Work in Progress

Even the masters need a sketch book

Hello friends,

A few weeks ago, I had a rare Saturday on which I didn’t have to go to work. Normally this year, Saturdays have been reserved for teaching children from the ages of three to ten the art of musical theatre. So, finding myself with two full days of the weekend felt like a luxurious way to catch up on some of the art expos and events I hadn’t had the opportunity to visit.

On this particular Saturday, the Bourse de Commerce was hosting the Salon du Dessin, an art fair featuring galleries from around Europe, primarily showcasing sketches and other drawings. Seeming out of the ordinary (and not as long-lasting as other temporary exhibits), I decided to take advantage of the event. I am a big fan of art fairs, and I grew up looking forward to the Cherry Creek Arts Festival every 4th of July weekend when I lived in Colorado. Using this as my reference point, I expected that most of the works showcased would be by newer artists featured in these top European galleries.

I didn’t expect Picasso.

Or Seurat.

Or Monet.

You know. Those up-and-comers.

I very quickly realized that this was not the type of art fair I was familiar with — unless, of course, Cherry Creek Arts Festival has started to showcase paintings by 15th century Italian masters.

At first, I felt immediately out of my league. What was I doing standing mere inches away from a signed Pissaro? Who let me get that close to a priceless (okay 35 000e) work of art?

Then, I started to realize what I was looking at.

Yes, I was up-close-and-personal to works by some of the greatest artists in the world, but they weren’t just finished works…as advertised in the name of the event, many of them were sketches, drawings, or studies. They were works in progress.

As I went through the salon, I saw a sheet of paper on which Pisarro was refining the male form — including a sensible depiction of male pattern baldness; a drawing from an Italian Renaissance sculptor that would be later immortalized in marble; a sketch in which Seurat was perfecting the form and shadow of the bustle from the woman I can only correctly refer to as “Dot” in his famous “Un dimanche après-midi à l’Ile de La Grande Jatte”.

Once that realization properly sunk in, I was overcome with emotion. I have seen many of these works several times in photographs or in museums, but here I was witnessing their genesis. The germ of the idea that developed into something magic. The inspiration that the artist wouldn’t let go until he had it just right.

So rarely do we get to see where artists begin their work — we just see the masterpiece and assume it was like that all along. We forget that these artists spent hours and hours honing their craft, and even then they kept finding new ways to explore.

In a world that is so fast-paced, striving for optimization, and now is contending with AI slop, I found this salon to be an eye-opening reminder. Art takes time. And even more than that — it takes humanity. It takes the willingness to make a mistake, to try something new, and see where it goes.

Over the last year, I have had a hard time writing. Writing is one of my favorite activities, but I had put such high expectations on myself: writing a consistent newsletter (ha ha), finishing my novel, etc. that writing became more of a chore and less of the creative expression that I so crave. I was putting pressure on myself to get it right, thinking “if I am a “writer”, the idea should be fully formed before I sit down at the computer”. This line of thinking completely overlooks the fact that often the hardest part of writing is starting — half the process is letting the ideas flow once my fingers are already in motion.

This exposition made me rethink about writing. What if, like these greats, I allow my writing — and myself — to be a work in progress? I don’t have to have it all figured out. I just have to start. And just like that…I started writing again. Only a few lines at first, but that was enough.

In fact, perhaps the most impactful piece of art I saw at this exposition was just a few lines. An outline of a dove in red with a blue flower in its mouth. Above it was written one word - Picasso.

I’m not sure Picasso ever intended this piece to be sold in an art festival for several thousands of Euros, nor did he probably imagine that his 30 second sketch would have that much of a pron a viewer. But this simple sketch captured everything I loved about this salon. It was deeply human.

That’s why I create — whether it’s writing, watercolors, music or anything else. Creation is a reminder that there’s more to learn, there’s more to understand, and in the end, we’re all works in progress.

À la prochaine!

Melanie