steal like an artist – Noelle Poulson

Hi all,

Lots going on with my art practice this week. I tried a lot of new things.

Strike that.

I gave myself permission to try new things. Big difference. This week I let myself follow my creativity wherever it saw fit, and how the time did fly!

Possibly one of the most enlightening things I found this week is Creativebug. I had no idea what this was really about before, but I am a little bit hooked now. I watched a few of Lisa Congdon‘s classes (one of my very favorite artists for a multitude of reasons) and it opened up all kinds of doors in my mind.

Have you read the book Steal Like an Artist?

You should. It’s fabulous.

The author, Austin Kleon, talks about the necessity (not luxury or happy accident, mind you) of stealing ideas from other artists. His whole thesis revolves around the idea that art is all theft. Everyone steals ideas from everyone else. All the time.

Beyond simple plagiarism, for good artists stealing is the equivalent of stepping into a visual conversation. You bounce ideas back and forth, present concepts in a new light, counter others’ views with contradictory evidence and so on.

Stealing doesn’t mean copying, it means looking at what someone does with their art (whether you admire or abhor it), figuring out what elements of it really strike you, letting those ideas spark your own creativity and using those concepts in a piece of your own.

I did not do any of that with the piece above. It is 100% theft. Ok it’s not an exact replica of Lisa’s work, but it is very clearly all of her ideas and none of my own. If I were to sell it, I wouldn’t sleep well at night. But, for me, copying other artists as part of my practice helps me hone in on my own style and also unlocks some important creative shackles in my mind.

Twenty examples of ways to draw poppies from Lisa’s book 20 Ways to Draw a Tulip (the next on my wish list!).

When I look at a piece that I really love (as in truly can’t tear myself away from it because it is somehow filling my soul with joy just to absorb it for as many seconds as I possibly can) it gives me a certain level of reverence for the artist who created it.

It also sets a bar in my mind that in order for my own art to be compelling it should make people feel that way. That’s a high bar. An unfair bar. A debilitating bar. It’s a bar that beats me into submission whenever I dare to think that I might be able to free my mind and create something truly wonderful.

Idolising artists or particular pieces is not really the way forward in your own artistic practice. It’s great to admire them, respect them, even completely adore their fantastic spirit and joie de vivre, but it verges into dangerous territory if you tell yourself that they are capable of something you aren’t.

A great way to dismantle the trap of feeling incapable or untalented is to copy the shit out of the artists/pieces you love so much (it’s like calling Voldemort Voldemort instead of He Who Must Not Be Named – only the good guy version of that). Pull up a paper and copy the thing you admire and suddenly you’ll see that it wasn’t created by the hand of some superhuman being – it’s something you can totally do too.

Insert self-confidence power boost here.

Add to that the actual artist telling you how they do the thing you admire so much, walking you through every step of their process, messing up along the way and rolling with it, and constantly encouraging you to make mistakes, embrace imperfection and put yourself into your work and you’ve got a great jumping off point for your artistic confidence to take flight.

Practice Leaves and Flowers Lisa Congdon

My practice drawings from Lisa’s Line Drawing class on Creativebug.

After I copied Lisa’s poppies, I really felt liberated about my own art. I saw that her skills and abilities don’t come from a magic wand, she developed them over years of practice and refinement.

In just one attempt at drawing her poppies I saw that, given some time and practice, I could make them just as beautiful as hers. And after watching her line drawing class, I saw that I could develop my own way of illustrating the world that, while informed by her advice and experience, would be entirely my own creation.

Copying other artists highlights the fact that the only real difference between us and the artists we admire is practice. Practice, practice, practice. That’s it. They’ve put in the time to hone their skills and develop their style.

For me, hearing that in person (ok, through a video, but still) straight from artists I admire makes everything seem possible.

Until next time,

Follow @3MilesAnHour

Hi friends,

I started editing my About page today and it basically became a post in its own right and something I wanted to share more officially.

I’ve been up against the wall lately with learning to be ok with being me, with coming to terms with the fact that being me is enough – that it’s the only real job I have in my life.

I change the purpose of this site all the time with my new ideas, thinking I have to be clear about what I’m doing so you have a reason for coming here (and thank you so much for coming here!). Then I feel somehow trapped, like I can only talk about that one thing from then on – but I have SO many things I want to share with you.

The problem is not all of my ideas really go together: I want to talk about Oman, about the graphic novel I am writing, about the ways I am growing creatively and as a human. I’m all over the map.

If you ever read anything about having a blog or doing something creative, they say you need to know your audience. Got it. Check. Makes sense. But how do you maintain an audience when you shift gears all the time and talk about loads of different things? That, my friends, is the question that haunts me (ok, that’s a little dramatic…I think about it sometimes).

I saw a really brilliant image in the book Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon, (go get it right now! it’s incredible) and it gave me a huge sense of relief about this problem. Here it is:

by Austin Kleon

And lo, the clouds did part!

So rather than freak out because my projects all seem so disconnected, I decided to accept that they all have a uniting element, me.

It feels incredibly egotistical and arrogant to write a whole post and About Me page about me, but I am going to be honest, it is the opposite of that. It is actually really quite vulnerable. I think this distinction is a big one for us all to be aware of: that talking about ourselves is not a bad thing; that sharing who we are is not arrogant; that being our full selves – not just one project, idea or tagline – is pretty fucking great.

So here we go.

[clears throat]

Ok.

I am me.

I like lots of things….

…most things…

…all the things.

I find everything interesting and I am curious about pretty much everything under the sun, around the sun, beyond the sun, through the sun…I like it all.

It’s a problem.

I feel like there is SO much to learn and understand and only one lifetime to do it in. This leads me to start lots of things but finish few of them.

I’m learning to be ok with that. I’m learning to enjoy the thing I am doing and appreciate its role in that moment. I’m learning to let go when it doesn’t make sense to do that thing any more.

I love people.

I find everyone interesting.

I think everyone has a story and that our stories all connect in very fundamental ways.

I believe that if you put any two people in the planet in a room together, they would be able to find something they have in common, something to connect about. In the worse case scenario, they can connect over the fact they are both human. They both need to eat, to sleep, to poop. They both want love, connection, and security.

We’re all people, people.

I think we are really scared of what other people think of us, but that it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to be.

Imagine yourself on a stage.

Picture it.

It’s scary, but it’s not real so you’ll be ok.

You drop your microphone on your toe.

Then you bend over to pick it up and your pants tear open.

You die a little inside.

You know, you just KNOW, that everyone in the audience is laughing at you. Making fun of you. And you feel really pretty small and shitty. You finish what you need to on stage and walk away (holding the seam of your pants together behind you) feeling dejected and awful.

Imagine yourself in an audience.

There’s a person on stage. It’s not real but you’re still pretty impressed they are up there because you wouldn’t ever want to do that. Ever.

That shit is scary.

They drop their microphone on their toe.

You feel their pain. Not the pain of their toe, it’s only a microphone after all, but their social pain.

They bend over to pick it up and their pants tear open.

You die a little inside.

You want to go give them a hug and tell them it’s ok – that these things happen.

You want to let them know that it’s ok, that you are impressed they were on the stage at all because, Dude, that shit is scary – things like microphones dropping and pants tearing can happen up there so it’s a brave thing to risk.

You want them to know that you respect them for being so god damn courageous, that their strength and fearlessness inspired you to do some things you’ve been afraid of…

I think we’re all secretly rooting for each other and that things would be a whole lot better if it weren’t such a big secret.

So yeah. That’s a little about me. I think about stuff. I write about stuff. I do things then forget I’m doing them because I get curious about other things.

I am me.

Who are you?

Love,