Moving on (2012.3)
Article Transcript
Three-quarters of a century! That’s what our faithful Sears-Roebuck solar-powered electronic calculator tells us. Prominently displayed in my home on the dining room buffet is a colorful line-up of birthday greeting cards, sent by my brother in Texas, my sisters in Illinois and New York, and our family’s life insurance agent right here in Michigan. Silently they testify that the small hand-held device, with its rows of tiny push-buttons and its miniature LED screen, is operating with accuracy. Yet it is the contact we have with loved ones that means so much. My three siblings are all in their eighties; they have keen memories of events and activities in which I was a participant, but of which I had no awareness. Diaper changes, for example.
Only in one’s dreams, or perhaps in the plot of a Grade B pre-World-War-Two Hollywood production, would the following event take place:
It was becoming apparent that I could no longer manage the stairway down to my “artist’s studio.” Once in the basement, making my way up to the main floor was extremely difficult. With the help of our son Tim, we cleared out a bedroom and transformed it into the room we call “the office.” We made space for my desk, storage shelves, and cabinets in which to keep my art supplies, books, and videotapes. At first, everything was in a jumble. Weeks went by before I was able to organize my drawing paper. But then the magical event took place. Deep down between the layers of watercolor paper, 11-by-17 cover stock, and drawing paper in a variety of sizes, there lay my first sketchbook.
There are still a few blank pages in that sketchbook, but for the most part, the pages were well used. I counted heads of 110 cartoon characters, a great number of them chubby, balding fellows. These pencil drawings were practice pieces, learning activities that made use of the procedures advocated by the cartoonist Andrew Loomis. A World War I veteran, Loomis produced commercial art for his entire career. He taught cartooning at the Art Institute of Chicago, and authored a series of “how to draw” books which were immensely popular and made a lasting impression on the artists who came after him. Mr. Loomis’ book contains 120 pages, 8-by-11 in size. The steps that the artist should take are printed in blue and numbered. In drawing a head, Loomis starts with a ball and adds small circular shapes which will become nose, ears, chin, cheeks, etc. These are arranged on guidelines which are drawn like an equator on a globe, and like meridians stretching from pole-to-pole. The light blue guidelines, of course, are darkened with a black pencil or ink as the drawing is completed. There was no need to erase these construction lines because the old reproduction systems did not “see” light blue.
The process of drawing heads is just the beginning. Loomis goes on to show us simple methods of creating very active bodies, dressing them in suitable clothing, and expressing themselves with all kinds of emotions. He gives a lot of attention to perspective, shading, and well-drawn hands and feet. Loomis published his book, “Fun With A Pencil,” in 1939. By the time I received my copy as a 1957 Christmas gift from my brother and his wife, Loomis had already gone through 13 printings.
The sketches I have included as illustrations for this article were drawn during our closing years of college, when my bride-to-be and I were 22. I sketched her looking out of my dormitory window, enjoying the view across the campus. Since then, I have added quite a few “how-todraw” books to my collection; they are all useful, but it was the book by Andy Loomis that helped me most to enjoy cartooning and led me eventually to caricaturing.
Have a question or idea for Lee’s next column? Email him at LandL1937@comcast.net.
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