On drawing quickly

A woman once refused to sleep with me because we quarreled about drawing. Drawing quickly, she said with conviction, produces one’s best work. To me it was obvious nonsense, as it must be to anyone who has seen an Indian miniaturist pain-stakingly at work. I said so, but my argument gained no traction and I – no bodily comfort.

Another woman, who had, for a change, not refused, said her drawing instructor kept telling her, and the class, to draw quickly.

One must say in the instructor´s favor, that speed is no doubt good in these days of globalization. Faster work leads to higher productivity. (Which is, no doubt, why they play Mozart’s Number 17 so damn fast in Trondheim). If, as a sketch-artists, you charge per sheet, then the faster you turn the sheets, the more money you make.

But while economics may be the real motivation of the drawing instructor, the theory with which she disguises it is the popular (American) version of Zen (for which see here): one paints as one strikes with the sword: draws the weapon and lops off the head all in a single stroke; the speed, shorn of calculation and reflection, liberates us from social constraint (bad); this allows us to draw on our unalloyed inner resources, our psyche; which is always right, or at any rate, true (whatever that means).

But this idea rests on a confusion: when one has learned something really well, and done it millions of times, one can do it quickly and gracefully; without either reflection or getting in touch with anything at all. The act becomes automatic, like riding a bicycle. Yet, that one does something fast does not mean that what he does will be better than what he does slowly. (Even if what X does quickly may be better than what I do very slowly indeed).

The woman who did sleep with me drew exceedingly slowly and exceptionally well. Her instructor was impressed but did not notice that my lover’s style of work contradicted her own theory of art. The instructor thus never revised her theory. She continues to tell her students to draw quickly. Like a Zen swordsman, she imagines, by painting quickly they will accesses their souls and produce superior works.

An attractive theory, of course (everyone wants to believe that what he is deep down is valuable and creative) except that we haven’t anything resembling a soul which we might access.

In fact, if you do paint something quickly, and it is good, it is because you have painted it countless times already; this or something very much like it. If you attempt something new or never done before, speed may actually be a problem.