Chinese Horses, Lascaux Caves.

15,000 -17,000BC

Untitled Series, various sizes, 2004

young willow trees in Daylesford

A way to augment and stimulate your mind toward various discoveries is this: look at walls splashed with a number of stains, or stones of various mixed colours. If you have to invent some scene you can see there resemblances to a number of landscapes adorned in various ways with mountains rivers, rocks, trees, great plains, valleys and hills. LEONARDO DA VINCI

Drawing is primitive. It is a reactionary material, simple construction, and simplistic to use. A direct and confrontational device always at hand whether a biro, pencil, or burnt piece of wood. Painting requires a mastery of chemistry: the right oil, the right pigment, and the right color combinations. However, artists instinctively reach for a drawing tool and become finely attuned to their handling characteristics in a short space of time when there is a desired immediacy and simplicity.

Käthe Kollowitz's drawings and lithographs are a good case study. Kollwitz's work, which was created with World War I as a backdrop, is the prime example used in Art Colleges and Universities in the United States when charcoal is introduced as a new drawing medium. My colleagues in Foundation Drawing classes routinely describe the 'edge and wedge' of a charcoal stick that easily transitions from a line into a bold, wide, black mark.2 Kollowitz, in her own words, describes a pairing down of the subject, but she not only distills the human form, but her conduit as well.3 Seemingly effortless lines carry weight and dignity with every stroke.

How skillfully artists hide their practice by destroying labored drawings as Michelangelo did, or by the use of the badger-hair brush or a variety of other tricks. Chardin, in a speech before the French Academy helps to expose the careful regimen of drawing which continues unabated at some schools today, mostly relegated to 'ateliers' and 'private tutoring'.

"They put a crayon in our hands when we are seven or eight years old. We begin to draw from models of eyes, mouths, noses, and ears then of feet and hands. For a long period our backs are bent over our drawing boards in front of the Hercules plaster torso and you have not seen the tears brought on by the sculptured Satyr, this gladiator, this Venus de Medici, this light before stationary and inanimate forms, and then they confront us with life and suddenly the labor of all the preceding years seems to count for nothing. One must teach the eye to see nature and how many have not seen it and never will. It is the torment of our lives. We are kept working five or six years from the living model before they turn us over to our own genius, if we have any. He, who has not realized the difficulty of this art, does in it nothing worthwhile."

My own experience teaching life drawing with charcoal is based on maximizing the potential of the materials employed, to match the exercises intention. After a few weeks of gesture drawing, plumb lines, measuring, angles, construction lines, outline, contours, measuring techniques, and the introduction of anatomy, students are anxious to try a full scale rendering of a properly lit nude body. In order to make this difficult task easier, I will introduce drawings by the 18th century French academician, Pierre Prudhon. His technique of rendering in black and white conté, stumping it down, and re-drawing allows for a unique, cool, moonlit effect. Although at the beginning level, I am more concerned with the accurate placement of form than a final polished drawing. They begin working with willow charcoal and its unique character is quickly revealed - a good sneeze will cause a drawing to be vaporised. Vine charcoal, as it turns out, does not grip the paper well. By using this tendency to their advantage students more easily grasp the fact that their first lines may not be accurate, and are in fact, quite easily erased. Usually this encourages them to speed up, knowing mistakes are quickly undone. I carry a chamois cloth in the classroom; students are expected to have the same. As I walk past their easels and stop to consult, I often encourage a little 'shammy action', and in seconds, their drawing vanishes as if by magic. After a good hour or so of accurate figure placement, I demonstrate what effect is achieved by pouncing with the chamois - gently tapping the drawing down. When done properly, a ghost image will remain. Just enough outline is left so a more permanent tool, compressed charcoal, can be used. Thus, the strengths of both charcoal products are utilized.

CAVE ART

'It is widely accepted notion amongst painters that it does not matter what one paints as long as it is well painted. This is the essence of academicism; there is no such thing as good painting about nothing. We assert that the subject is crucial and only that subject matter is valid which is tragic and timeless. That is why we profess spiritual kinship with primitive and archaic art.'4

Mark Rothko's wrote this as the fifth point in a manifesto he published in 1943, ironically a mere three years after the discovery of the spectacular Lascaux caves in 1940. Every young artist and art historian begins Introduction to Art History with a slide show of the Lascaux caves. This rite of passage may included memorizing the following dates and images: The Great Black Bull, The Red Bull, the Black Stag, The Painted Gallery, and most famously, the Chinese Horses. The availability of a half-burned charcoal stick, during, or after a fire, and its ability to make a black definitive line on the skin, stone, or inside a cave, is an easy scenario to envision. The remnants of what we see today, and I confess not to have seen them in person, or even, the 'virtual' cave, betray a delicacy of line and powerful imagery. There is a real sense of crossing time and space when confronted with these images, the attention to arched necks, flared noses and movement. Soon, too, it is easy to imagine those members of a clan more inclined towards artistic ventures, making a determination about what kind, and how long they would let their blackened devices burn before extricating them from a fire. The tendency of man to experiment would naturally have lead towards the pulverising of charcoal into powder, which, in addition to red ochre, were the most commonly used raw materials for making stencils of hands. Taking pigment into their mouths and blowing through reeds over hands held in position achieved this result. These markings have been found in many Paleolithic caves and different continents including Australia.

Note: There is room here, for practical experimentation as well as further anthropological research into cave art. Photograph of author doing the same with charcoal would be included here.

ABORIGINAL ROCK PAINTING

Aboriginal people have been in Australia for at least 40, 000 years. The oldest dated rock art is possibly in the Kimberly region at 39, 000 years. The complete palette beyond charcoal is not explored in this chapter: red ochre, yellow ochre and white. Red ochre seems to have a staying power not equaled in Australia by other pigments, although artists may have simply preferred red ochre. However, when it comes to painting on traditional bark, or contemporary canvas, all four are used with satisfaction.
Today, a number of Aboriginal artists are using native earths in combination with an acrylic binder. I would be re-miss not to mention Geoffrey Bardon, who has written a book wrote, "Papunya Tula, Art of the Western Desert", as he was the first white man to introduce readily accessible and easily portable paint to an aboriginal community. Bardon's spirit of experimentation in order to achieve a goal of self-expression is important to note - he is a kindred spirit. An artist and an art teacher, Bardon encouraged his pupils to draw on their own culture for artistic expression, rather than imitating the 'white-fella' in style and content.

Recent discussions with Tony Oliver, a former art dealer in Melbourne, who ran Tony Oliver Gallery and now an Arts Adviser to the Jirrawun Aboriginal Art Corporation in East Kimberely region of Western Australia, provided some insights. He indicated the artists he represents enjoy the link between the past and the present. The acrylic binder is an easily accessible, fast drying medium that mixes with native earths quite well. Oliver has promised a detailed explanation concerning the acquisition and production of black pigment. This would then be included as a point of comparison with Cennino Cennini's description in the 15th Century to follow.

THE CRAFTSMAN'S HANDBOOK

HOW TO MAKE GOOD AND PERFECT AND SLENDER COALS FOR DRAWING

'Take a nice, dry, willow stick; and make some slips of it the length of the palm of your hand, or say four fingers. Then divide these pieces like match sticks; and do them up like a bundle of matches. First, smooth them and sharpen them at each end, like spindles. Then tie them up in bunches this way, in three places to the bunch, in the middle, and at each end, with a thin copper wire. Then take a brand-new casserole, and put in enough of them to fill up the casserole. Then get a lid to cover it, luting it with clay, so that nothing can evaporate. Go to the baker's in the evening, after they have stopped work, and put the casserole dish in the oven; and let it stand there until morning; and see wither these are well roasted.'5

One of the most revered writers concerning the techniques of an artist is 15th Century Italian, Cennini Cennino. His description, once translated from Italian, is easy to follow, precise, and bridges five hundred years. Remarkable too, that the largest manufacturer of willow charcoal today, a family operation in England, Coates Willow Company, follows his instructions almost exactly, additionally boiling the sticks before heating.6
In my search for authenticity, and in my further attempts to grasp what artists in the past had been through, I investigated this recipe for myself. I located a small company in Daylesford, Victoria who manufactures cricket bats. Evidently, the best ones are made from willow. We determined that the new shoots coming off the young saplings would be most appropriate. I returned home with a bundle under my arm and carefully prepared them in the lengths equal to me palm as per Cennini's suggestion. These were placed in a tin casserole dish with a fitted cardboard top and slid into the oven at a local pizzeria. I neglected to mention that the oxygen-deprived chamber would result in an excess of carbon dioxide being generated, and the result was a rather unhappy owner, who nevertheless returned my willow. Apparently, the pizzeria was quite smelly in the morning. The first experiment was a partial success; I did have, what is commonly known as a few 'brands'. Brands are partially carbonized sticks. However, Cennini had reassured me that I could simply re-do these at a later date. My second set of experiments involved heating an outdoor grill to approximately 300 degrees. The red-gum fire produced a set of coals that appeared usable; I inserted a can of charcoal with a tin foil top lid. It is necessary to stop the combustion from occurring, yet allow a little oxygen inside, which allows the wood to char.

The following morning I uncovered the charcoal and found a 90% success rate. The charcoal handled as expected, was not overly friable, nor excessively firm. Half had been left with their bark on, and those proved tougher to use. What I now posses are the simple concepts for making a range of tools suitable for my art production. Further tests will involve larger sizes of willow branches to produce enormous, by conventional standards, drawing tools up to 10cm in diameter. This control over materials has proved important to many artists such as Giorgio Morandi.7

CHARCOAL - WHAT IS IT?

Carbon is found in two distinct forms in nature, crystalline and amorphous. Artist will find both forms interesting as when properly manipulated, the results produce graphite and charcoal respectively. Interestingly, another product shares a common ancestry, its crystalline carbon atoms forming a rigid structure, that is, diamonds. Would that through some alchemical process all of our leftover charcoal bits and ground-down pencils could be reformed into those precious gems! Charcoal is obtained through the incomplete combustion of plant matter, wood, or bone, by heating it in a chamber without air. Willow is the wood of choice, because of its even consistency and fineness of particles.

COMPRESSED CHARCOAL

My investigation into the manufacturing of compressed charcoal has yet to be completed, although the principles are well understood. Compressed charcoal is essentially produced be combining leftover, or broken pieces of willow charcoal, and a binder. The dense black is a result of fine grinding. The binder is gum arabic, the same as used in watercolour - which is an excellent example of the concept of studio being more like a kitchen referred to later in the chapter. The amount of binder used
regulates the degree of hardness, which gives a wider selection and greater consistency of quality from stick to stick.

HOW THE STUDIO RESEMBLES A KITCHEN

An excellent example of a Rosetta stone for artists interested in the materials or techniques of art might be the lowly mortar and pestle. This device, utilized in both Eastern medicine and Western chemist shops, is at home grinding calcium carbonate or burnt umber. Equally as interesting, is its place in the kitchen, because the utensils, ingredients, atmosphere and recipes of the kitchen are in many ways similar to a studio.

The array of tools available, knives, whisks, pots and pans, make for a multiplicity of options. From slicing and dicing to stirring and whipping, in a properly organized kitchen, these are all possible activities. The variety of foods form spices to the main course, side dishes to dessert, all provide an opportunity fir cross-contamination. Discovery of treats such as white pepper ice cream and rosemary infused quince, only occur because of the proximity of raw materials available. The mood in the kitchen, dependent upon a variety of factors, timing, expiration dates and results, are all 'X' factors in the final presentation. Perhaps most important are the recipes, the Holy Grail - the Family Cookbook, that alludes to fantastic dishes and promises of repeatable perfection.

A studio, too, may then be organized and efficient place to work, with instruments nearby. Accidental mixtures do happen; jealously guarded secrets are passed down through the generations - a long-standing tradition complete with falling-outs, secret books8 and jealousies both in the kitchen and in the studio.

CHARCOAL - MY OWN

The choice of materials, store bought, self-modified or hand-made have distinct handling characteristics. As the nature of charcoal is fickle, even the most reliable brand can occasionally be imperfect, containing a deposit that disrupts the flow of velvety texture. So too, most artists have experience the sudden crack of a stick of vine charcoal mid-drawing when too much pressure is applied. After precise honing by drawing with, or sharpening, the entire experience is temporary halted. Worst still, when brand-new charcoal pencils from 6B through 6H shatter on the interior when dropped to the floor, making them impossible to sharpen. These are the results, and attributes of working with a non-manmade material. The imperfection, the abstraction, the lack of control, these are reasons to work with charcoal.

Charcoal has that distinct quality most often associated with the conjoining of cotton candy and the upholstery interior of your grandfathers' old Cadillac. Even better, bubblegum from a hot pavement stuck to the bottom of his shoe. It has that capacity to simply glom onto everything you wear into the studio, to some, a badge of honour, to others, a burden. The sense of being clammy, as in a cold sweat, comes over me when I find myself covered with the by-product of oxygen-depleted willow. However, positive results are achieved when you push past the initial sticking point of vague irritability.

When first approached, a stick of charcoal appears quite plain. A tool simply standing between my vision, and me something to be consumed, conquered, and overcome. I find a good hour must pass while working on a charcoal drawing for the transformation to occur; all hope of keeping clean must be abandoned and you become cognitive that your kerchief will contain a blackened mass upon use. The pushing ahead, or, at least pushing on, inevitably causes me to become emboldened. Like an athlete who has built up a sustainable rhythm, an artist is now free to add or subtract multiple numbers of lines. It is the complete acceptance of circumstance, which allows a freedom to create. At times, I need to will myself to relax and let a flow begin, to tap into an unconscious self.9 During these precious minutes enveloped in a cloud of charcoal and with unwavering commitment, an artist may discover their potential.

Interestingly, I am compelled to think about color when the charcoal coalesces into an atmospheric suggestion. When rubbing or erasing, or application of charcoal powder blurs lines, the appearance of light penetrates forward; it becomes not a black and white image, but a colourised one. What comes to mind is the argument Vasari put forward when he divided the cities of Florence and Venice into two different camps. The Florentine school represents disegno, or form, with Michelangelo used as an example, and the Venetian School by, colore, with Titian and his expressive and mellowed colours.10 My intentions are to manipulate the lines, allowing them to blossom into space, or restrain the composition. So, the lines are made to produce light, or coax it forward - these beams are often reflective ones bouncing off polished medallions, jewels or conversely, distant solar flares.

Figurative suggestions surround the phantasms in my recent charcoal work. Characters with titles emerge, names like: the King, the Queen, the Commander, the Chief, symbols of power unconsciously creep into the work, yet I would not describe it as figurative. At most, my work has a figure-ground relationship. Figurative versus non-figurative work is a consideration only so far as when random areas appear to take on recognizable shapes and I need to remove them.
So, then, the surface, the tool, the intent, three dispirit concepts are melded into one for the viewing audience. Each interdependent on the other, each carefully considered, each a challenge. Visual systems and problems are set up with a plan devised to attack. A gridded pattern might first be established then gradually melted or erased, perhaps dusted.
The search for iconographic imagery is not a simple one. The fact-finding mission can be circular, traumatic, an experience like the children's rhyme ring-around the rosy: Ring around the rosy, pockets full of posy, ashes, ashes, we all fall down! The description of the Black Plague seems apt at times. As the whirling concepts in the studio can result in a quasi-religious desire to grasp at that one magic brush/the rosary beads that will save the artwork. The posy, like the smell of a painting medium, permeates the room, keeping the rotting canvas at bay. Ashes ashes, I collapse on the studio floor. Although melodramatic, it does occur.
A cathartic experience such as described above points to the supernatural potential the studio represents. Australian artist Lloyd Rees, "As soon as I start to paint, I step into another world. My best work is always spontaneous, intuitive; then it becomes so absorbing, euphoric almost, it carries you along." Many artists share this experience. Albert Pinkam Ryder, an American landscape painter, makes the point beautifully,

'Try as I would, my colors were not those of nature. My leaves were infinitely below the standard of a leaf; my finest strokes were coarse and crude. The old scene presented itself one day before my eyes framed in an opening between two trees. It stood out like a painted canvas­the deep blue of a midday sky­a solitary tree, brilliant with the green of early summer, a foundation of brown earth and gnarled roots. There was no detail to vex the eye. Three solid masses of form and color­sky, foliage and earth­the world bathed in an atmosphere of golden luminosity. I
threw my brushes aside; they were too small for the work in hand. I squeezed out big chunks of pure, moist color and taking my palette knife, I laid on blue, green, white and brown in sweeping strokes. As I worked,
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I saw that it was good and clean and strong. I saw nature springing into life upon my dead canvas. It was better than nature, for it was vibrating with the thrill of a new creation. Exultantly I painted until the sun sank below the horizon, then I raced around the fields like a colt let loose, and literally bellowed for joy.'

Here at the beginning of the 21st Century I am taking a look back, to archaic markings, symbols of power and presence, to the original inhabitants of the Australian continent and to contemporary artists engaged in the practice of making art. I find challenges in these investigations, clues to where I might go next, and a connection to the generations who have come before.11 Drawing, is a reactionary material, simple construction, and simplistic to use.