There is nothing wrong with doodling cartoons, or using symbolic figures to represent reality, but being able to draw things so that they look and feel ‘right’ is really satisfying. It’s not actually that hard to learn either. It just takes a drastic adjustment to the way we see the world, and then everything changes. 

I think it’s a shame that the majority of people say that they wish they could draw but were never any good at it. Or that they loved it at school but have not drawn since. 

We laugh at their funny drawings though, and we say ‘well what’s this meant to be?’ 

The urge to draw and make marks is something we are all born with, so all children do it. It’s an innate method of self-expression along with speaking, walking, singing and dancing. It’s what makes us human. We want to express ourselves but also to ‘fit in’ and be part of the society we are born into. Laughing at their pictures is enough to put some children off drawing forever.

I think it’s strange that people seem to think that drawing is a gift you either have or haven’t got. No one would expect to compose a symphony without knowledge of music and the instruments involved. Or write a novel without starting with the alphabet, rules of grammar, language etc. Why should we expect to draw or paint any better than we did as children without learning some basic skills? 

The annual Malta Jazz Festival celebrated its 25th edition this year. The standard of music was outstanding on each of the four nights and I was lucky enough to be there to try and capture the atmosphere in paint. 

 Held at Ta' Liesse, the fish docks on the edge of Valletta's spectacular Grand Harbour. On one side of the stage, the Mediterranean reflects the twinkling lights of the Three Cities across the harbour, and the fireworks from the various festas. On the other, Valletta's massive bastions built by the Knights of St.John in the 1500's stretch upwards, the golden stones glowing with what feels like pride. As the sun sets, the lights go up and what must be one of the most amazing locations for a jazz festival gets into full swing.

3. Prepare your materials. I like to work on gessoed paper, as the surface is then quite resistant and not too absorbent. I also like to have a dark background when I work at night. The musicians are stage lit against the darkness and I like the way that the light and sound fuse them with their instruments and with each other. 

Mix your paints to a consistency that will flow easily. Keep colours to a minimum - eight at most. Make sure that they will combine well if you need some different tones or colours.

4. Make sure you can pack everything into a manageable size. I may look a sight dragging my shopping trolley and wearing a huge portfolio with paper, board and a clothes drying rack in it, but it works for me!

6. When the band begins to play, watch them carefully until something strikes you as a repeated movement. Dancers just keep moving and to paint them in motion it is necessary to take a visual 'snapshot' and then get it on the paper before it fades from your memory. 

Musicians have certain, individual ways of playing, of holding their instruments. That's what you're looking for. Once you have found this, you have several chances of capturing it, and so painting musicians can be a slighter slower process. I think I currently spend about ten to fifteen minutes on each one.

7. I then add more colours, looking for local colour, light and shade without worrying too much about it being too exact, as it's more about the flow of colour, light and sound. 

8. I peg them on my clothes dryer as I go along, so that they dry a little and don't stick to each other. Later have to pack them into the portfolio, so as soon as I get home (usually about 2am) I peel them apart and leave them to dry. This year I had about 10/12 every night.

9. Next morning I see the pictures for the first time in daylight. The colours are usually distorted by the artificial lights, so quite often I have to adjust them. Some pictures just don't work at all, the drawing is wrong or they just aren't good enough to keep, so I recycle the paper and resurface it with gesso.  

10. After all this intensity, the last stage is slowest, and probably the most difficult. Some paintings don't need much doing to them at all, which surprises me - how does that happen? It seems like magic to me. 

I have to be really careful with the paintings now because if I start trying to make them too 'real' they easily lose their flow and immediacy. That's where I am at the moment, poised between a pile of potential new jazz paintings and knowing that I could easily ruin them all!! 

So exciting! Francesca Tranter, Assistant Lecturer / Dance Practitioner at the University of Malta School of Performing Arts and also the Artistic Director and Choreographer at Contact Dance company asked if I would like to paint at the annual Dance Hybrid workshops. I sat in on two sessions held by the dynamic Yen-Ching Lin, visiting choreographer of international repute.

It's July in Malta - the weather is HOT and the energy in the studio was blazing. 

It was a challenge trying to capture the sheer enthusiam and flexibilty of fit young people pushing their bodies to the absolute limits; wonderful to witness the human body at its peak of fitness, being revelled in through the love of dance and music. 

Artists who call themselves ‘self-taught’ usually mean that they haven’t attended an art college, or followed a full-time course. I feel that any dedicated artist is mainly self-taught though, whether or not they have had a formal art education. Learning and practicing technical skills is one thing; how we use and interpret them is unique and entirely personal. Any work we admire is processed visually and we may wonder ‘how was that done?’ or ‘how good that is!’. We may imitate work that inspires us in order to learn more about it and how it was created. Hopefully we learn all the time, whether or not we have to pass exams or submit a portfolio. 

Different aspects of life will interest and attract us. Our interpretations will become more and more unique as we explore individual pathways that deepen our knowledge. We may learn a new technique from a book or a YouTube video, but we integrate it into our practice by trial and error. Eventually that technique will become familiar and personal, and we will take ourselves a step further by incorporating yet another method or approach. 

I am writing this in London, which is, apparently, now known as the cultural centre of the world. I would not disagree, as there seems to be Art, with a capital A, everywhere. All genres, all levels, bursting upon your senses from all directions. I am English, as some of you may already know, but I have lived in Malta for almost 40 years now. I am not sure which country I would call ‘home’ now, as I have put down roots in both. 
I can’t see myself ever moving back to England (but then I never say never about anything; who knows?) but I do enjoy coming back to soak up the vibrancy and inspiration of the art scene here. I often wonder what would have happened, where I would be now, if I had followed my tutors’ encouragement to apply for the Royal College of Art to further my studies. Instead, I left home to live with the current love of my life in Hull, about 200 miles north of London. 

Over 12,000 works are sent in to the Royal Academy for consideration every year, and only around 800 are eventually hung. So what happens to the work that is refused? For the last 25 years an enterprising gallery, the Llewellyn Alexander Gallery in The Cut on the South Bank, has revived the traditional ‘Salon de Refuses’. Here they will only consider work that has been rejected from the Royal Academy’s rigorous selection process.  

We went along to see this exhibition, and were fascinated. The gallery is quite small and there is not room to hang even a fraction of the paintings, which are stacked everywhere. Beautiful figurative works covered the walls and we could have browsed for hours. They accepted 1,200 pieces, by 800 different artists. As paintings sell, they are replaced by new works, so the exhibition changes continually over the weeks that it is open. Many people say that the collection of works here is much more interesting and original than that of the Royal Academy.

It’s great to know that the art scene in general is alive and booming, that so much interest and support is being poured into creativity and innovation. The atmosphere is so exciting that it’s hard not to be inspired and stimulated by it.

It’s difficult to absorb so much visual stimuli in one go, and so I hope that the photos, leaflets, books and information that I gathered will continue to inspire me in my Malta studio when I unpack my holiday memories.

“An amateur gives people what they want; a professional gives them what they need.”

I really can’t remember where I heard that quote, but it always comes to mind whenever I think that I should be producing work that people might like, rather than following my own meandering impulses.

Which brings me to muse on the term ‘amateur’...... It is often used as a derogatory description for someone not considered 'good enough' to be a professional artist. Professional artists are often defined as those who derive their income solely from their art. 
Both descriptions are open to debate of course. Who judges ‘good enough’? And it’s more than difficult for most people, however ‘good’ they are, to survive entirely on producing artwork. 

Perhaps a better distinction would be to evaluate the merits of the work itself and not who produced it. But, again, who judges that? Art is notoriously subjective and the opinions of art critics are often criticised themselves. 

To be considered an amateur wasn’t always a bad thing. At the beginning of the last century an amateur could be extremely talented, but practised their art for love rather than money. Professionals relied on wealthy patrons and commissions to support themselves. London’s Royal Academy of Arts was one of the leading institutions of the time. Being accepted as an Academician brought respect and recognition, and allowed members to exhibit and teach as esteemed artists. 

Drawing and technical skills ceased to be taught in Western art colleges in the 1960’s in favour of ‘self-expression’. This led to an explosion of other genres, such as photography, film, installations and abstraction. Collectors such as Saatchi and Saatchi supported and encouraged the movement, although many viewers found the works challenging at best. Art, which had generally been an expression of beauty or at least a reflection of reality, became a sometimes shocking baring of the artists' soul. 

The distinction between amateur and professional was blurred even further, as anyone could produce anything and call it ‘art’ in the name of self-expression. Traditional techniques and approaches were frowned on as old-fashioned and unnecessary. 

Over the last decade or so there has been a strong movement back towards basic skills. Drawing is now taught in most art colleges, including the Royal Academy. Representational art, especially watercolours, is in high demand. Highly detailed work indistinguishable from photography is greatly admired. Perhaps this is the popular backlash to the wild shock factor of art using human faeces, cow-dung and dissected animals. 

This has of course made it even more difficult to differentiate between good or bad, amateur or professional. We can be guided by a critic’s opinions and value their assessments, but ultimately we have to make up our own minds. 

Classes Update

The next Friday class at VIlla Bologna will be on the 19th June; the next Tuesday class at Le Meridien in Balutta will be on the 23rd June.

Contact me for more details!