Last month I had the pleasure of spending the morning in one of my favourite museum/galleries. Bliss! The cherry on the top was a magnificent retrospective exhibition of the work of Maurice de Vlaminck (1876-1958) that was occupying the top floor of the building for a couple of months. There was practically no-one there, the museum guards kept their distance and I was able to go up closed and look, really look, at some 50 works and then sit watching the looped video of black and white photos of Maurice, his family and other non-exhibited works by this prolific French artist.
Unusually I was accompanied by TIHAC - indulge me here - who in his capacity as the in-house art critic normally says things like “How long will it take to see this?", or with reference to my own efforts "It’s nice…but you need to do that bit again” or worse "What's that supposed to be?".
But on this occasion TIHAC was bowled over by the works of art from his fellow countryman. He fell for (what I considered was) a rather sombre dark floral painting.
“I’d love to have this on the wall,” he said wistfully as he moved from left to right, "That's art!" he proclaimed and I replied I’d prefer that, pointing to a sunny wheat field lashed by wind, but then I thought: Why not! Was it really so complex? Let’s give it a go when we get home. I took photos of this painting, and many others, so inspired was I.
And, using acrylics instead of oils, battling with a phenomenal drying time, I spent a few afternoons closely observing the photo I'd snapped of the original, learning about some of Vlaminck’s techniques, testing and improving my own and trying to tame the time acrylics take to dry. It’s almost impossible! The result, while not perfect, pleased TIHAC and it will soon hang on a wall. Pity our talents don’t stretch to copying the original frame!
But, the reason for this blog is that I want to encourage YOU too to copy works. There is nothing wrong in it. All the great masters - when young and aspiring - used to hang out in the big galleries (the Louvre in particular) with their easels, paints and paraphanelia trying to get the hang of what makes a fine artist a great artist. The only thing wrong is when you are so damned good at it you try and sell the work as an original! Fat chance for most of us, I’d reply!
I started seriously copying works some 10 years ago, often as the result of being inspired by a gallery visit or an exhibition. Today it could be after seeing a marvellous DVD.
The British Museum’s Italian drawing show back then was a case in point. I forked out a large sum for the catalogue and copied a number of historic drawings so beautifully documented on its pages. I didn’t have sepia but pulled out a brown coloured crayon, found some coloured paper and adapted the drawing. A couple hang on my walls still.
And so it goes on.
Today you’ve got the internet that brings those amazing works to you if you can’t go to them. No excuse: you are reading this blog on a computer or smartphone anyway.
Get Googling!
That was my next step when battling with pastels some 8 years ago. Sure, I wanted to battle but I wanted to have something to show for it - perhaps to put on the wall over my desk. So, I reflected, who was the best pastellist of all time? That’s debatable but I decided on Dégas whose complete oeuvre is documented in pictures on the internet. He’s not the only one, by the way. You might want to have a Cézanne on your walls, A Matisse, or a Rembrandt… but good luck on the latter!
I settled for a colourful Dégas and had a marvellous time trying to recreate his strokes, the sequence of using colour and his ability to create form with what appeared from the internet photo to be straight lines. Smart chap!
One of our favourite local Cape artists breezed in to my house when said copy was framed by Jacqui's and hanging over my desk, and said it was nice but the colours weren’t quite right. You know what! That just doesn’t matter. I was not doing this to rival Han van Meegeren, dodge the long arm of the law and make a million. I was doing it to improve art by ME. The result was pleasing, and the pleasure I derived in learning about this artist’s work was huge. Oh, and TIHAC rather liked having a colourful nude on the walls!
Have a look at the Dégas collection. www.edgar-degas.org You’ll have to flip through many, many, many women brushing their hair or towelling themselves down, dancers at the bar and a few horses mulling around the racecourse, but this is in itself a fascinating exercise.
Or go to Cezanne at www.Paul-cezanne.org and feel inspired to copy some of his apples, oranges or card players. Now there is another colourist but just look at his expressive lines!
Check out the drawings by Rembrandt that the British Museum have. Or the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.
Your Google browser will bring up dozens of works with the correct browsing keywords such as drawings/Rembrandt/Britishmuseum. You can take a screen grab or download one that takes your fancy and copy it.
Perhaps you have a preference for the Italians? Then snoop around the Uffizi’s department of drawings and prints, or go into casabuonarotti.it to see works by the maestro Michelangelo. And then there is always Leonardo...
You don’t have to do the copying at the same size, or even in the same medium, for the copying exercise is all about observation and, in trying to replicate a work, you’ll be doing your own skills no end of good.
With the Drawing Competition coming up on Wednesday 24th April, you’ll be well prepared.
But no 19th century copies of Italian nudes masquerading as your own FHAS entries please!
Words by your in-house blogger and photos by herself, or snapped from the internet.
