SCRIBBLES AND LINES chapter 28

The list of supplies required for mechanical drawing were: India ink, straight edge (really a ruler), protractor, 45 triangle, curved line guide, heavy duty ink eraser, and erasing shield (used to isolate only the portion needing to be erased), and a drafting pen set with compasses, pens and extensions. It was clearly a male dominated class. There were no girls. That was very disappointing.

Mr. Franklin was my drafting teacher. I was disappointed when in the first few classes all we learned to do was draw straight lines. Practice, practice, practice! It was much harder than any of us expected. First select the right pen: thin or think lines. Simple. Selecting a drop or two from the  a wasn’t bad, but putting that ink in the pen took practice. Too much ink and you could get a drop of ink spilling out of the pen onto your paper. We were not permitted to simply get another sheet of paper and start again. We were to erase the blob without tearing the paper. What an ordeal, had to wait for it to dry before you could erase it. Then getting the lines the precise length to pass Mr. Franklin’s scrutiny as he wandered around the room with his exacting measuring devise saying. “Length that line, shorten that one.” The lines always looked right to me. (Really wish I could remember exact terminology).

Finally, weeks later, we began working on simple drawings of bolts. Why bolts? They turned out to be the easiest. Everything got more and more complicated. I was a senior before we progressed to my reason for taking the class — to draw house plans. When we were encouraged to make our own designs I felt like I was flying. We worked to designs only single level homes. Creatively it was the time of my life.

Our instructor was a single-minded taskmaster who expected perfection. The assignment was never complete until it met his standards. He called it, “Preparing for the work force.” The next step beyond this would be college. It would get more difficult.

I do not remember my art instructor’s name, but she was a short thin blond who checked our work with various noises that we came to understand their meaning. She was an abstract expressionist in her own right. She admired the free flow splash of color and meandering designs of that art form. Those works got praise. Realistic work received encouragement, helpful comments and observations but not the praise of the others. I had the same instructor for all four years.

I really appreciated the exposure to various media and techniques. The day she blindfolded us with three colors of finger paints nearby was way more fun that I expected. It was probably the only time I loved abstract work and I guess I did pretty well. Of course I had no desire to take it home and hang it on the wall. I struggled miserably when trying to describe what I was attempting to communicate. Actually I was just trying to spread paint around and mix some of the colors. If we had studied the American abstract expressionist Jackson Pollock first I might had more mental ideas. When she asked us about what we saw in his work I wanted to say a paint can thrown at the canvas with brushes flipping out color and being cleaned on the canvas. I doubt that would have gone over well.

I enjoyed collages and pottery, but didn’t know what I was going to do with an ashtray. I had brother-in-laws that smoked but had not design to give it to either of them.

If I remember right, I smashed it against a wall as I was going home.

With Joslyn Art Museum being right across the street, we made many visits. She knew her stuff and her artists. We never did see a real painting by Jackson Pollock. She kept hoping one would come for a visit. He died in August of 1956 the summer before I entered Central. He was already the darling of all abstract expressionists, and his death raised him to hero status. We heard about him until I graduated. I wish I had seen the Pollack biographical film released in 2000 while I was a student, and then I would have known for sure that he was crazy. I never read about him in school. I figured my instructor told me all I would ever need to know, but we learned nothing of his as a man.  Norman Rockwell on the other hand, was my idol.

Don;t you just love it? Doesn't it touch your soul and make you feel a... I can't think of the word.