Making art is constantly puzzling

Boats, Lyon April 2011 (detail)

I've just noticed that I haven't posted anything here since last September which is about eight months ago. That's partly because I've been concentrating on my drawing project Drawing my way round London and partly because I haven't had much to say... until now (I take a long time to think).

I would love to be able to make art fast. Just toss off one piece of artwork after another, frame it and sell it. Then get on with the next one. But I've learned over the years that I can't work like that. It's as though I have to work at the pace the artwork wants to proceed at and that can been dead slow.

Impromtu Kafe, Lyon

I do keep on drawing regularly and trying out new ideas and very often these turn out to be interesting studies rather than anything I'd want to hang on a wall but they are valuable none-the-less. I made this image of boats (above) just the other week while on holiday in France. I used oil pastel on acrylic paper and then worked into it with white spirit. I like the result but it is only a study. I made the sketch on the left at a café we stopped at while we were exploring the artisan quarter of Lyon.

Then yesterday evening I made these quick sketches of other customers at the Lauriston bar/restaurant near where we live. These quick portraits are none too flattering but I just wanted to see if I could capture a likeness without trying too hard. Sadly one of these women looks like an old hag which was unintentional since she was probably in her twenties.

Then every so often though something will coalesce and I'll produce something worthwhile that I can be proud of like this view below looking from Corbridge in Northumberland that I was happy to frame and hang on our sitting room wall.

You're so slow, speed up, work faster!

I've always been a bit of a slow coach. I can remember my Mum commenting on it when she would walk me the mile to school and back when I about five years old. It wasn't that I didn't want to go, it's just that I travelled at my own speed, and fifty-odd years later I still do.

This proved to be a bit of a problem when I was doing exams as a 16 year old. I was never very confident at maths and I knew, during one exam, when I kept rechecking my answers, that if I'd only had another 15 minutes I could have got a higher grade. Still never mind, has always been my mantra.

These days I notice I walk slower than other people - no change there but I notice it more and more. They overtake me on the inside and power down the road. Me, I saunter along and enjoy watching the world go by and get there in the end - occasionally I'll speed up when I'm late for the bus but usually I'm content to wait for the next one. I also eat slower and drink slower than other people. A cup of tea can last all morning at work but that's often because I've forgotten it's there.

And not surprisingly I make art quite slowly - in fact dead slowly. Having worked for 30 years in publishing to strict deadlines I actually learned to speed up. It was a case of speed up or speed out but it took me years to learn the art of simultaneously thinking and doing. The endless 'have you done this?', 'have you done that?', 'it's needed now' used to make me anxious but not more productive. Finally I got the hang of it and when I was working in newspapers I became a bit hooked on flinging pages together, running on adrenalin all day and irritated by people who took their time.

But now I can see a real advantage to working slowly because creative endeavours can often take a very long time to come to fruition. For example this very day I have solved how to approach a portrait I have been struggling with for more time than I care to mention. I've already thrown one version of it on the scrap heap and I'm confident that the new approach I've settled on will result in a more satisfying solution. And let's face it: no-one else has a vested interest in whether I produce artwork or not so I might as well take my time and produce work I can be proud of even if it does take years.