“In short: there are no rules. And here
they are.”
Scott
McCloud, Making
Comics
That pretty much sums up my view of art
instruction. I will tell you right now that when it comes to teaching art, I
have very little idea what I’m doing. I love it, I can talk endlessly about it,
and I hope that somewhere in my jumble of thoughts is something that benefits
another artist.
After looking at photos from a family
getaway, I was struck by how two pictures, of the same subjects, in the same
setting, taken only moments apart, conveyed a very different feeling to me.
 |
| Lake pic 1 |
Lake pic 2
I considered their composition.
Composition basically means ‘what it’s made of and
how you put it all together’. It’s a subject as broad as an ancient map of the
world, with plenty of beasties rearing out of the ocean, and lots of blank
spaces at the edges where unwary explorers venture at their own peril.
After looking at the
pictures, I decided that their differences came down to lines.
I vaguely remember, as a curious young
artistic child, asking, “Mommy, if you look really closely at things, do they
have little lines around them, like in a drawing?”
In some ways, there
really are invisible lines throughout the visual world, and like long-ago
astronomers playing connect-the-dots with the stars, an artist can learn to see
them.
A straight line on a
page can become anything: the first letter of a word, the first note of a
symphony, the first blade of grass in a field. But once you add a bend or a second
line, you create a relationship…you create meaning.
Invisible lines fill
the spaces between forms. They are the relationships of direction and angle that
set the mood, guide the eye, and communicate a message.
Visible lines show
the forms. Invisible lines guide the relationships between the forms.
There are two basic kinds of line
relationships, as far as I see: Static, and Dynamic. These apply
to both the visible and invisible lines.
Static is composed of vertical and horizontal
lines placed at right angles to each other.
A composition featuring a lot of these
well-behaved lines is likely to appear peaceful, relaxing, thoughtful, ordered, vast, epic, distant.
Dynamic lets it all hang loose.
When you visualize the invisible lines in
a dynamic composition, they look like a game of pick-up-sticks. A dynamic
composition can convey motion, action, excitement, frenzy, chaos, disorder, confusion, exhaustion, casualness.
I think most
compositions are a combination of these two types. Throw in some unpredictable curved
lines, and things get really interesting.
Breaking the two lakeside pictures down
into basic lines and shapes helps show what’s going on. The half-white,
half-black circle indicates the focal point—the place where there is the
highest contrast, and therefore where the eye will be drawn. (My thanks to Beth Verheyden for introducing me to this concept, and many other helpful
points on composition.) The circled brown dot is the vanishing point, where the
invisible lines of perspective lead. The red lines indicate the invisible line
relationships.
Composition 1
Composition 2
In both compositions, the massive triangle
formed by the tree-covered hill in the background—and its reflection—forcefully
draws the eye to the mountain, but then the eye bounces back to the girl, with
her combination of pale skin and black shadow.
In composition 1,
the invisible triangle formed by the three people perfectly mirrors the visible
hill and reflection, making a dynamic partnership of direction. The tilting
horizon line, while unnatural, enhances the dynamic feeling. Note that the
invisible lines on the girl—especially on her torso—point toward the vanishing
point, further enhancing the dynamic motion.
In composition 2, I adjusted the
picture so it had a natural, static horizon line. Note that I had trouble
determining the vanishing point—I think the far right is correct. The ripples
from the boy dominate the water surface, creating interest that competes with
the girl (not to mention his in-motion posture) to be the focal point. The
lines of the girl’s torso angle away from the vanishing
point, creating further conflict.
And see how the outline of the man forms a
near-perfect square? It doesn’t get much more static than that.
All this comes down to: what are you
trying to say?
To me, composition
2 says: “This day at the lake is quiet and restful. Rather boring. In fact,
we’re losing interest in our surroundings. Is it time to leave yet?”
And composition 1
says: “This day at the lake is wonderful! We are exploring, interested, moving
in motion with the wind and water.” It seems to invite me in for an adventure.
Whether I’m using a photo reference for my
artwork, or just my own imagination, I try to be aware of the line
relationships, how they’re directing the eye, and what they’re saying. I refine
compositions by removing elements that distract from the movement and message,
and enhancing the ones that carry it.
For example, I might strengthen composition
1 by removing the submerged rock in the foreground and the boat in the
background—distractions. I might change the positions of the girl’s legs so one
is thrusting straight forward, and the other straight back—clarity of motion.
And, because her downturned head could indicate the wrong emotions, I think I
would tilt her face upward to the light.
As I engage in the art of following
invisible lines and studying their relationships, as I listen to the stories
they tell, I sometimes feel like I’m joining in the rhythm of a dance.
Am I nuts? Possibly. But there were
probably a few good points in there. May God bless you with flowing
inspiration!
