The Signature of a Line: Exploring Personality Through Artistic Expression

journal entry 11/29/2024 from comment to article

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Here is an article expanded from a response to Elizabeth Roper Marcus’s comment to the article Smorzando - Fading Away into Silence

I know this is changing the subject, but I am fascinated by the consistency of your mark. No matter what is in your mind driving the work (and it’s all extremely interesting to me), what your hand produces is always clearly your hand producing, like a signature. How early did that start to happen? Did you cultivate it? I see your line as highly energetic, ebullient, joyful even and imagine it as expressive of your personality and joie de vivre. Is there any truth in that? Is it my projection? I hope you don’t mind. A viewer (or reader) can’t help bringing their own reading to what they encounter.

The Signature of a Line: Exploring Personality Through Artistic Expression

In the world of drawing and sketching, there’s something almost invisible yet profound that artists convey through the way they make marks on paper. One of the more fascinating aspects of art is how the 'line quality' — the way an artist applies their strokes — can offer insights into their personality, state of mind, and even their life experiences. I’ve found that this quality reveals much about an individual: from the brashness or timidity of a stroke, to the decisiveness or hesitation in their movement. Whether an artist’s lines are fast, slow, spontaneous, or careful, they speak volumes about the creator. The ‘line’ becomes an extension of the artist themselves, a glimpse into their inner world.

When observing other artists, I've come to realize that the way they draw can be a direct reflection of their unique personalities. You can often detect whether someone is confident or uncertain, whether they are exploring the surface or delving deep into detail. A line may be tentative, unsure, or it could be forceful, bold, and even angry. The rhythm with which an artist’s hand moves, the consistency of the marks they make, can hint at their emotional state or their method of engagement with the world. Some lines seem to dance across the page, unrestrained and full of energy, while others might move with a deliberate slowness, tracing the edges of form with calculated precision.

What fascinates me personally is how I can sense these shifts in line quality even within a single piece of work. There are moments when my hand follows a certain rhythm — fluid and confident — and other times when my strokes seem more hesitant, as though the mind is not entirely sure which direction to take. This internal dialogue between thought and action is something that becomes increasingly visible in the mark-making. It’s as though the hand is attempting to translate the mental state, making visible the tension between certainty and uncertainty, impulsivity and control.

The Rhythm of the Hand and Mind

For me, the process of making marks is not just about technique or skill; it’s about observing the rhythm of my own hand. I try to notice how my hand moves, what limitations it encounters, and how those movements shape the marks on the page. Often, my body and mind are in conversation. The speed at which I draw influences the fluidity of the lines, and I’ve realized that if I go too fast or too slow, the line will either become jittery or lose its flow or subtlety. It’s a delicate balance, finding a speed that allows the hand to move with a sense of freedom, but without the shakiness that comes with too much hesitation or overthinking.

The more I draw, the more I learn about the patterns of my own hand. Sometimes, I’ll deliberately close my eyes while drawing to allow a more visceral or instinctual response similar to ‘blind contour’ drawing. This intuitive form of drawing is something I value greatly. There’s a purity to it — no judgment, no critical thinking, just the hand responding directly to an impulse. This freedom from the constraints of thought allows me to capture a kind of rawness that is not clouded by hesitation or second-guessing.

The Tools of Expression: Surface and Material

Another factor that plays into the quality of the line is the tools I use. Different pencils, pens, or charcoals interact differently with the surface they mark. The texture of the paper, the "tooth," or the smoothness of the surface also influences how the mark is made. I’ve spent countless hours experimenting with different tools, exploring how each one offers a unique mark-making experience. The feel of charcoal gliding across rough paper is very different from the sharp precision of a fine-tipped pen on smooth, glossy paper. Each combination offers a new way to express the same impulse, and each texture brings something different to the surface of the drawing. This constant experimentation keeps my practice fresh, pushing me to explore new ways to capture the essence of what I’m feeling.

The Evolution of Expression: Default vs. Expansion

Over time, after thousands of drawings and experiments, I’ve settled into a certain range of expressive marking that feels comfortable, something that satisfies the criteria I have for myself. Yet, I find myself constantly questioning this “default” way of working. While I’ve found a rhythm, a signature that feels natural, I never stop pushing the boundaries of that signature. I’m always trying to expand the expressive quality of my work, to experiment with new techniques, new tools, and new approaches. But the more I experiment, the more I realize that my natural way of marking, my ‘default’ style, always returns — like a homecoming to something familiar.

This idea of a ‘signature’ in an artist’s work is intriguing. It’s often suggested that an artist’s style, the marks they make, become a unique signature that sets them apart similar to handwriting. But the truth is, I believe that this signature is something deeply ingrained, something that develops over time through countless hours of practice, experimentation, and reflection. And while I may stretch the boundaries of that signature, I’m always aware that my natural tendencies shape the marks I make. No matter how much I try to expand my range, there’s always a part of me that stays the same.

The Artist's Blind Spot

Of course, as the creator of these marks, it’s impossible for me to see my own work the way a viewer does. We are all our own blind spots. I may spend hours analyzing every mark I make, every line I draw, but I can never fully escape the subjective nature of my own perspective and intention. I can’t see the way my lines may reveal things about my personality to others. That’s the paradox of being the creator: you are always at the epicenter of your activity, but you can never fully step outside yourself to observe it as an outsider would. What might seem to me like an insignificant, automatic stroke could be interpreted as a bold expression of emotion to someone else. But I have had many experiences of looking back over older works of mine in other people’s collections and seeing them like a new discovery, sometimes not realizing at first that they are my own works. That is an interesting experience.

In the end, what I find most fascinating is how the act of drawing becomes a conversation between mind, body, and viewer. The line quality reveals something profound about the person behind it, even if that revelation is elusive to the artist themselves. The expressive quality of a line is not just about the physical gesture but also about the intent, the feeling, and the emotional state of the artist at the moment it’s created. And while I may never fully escape my default, I find that I can always expand the range of that expressive gesture, pushing the boundaries of what I thought was possible. In doing so, I continue to discover new and at times surprising aspects of my own creative voice.