methodical process of carbon drawing life.