On Charcoal, Ireland, and Profound Knowing...

I am endlessly fascinated by the creative process, if not always entirely appreciative of its quirks. For example, when I sat down to approach this drawing, below, which has been tapping at me for a couple weeks, something told me it would have to be done in charcoal, to which I responded, “Well that’s annoying.”

For starters, charcoal is a mess. I have one shirt and one shirt only that I wear when I work with it - one of those does-not-leave-the-house, ripped-so-much-is-it-still-technically-a-shirt button downs. To its credit, the shirt makes me feel like I’m in my “Artist costume,” making me move a little differently, and see myself in a different way from “TV Host” “Actor” or “Writer”, which I appreciate.

But furthermore regarding charcoal - it’s just plain hard, partially because it’s the drawing medium I have the least formal training in. I’m a Graphite Girl. I am, in fact, generally speaking, a Mechanical Pencil Graphite Girl, which is particularly exacting and allows me tight control.

I think you can see in a lot of my work that I studied with a scientific illustrator. That is not to say that my drawings are terribly precise or photorealistic (CERTAINLY not) but that there is a preciousness with my line that might be vaguely reminiscent of instructional manual illustrations (I say this with pride). My work in graphite (as well as my inked drawings, which usually begin as graphite) is, let’s say, Careful.

Charcoal’s havin’ none of that.

Charcoal on toned, textured paper, in particular, is having none of that. It is for this reason, though, that I know when something in me insists a drawing be done in charcoal, it means there is something in its desire to be created that is asking me to Let Go. It means the idea is coming from a place that wants to free up my usual control, think in a slightly more painterly way, and find more movement. (Hence, the shirt).