One of the most important things that Vanessa had learned in her first drawing class was that line was a fictional construct. There are edges, where gradations of gray contrast against each other, but it's rare for true lines to occur naturally. The same goes for black and white. Everything has a tint, a shade, saturation of a hue. No light is pure, no shadow is without texture.
She learned to muddy a page with charcoal and a chamois rag only to draw into it with a soft eraser, pulling the illusion of solidity from the fog, volume from the flat page. She was taught the five basic regions of shading, from highlight to core shadow, and to blend and blur between them to indicate material, whether slick and shiny or soft and matte. She learned that negative space was as important as positive space, and that a blank area on the page must be a conscious choice, else it indicates a failure to observe closely enough.
And the single most important thing that Vanessa learned in school was to observe, to truly see.
When children are young, they draw in symbols, boxy houses with triangle roofs, smiley faces and starburst suns, stick figures for families, and half-circles for boats hovering above rows of scalloped waves. Pictographs like cave paintings, like hazard signs, like symbols on a map. And then they begin to realize that their symbols are inaccurate and that drawing reality is difficult. It requires work and practice, like any other skill. After that grows a slow split, between the discouraged and the determined.
The latter became artists.
More accurately: the latter have the potential to become artists. The world continuously tests their resolve, in small ways and in large.
Vanessa was a respectable, if not exemplary, artist. As it turned out, her eye was better than her hand; now, she stands as a gatekeeper, a riddle at the threshold to fame, a trial, a test, a challenge.
The consolation for those artists who pass is that she's as formidable to buyers, as well, demanding more than money for the work she sells, but also a genuine appreciation. The artists know their work is going to be valued, and customers know that if they invest in a piece, it will not only be financially valuable, but it will also hold significance, be theirs in a way that money alone cannot buy.
Her commission rate is spectacular and slightly outrageous, but then again, so is her gallery's reputation. Vanessa Fisk's eye for talent is renowned.
So it is with some satisfaction that, when she introduces herself to the sharp little thing in a knockoff Burberry jacket, she sees those blue eyes go wide in recognition.
"I'm Karen," the girl stammers, taking her hand and shaking it. "Karen Page."
"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Karen," Vanessa says. "You wouldn't happen to be an artist, would you?"
Re: Fill: "Untitled Portrait Series" 2/?
She learned to muddy a page with charcoal and a chamois rag only to draw into it with a soft eraser, pulling the illusion of solidity from the fog, volume from the flat page. She was taught the five basic regions of shading, from highlight to core shadow, and to blend and blur between them to indicate material, whether slick and shiny or soft and matte. She learned that negative space was as important as positive space, and that a blank area on the page must be a conscious choice, else it indicates a failure to observe closely enough.
And the single most important thing that Vanessa learned in school was to observe, to truly see.
When children are young, they draw in symbols, boxy houses with triangle roofs, smiley faces and starburst suns, stick figures for families, and half-circles for boats hovering above rows of scalloped waves. Pictographs like cave paintings, like hazard signs, like symbols on a map. And then they begin to realize that their symbols are inaccurate and that drawing reality is difficult. It requires work and practice, like any other skill. After that grows a slow split, between the discouraged and the determined.
The latter became artists.
More accurately: the latter have the potential to become artists. The world continuously tests their resolve, in small ways and in large.
Vanessa was a respectable, if not exemplary, artist. As it turned out, her eye was better than her hand; now, she stands as a gatekeeper, a riddle at the threshold to fame, a trial, a test, a challenge.
The consolation for those artists who pass is that she's as formidable to buyers, as well, demanding more than money for the work she sells, but also a genuine appreciation. The artists know their work is going to be valued, and customers know that if they invest in a piece, it will not only be financially valuable, but it will also hold significance, be theirs in a way that money alone cannot buy.
Her commission rate is spectacular and slightly outrageous, but then again, so is her gallery's reputation. Vanessa Fisk's eye for talent is renowned.
So it is with some satisfaction that, when she introduces herself to the sharp little thing in a knockoff Burberry jacket, she sees those blue eyes go wide in recognition.
"I'm Karen," the girl stammers, taking her hand and shaking it. "Karen Page."
"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Karen," Vanessa says. "You wouldn't happen to be an artist, would you?"
- tbc -