Linda says "I'm glad you asked!"
Linda says "I'm glad you asked!"Yes, but not at the big black pig studio. I teach at the University of Waterloo and that doesn't leave me any time for groups or private lessons at the studio. I miss you!
No. Drawing is a skill, like skiing or cooking. Not everyone's going to be world-class, but anyone can learn to do it well.
Putting your thumb through so you can hold the palette on your arm while you pace. If you paint sitting down, you don't need it. If you're painting with watercolours, put down the palette; you're splashing paint everywhere.
Poseable wooden mannikins were around art studios long before they starting starring in back pain commercials. We study them when we're drawing people and we can't persuade a roommate or loved one to stand still for six hours.
It's an art studio. I have everything except money and space. That's one reason I love this business; it gives me free rein to buy every art supply I want.
The question you usually mean to ask is, Where do you keep the paper/pens/brushes/insert-name-of-art-supply-here?
No. Sorry.
Feel free to preview books here. I even leave the price tags on so you can gauge just how badly you want the book! If you find a must-have, Words Worth Books will special order a copy for you.
Practice.
Art isn't something you know, like the capital of Prince Edward Island (Charlottetown) or the chief export of Saskatchewan (people). It's something you do, like the front crawl or long division. You get better at art by doing it.
There are fewer rules than you think.
Here in Canada, this question usually refers to Barnett Newman's colour field painting, Voice of Fire, more than a decade after it was purchased for the collection of the National Gallery of Canada for $2 million CDN.
Here's the thing. Art's a conversation, a chat room if you will, that's been going on for centuries. If you look at the Voice of Fire out of context, it's like coming in on the middle of a conversation without having any idea what's been said for four or five hundred years. If you just joined us you might not know, for instance, that artists keep changing their ideas about what a painting is for. Here are just some of the "purposes" that art has had over the years:
If you've ever sat and looked at the sunset, or sprawled on the grass to stare at the clouds in a perfectly blue sky, you won't be surprised to hear that sometimes a painting isn't for anything. Sometimes it's just meant to be a pure experience of colour. A full-immersion sensual moment for the eyes. In the middle of the twentieth century, post-painterly abstraction (AKA colour field painting) offered us paintings that were like staring at a sunset.
The Voice of Fire isn't about anything. It's colour. It's for standing in front of (it's very tall) and seeing. It's like IMAX for the cones of your retinas.
Anyone could do that? Sure. It's just paint. Anyone could write "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." They're just words.
P.S. Barnett Newman was one of the most accomplished and acclaimed practitioners of the mid-century colour field painting movement. The Voice of Fire was painted for Canada's Centennial, EXPO '67, and has been on loan to us ever since. After twenty-some years enjoying having this prestigious piece of 20th century art history in its collection, the National Gallery thought that maybe it would be a nice gesture to pay for it.
First, I don't have a pet pig, I have never had a pet pig, and I don't want a pet pig. This is the one FAQ I don't answer except in person. A girl's gotta preserve some mystery.
If you meet me at a party, I'll tell you the real story of how I came to name my business the big black pig. It wasn't a conscious entrepreneurial decision (I just wanted something unique for the government paperwork) but it worked out just fine. I know what to put on my advertising (pigs, pigs, and more pigs), and black's the cheapest colour to print. People remember it, and it filters out the humourless poops who think you can't really be serious about art without being Serious About Art. My studio name gives you a pretty fair idea of what sort of teacher I'm going to be. Martin Luther reportedly said, "If you can't laugh in heaven, I don't want to go there." I feel the same way about my studio.
Mind you, if I'd known how many people were going to give me black pig presents over the years, I would've called the place the Diamond Earring Studio, or maybe the Big Black Ferrari.
And if I had it to do again, I'd pick something that was easier to say quickly when answering the telephone.