Drawing Monet

When her eyesight began failing, Betty Churcher - a trained artist, art critic, academic and former Director of the National Gallery of Australia - undertook a project to draw her favourite paintings in order to etch their details in her mind's eye. She writes in her wonderful Notebooks:

'The act of drawing is a transforming device where I'm able to track down (and tie down) my visual enthusiasm.'

The purpose of drawing the work is not a personal interpretation of the art, she says, it's more like creating a 'shopping list' of what a great work contains.

She says:

'I believe that anyone can draw in this way, provided they are prepared to submerge personal ambitions and attitudes and become totally lost in the painting as it has been presented to the world by the artist.'

When I went to see the NGV Winter Masterpieces show, Monet's Garden, on the weekend I had Betty Churcher in mind.

'Too many visitors to galleries broad-scan a picture for its subject matter only before moving on to the next picture' but, in fact, 'we should always look at important works of art long and hard, with undivided attention'.

So I avoided the impulse to get value for money by studying each piece and slavishly reading the accompanying text, but instead, I walked into each room, scanned the paintings and then settled on a few which drew me to them. Then I spent some time with those ones.

This approach was fairly new to me and one I will definitely try again. While I did consider each painting (after all, when again will I see so many Monets in one place?) I didn't think it my duty to stand at length in front of each one, or read each word written about them.

This depth approach (rather than breadth) meant my viewing experience was much more meaningful, and I didn't once think about the gift shop or my post-exhibition coffee. (Hey, we've all been there ;)

I was unable to sit and draw in detail because of the sheer crowd attending the show. So I stood back from each painting I had selected, making a quick thumbnail and some notes about what drew me to that work.

Doing this led me to a deeper contemplation of each painting as well as the body of work presented. And while I sketched, my mind wandered to thoughts of what Monet was trying to do (especially with light, reflections and water) which led me back to my own art practice and what I'm trying to do.

Observing how many times Monet painted waterlilies (a lot) and how many years he dedicated to painting his own garden (many) I became a little more comfortable with my own obsession with trees and, in particular, suburban trees.

While they still hold interest and mystery for me, I will continue to paint them.

Monet said, 'It took me a while to understand my waterlilies'. That thought is comforting to me.

From writing to painting: my story

My whole life I have been seeking the perfect expression of creativity. I have always felt the need to make and create things. And for most of my life I wanted to be a writer. That's what I thought was my creative calling.

I wrote stories in my spare time at primary school. I continued this habit in high school. And at university I took all the creative writing classes available. I kept a personal journal and carried a pocketbook everywhere in which I'd jot down story ideas and snippets of dialogue. After a 'gap year' travelling I came back to study 'Professional Writing'.

And that extinguished the passion.

I tried to write a novel. It sucked. I wrote short stories. They sucked.

But I did find that what I liked was writing non-fiction. I had some stuff published. It felt good. But there was still some essential part of me that I couldn't access or express through writing alone.

Now I still love to write. I blog for the sheer enjoyment of punching out words when I get ideas and the satisfying immediacy of hitting the 'publish' button. Every now and again when I get an idea that's a little bigger, I'll write it up, send it out to publications, and see if it takes. I won't ever 'give up' writing.

But all this time it turns out what was missing was art.

I feel a bigger sense of 'wholeness' now I've found it. I didn't start painting until I was 31 (just after my first daughter was born) and I can't even begin to explain how grateful I am that I stumbled upon it.

When I'm painting I feel like I'm executing ideas and expressing feelings that would be impossible to put into words.

And drawing is often a more pleasurable way of recording my life than writing. Back when I kept a written journal there was a lot of complaining in it. When I draw my life I am looking for beauty and singularity. I'm looking to celebrate everyday life and express gratitude in the act of recording it.

And maybe all this will change. Maybe the balance will tip. Perhaps oneday I will focus more on writing again, or the emphasis will shift to drawing instead of painting. Or maybe there will be something else I haven't even thought of yet; some other way to say the things I want to say.

All I know is that if you keep trying to find your 'thing', keep trying to make stuff that can only come uniquely from you; if you keep chipping away at your creative expression until you find the core, you'll get closer and closer to what it is to live a meaningful, whole, creative life.

That's what I reckon, anyway.