“In all this work, observe one rule: Never mind about drawing a thing
as you may possibly have been told to do in the course of instruction.
Draw it the way it looks to you. You will see it differently as you
go back to it again and again. If you do not see it differently, you
cannot see your own mistakes, and that is positive proof that for you
fame is waiting at some other door,—or, at any rate, that it will not
come to you from art.
“How much ought one to work? All the time. Draw all the time. Look all
the time for something to draw. In the beginning, never pass anything
without wresting from it its blessing, so to speak. Before you pass,
be sure you can draw it; and the only way to be sure of that is to
draw it several times. The objects in a room are a little simpler than
figures, at first, but figures are the most interesting, and you must
draw whatever interests you. If you would rather draw crawfish and
bootjacks than men and women, draw crawfish and bootjacks. It really
doesn’t so much matter what you draw; the point is that you draw. But
it is important to you that you develop a taste for drawing something
special,—and of that you need have no fear if you are a born artist. If
you are not, as I said, it doesn’t matter.
“I always feel that any general talk about the way to succeed, in any
art one selects, is rather unnecessary. I cannot repeat too often that
I believe, if the student has it in him to draw, he will not need to be
told to persevere, or to work hard, or to be careful of bad influences
in his work, or to avoid imitation,—he will do all these as naturally
as he will hold a pencil. Holding a pencil, by the way, is another
example of what I just spoke of. Do you remember that they used to tell
us just how our fingers must hold the pen, and how the whole arm ought
to move? ‘What will they think of you,’ they said, ‘when you get out
in the world, if you hold your pencil like that?’ As a matter of fact,
nobody gives the matter a thought, and hardly one of us holds a pencil
that way. It is so with many of the _formulae_ of an art. But isn’t it
curious that I never did get out of holding my pencil that prescribed
way? I do happen to hold my pencil correctly.”
“Maybe you held some of the other _formulae_ the same way,” I
suggested, “and they are influencing you.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr. Gibson, “so far as the pencil goes, I fancy,
perhaps, that I draw in spite of the way I hold it rather than because
of it.”
Then he made a small retraction of his remark.
“There is one class of teachers,” he said, “that I count,—pictures.
Pictures are always at hand,—and good work is the best teacher in the
world. A pupil in New York ought to go to the art gallery often and
often, and sit there and steep himself in what he sees. Let him go to
study definite pictures, too,—but just to sit and absorb,—as one sits
in a garden, or before an old tower, or by the sea,—without sketching,
only just looking,—that is the best instruction you can pay for on
either continent.”
The picture of the girl on the board was practically complete, with its
high little chin and haughty mouth and fearless eyes, and it seemed so
alive that getting to be a great illustrator appeared hopeless by the
side of it.
“How long,” I asked, “does it take, normally, to find out if you’re a
born artist or not?”
Mr. Gibson laughed and took it the other way.
“A very long time,” he said, regretfully, “and some of us even go down
blind to our graves.”
“May it not be inferred from your idea that the born illustrator has
little need of a teacher, that he also has little need of a sojourn in
the art atmosphere of Paris?” I asked.
“It certainly may be,” replied Mr. Gibson quickly. “A young man or
woman can now learn just as much art in some of our great cities, like
New York or Philadelphia, as abroad. Our art schools are as good as
those of Paris. In fact, they are superior in some respects, and I am
very sure that the average American art student is, in general, better
off in the United States.
“There are, of course, the magnificent galleries of Europe, with which
every artist should be familiar, but there need be no special hurry
to study these. It is much more advisable, I think, for the young
artist to become imbued with the spirit of our own art, and to acquire
a distinctively American style, before subjecting himself to the
influence of the painters of the Old World.
“I have little patience with the American who, in his art, becomes a
foreigner. If he does, he is not accepted as representative either
abroad or in this country. The time has come when a man or woman may
take much pride in being a true American artist. We are no longer
mere imitators. We are forging ahead into leadership, and I venture
to predict that this century will see New York the art center of the
world.”
* * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.
Varied hyphenation was retained.