I'm speaking to myself.
I can't show what I am working on for my next book, because it is still revealing itself to me, and I have a ways to go. But I can show snippets of sketch therapy. Writers must write to see if they are still alive. Artists must sketch to see if their pen still works.
Seriously, folks, if you are an artist, then you must sketch just for the halibut.
Sketching is to the artist what A-1 oil is to ball bearings. Or, if you prefer, sketching for the artist is what waffle iron bumps are to the waffle. We're talking Belgium waffles.
Oh, what is it with words, they just lay there and stare back at you. O.K., I've got it, sketching is like your piano exercises. Do your scales, Richy. Da,da,da,da,da,da,da, da, da. I'm bored already, what good are these? I'll play jazz instead. Oh, little did I know that my Bach inventions depended on those exercises.
I like to give myself challenges. So, sometimes when I am sitting in the car, or on the ferry or anywhere in public, I try to sketch passers-by. If you try this, it gives you anywhere from ten to twenty seconds to grab their image. Their essence. Their gestalt. The gist of them. Their locomoco.
These exercises are invaluable to me, when I want to lighten up in my work. I am not trying to do great art, but I am trying to see, to capture. Catch and release.
Sketching is like stretching before a soccer game. If it's windy out then it's like being a leaf. Go with the breeze. Just sketch what comes. I wonder if Bach played soccer?