Doing the museum circuit these past two weeks, I've inevitably run into a lot of tourists, but I've seen a lot of the artsy folk, too. The young art students show up in full force with weathered sketchbooks, settling in some remote museum corner to dash off a few studies of whatever sculpture happens to be nearby.
They make it look so easy. They make it look like anyone could do it. That maybe even I could do it.
So today I tried. Strolling through the resplendent Luxembourg gardens, I took a seat in front of a grand sculpture of famed Romanticist Eugene Delacroix. What with the dappled light and play of shadows, I couldn't help it, inspiration soon struck.
I had my reservations of course. One being that I hadn't had an art class since seventh grade. But, dang it, a lot of these impressionists never had formal training -- in fact, a lot of them spurned and spit on formal training. So for all we know, within my nubby fingers could rest the potential for greatness. You decide.
Here's the inspiration:
And here's my humble homage:
And here's a close-up so you really get a feel for the simple grace of the lines:
I call it "Scribbles."
You may say, "keep your day job," to which I reply, "gladly, if I had one." In my defense (although I'm not sure it's worth defending), I had to sketch really quick because I was quite scared some passerby would take an interest in the artist at work and come over and peer into my notebook, cause that's totally what I do to the artists in the museums all the time. And I don't think I could survive the ensuing embarrassment of watching the inevitable shock and awe (light on the awe) register on their faces.
And just because, here's a photo of the Fountain des Medicis, clearly crafted by someone with a steadier hand than me.
Complete with baby ducks:
Everybody say awwww.
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