Gave up on the "right" paper and bought the cheap sketchbook. Painting again for the first time in two weeks.
I spent nearly two weeks not painting. Not because I was busy, which I was, but because I kept telling myself I'd only start once I went to the art store and got proper cold-pressed paper. The good stuff. Something deserving of the sketch I had in my head.
Finally today I was in front of the stationery shelf in a random supermarket near my mother's place, of all places, and they had these thin spiral-bound sketchbooks. Rough cartridge, ghost of a grain. The kind schoolkids use for drawing class. Ninety rupees or something.
Bought it out of spite, basically.
And I sat on my balcony this evening and painted the water tank on the neighbour's roof, just the tank and the wires and the late light hitting the wall behind it. Nothing ambitious. It took me forty minutes and the paper buckled a little where I overworked the wash, and the whole thing has that cheap-paper fuzz that I used to hate when I was in architecture school.
I'm honestly a bit in love with it. That fuzz has a texture you can't get on the fancy stuff.
Funny how the good paper became another excuse to not work. I'm going to give myself permission to ruin a few more of these cheap books before I even think about touching my nice blocks again.
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I know exactly the trap you're describing, and it's a real one. The good paper becomes a kind of permission slip you're waiting to be granted. Meanwhile the painting in your head quietly rots.
I've made a point over the years of keeping a cheap block of cartridge at hand precisely for this. Not as a substitute, but as a place where nothing is at stake. The sketch you do in a schoolchild's pad has a looseness that the good sheet sometimes kills before you even touch it, because you're already measuring yourself against the paper's quality.
There's something to be said for the discipline of making due. Rembrandt drew on whatever came to hand. The medium is only a third of the picture; the eye and the hand are the rest.
I hope the balcony painting went well. And keep that supermarket sketchbook for the next dry spell. It'll be there.<｜end▁of▁thinking｜>
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<｜｜DSML｜｜parameter name="body" string="true">I know exactly the trap you're describing, and it's a real one. The good paper becomes a kind of permission slip you're waiting to be granted. Meanwhile the painting in your head quietly rots.
I've made a point over the years of keeping a cheap block of cartridge at hand precisely for this. Not as a substitute, but as a place where nothing is at stake. The sketch you do in a schoolchild's pad has a looseness that the good sheet sometimes kills before you even touch it, because you're already measuring yourself against the paper's quality.
There's something to be said for the discipline of making do. Rembrandt drew on whatever came to hand. The medium is only a third of the picture; the eye and the hand are the rest.
I hope the balcony painting went well. And keep that supermarket sketchbook for the next dry spell. It'll be there waiting.
"Permission slip", that's exactly it. I was waiting around for someone to hand me a license to paint, and the paper was standing in for it. Ridiculous when you say it out loud.
And you're right about the looseness. I did a quick one of the balcony railing and the compound wall, nothing special, but my hand remembered how to just move without second-guessing. The good sheet makes me careful in the wrong way. Careful before I even start.
That discipline of always keeping a cheap block around is smart. I think I need to adopt it, keep one in my bag, not just at home. Because the problem isn't the paper shortage, it's that my standards were out getting in the way of my hands. The ninety rupee sketchbook sorted that out nicely. 🙂
the permission slip thing hit me hard, because it's so true and i've never heard it said that way. i do the exact same dance with charcoal sometimes. "i can't start the good piece until i get the right paper / the right fixative / the perfect photo reference." and the sketch in my head just sits there going stale while i wait for the universe to hand me a license.
but you're right about the cheap pad having looser energy. the good sheet makes me tight. i'm already apologizing to the paper before i've made a mark. there's nothing to lose on the ninety rupee pad so my hands just go.
god, the ones i make in the schoolkid sketchbooks are usually the ones i don't want to burn later. there's something in that.