"It's remarkable what details the students end up putting in their sketches. They'll get the right number of windows or some other feature without trying to..."
I was drawing a window that caught my eye in Switzerland and overheard my professor talking to the other chaperones. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't help feeling the stares as I sat on the ground sketching while everyone else was waiting for our train. The spotlight effect made me wonder if my professor had been talking about me, because, as I realized, my little sketch was actually pretty accurate to life.
In reality, I doubt that they were able to see me at work in my sketchbook right then, but that little conversation stuck with me, and a curiosity has emerged over the past 14 years that I've been back from my study abroad: How powerful is drawing? What's the point of drawing if you're not an artist? Does drawing matter anymore?
I wish that drawing was not so intimidating to people. I've been more comfortable with it than most, because I've had years of interest and training in mark-making, drawing, and fine arts. But the vast majority of people I've talked to immediately shun their drawing skills—laughing at the idea of drawing, saying they can't draw a stick-figure, or claiming that they just don't have the talent for it as though drawing is a special gift bestowed on the prodigious.
This is a great loss, especially as technology and AI are smothering our senses and are effectively becoming our environments.
Presence
As someone who likes to create videos, I'm frequently torn as I consider taking video or enjoying the moment—especially if I have gone somewhere unique. It's not just wanna-be YouTubers like myself, you see people with their camera apps on their phones at any event, anywhere you go.
Cropped photo of a crowd with phones recording video by Aditya Chinchure on Unsplash
Contrasted with my experience in Switzerland where I didn't even have a phone let alone a phone with video capability, I have wondered if I have lost something. During my program in Europe, I only had my sketchbook. I wasn't able to capture much of the stunning visual environment that is Switzerland, and the sketches don't compare to what I know classmates have: beautiful photographs and videos taken with telephoto lenses. And yet, the sketches I do have are also much more meaningful to me and have somehow captured more of the story than a photo typically does.
That one small sketch of a random window encoded the overheard conversation my professor was having behind me. Every time I look at that drawing, I think of what I heard while drawing; how the cloudless sky allowed the sunlight to drape over me with perfect warmth; how the concrete felt on my calves as I sat cross-legged, cradling my sketchbook.
There's something about drawing that gets all of my senses involved. It's a slower process, and like my professor pointed out in the rest of his observation:
"It forces them to really look at the thing. Even if you've seen it before, when you draw it, you are noticing the details. It's like you're seeing it for the first time."
That's not to disparage the art of photography or videography (I think you can be just as intentional, present, and aware with those art forms), but snapping some quick photos or selfies or random panning videos is not the same as composing, planning, and executing a shot. When I've gone to a new place or an event, I feel pressure to take a quick snap, almost like it proves I was there. I feel compelled to remember the experience because it's so unique. Ironically, the uniqueness is already what will help me remember, but the random photos collected into a vast archive on the cloud is distracting me from engraving the moment in my memory.
While photographs can help us remember—no doubt about that—they also seem to take us out of the moment. At least in my experience, capturing snapshots puts me in a disembodied state. I'm viewing the experience through my phone's screen instead of through my own eyes. Drawing forces me to be extremely present, because I'm very focused on one thing, appreciating the shape or line or movement and distilling the information down into something that represents it on paper.
Utility
The benefits of drawing aren't restricted to capturing memories, especially if drawing from life isn't something you've practiced. I think that drawing may well be critical to surviving the digital age. The utility of a drawing isn't just the end-product, and the image is usually less valuable overall anyway. I think the real usefulness is in the process of clarifying your thoughts.
There are endless apps—and now AI—that can help you create "polished" images, charts, and graphs, but just like taking out your phone for a random snapshot, these really aren't useful if they aren't helping you understand your own thoughts. Drawing is the low-cost, low-tech, accessible method to quickly move something from your mind to paper. And once it's on paper, you can work with it further.
When I'm trying to code some new system, I reach for a pen more often than not. A quick sketch of my idea is immensely helpful to validate the plan in my mind—or to recognize issues I didn't notice before. These are not beautiful sketches. They're ugly boxes with arrows, messed up lines, and a few words that are barely readable. These aren't precious; I throw these away (delete them, since I often turn to my tablet for these kinds of single-use drawings).
What weighs on my mind is a future where we have wholly dismissed drawing as a tool and treating it as a product instead. If the sole purpose of drawing is the image at the end, then it will be boiled down to some easily reproducible, ubiquitous, and meaningless repetition of stale ideas. Basically, we'll get AI-generated imagery.
Where factories and AI both tend toward the average, we can go back to this ancient tool. Drawing is one of the most fundamental forms of communication and the more I do it, the more I'm convinced of how effective it really is.
Just last week, I had a completely new experience with drawing. An art therapist was invited to lead a group session at work, and I was surprised to discover yet another way that drawing could be powerful. I came to the session ready to put away my artistic training, because I wanted to understand how art therapy might work if I had no theories and techniques swirling in my mind while drawing.
To start us off, she provided a prompt of an emotional state (fear, acceptance, anticipation, etc.) and we had one minute to draw out that representation. We went through eight of these prompts, and my approach was to really try and access a childlike mindset: making quick decisions (not analyzing or planning too much), drawing by feeling rather than by intellect.
The result surprised me. The first thing I noticed was that "joy" was an emotional state that doesn't feel well developed to me (that's the one represented by the single green circle). It is a state I have been in much less frequently throughout my life and is very difficult for me to capture. This translates to other artistic expressions—I'm not just basing this on the exercise above—since I have routinely struggled to create art or write music that is about joy or happiness. The unpleasant emotions are much easier for me to access, and to me, this simple exercise helped underscore that aspect of my emotional life.
There were many other insights I pulled out of this, like how my recent health concerns are occupying my mind and how fear and anger are so interconnected to me. The most interesting to me is how applicable this simple act of drawing can be in any part of our lives.
If you haven't drawn something in a while—try it again. Find a scrap of paper in the trash, go to a corner where no one can see you, and scribble out that thing that's been on your mind. Hide it or share it—whichever helps you keep the confidence to do it again.
The goal of drawing isn't always creating a beautiful thing. Sometimes the goal is to do the opposite: create an ugly thing. Even more impactful is a goal to clarify or reveal your thoughts and feelings. Drawing doesn't need to be life-like, colorful, or clean to be powerful. It just needs to be done.