Drawn From Life

Arthur's tribute to Nina Ananiashvilli, presented to her at her final ABT performance

After reading Michael Arthur's NY Times blog entry, I was once again reminded of the beautifully complex simplicity of drawing. Arthur's engaging illustrations of the performers and staff of the American Ballet Theater at the Metropolitan Opera are at once a conscious compilation of line and shadow, as well as a string of free-flowing, organic thoughts. Denouncing rough drafts or erasures, Arthur's works are an exact visual dictation of how he views the world, yet they appear effortless. It is this perpetual tension and reconciliation between the artist's hand and mind that elevate a simple drawing to an artistic illustration.

In the NY Times entry, he speaks of the seredipitious route to his eventual career as a freelance illustrator, with a concentration in live drawing of theater, dance and music rehearsals. First a theater professor based in Austin, Texas, Arthur moved to NYC after a series of deeply tragic deaths of a both personal and professional nature, in hopes of becoming an artist. Without classical or traditional training, Arthur simply drew what he saw and hoped that people would respond to his work. A chance encounter with a collection of Al Hirschfeld's theater drawings, "Hirschfeld On Line,” was enough to convince him that he had found his niche. Through this experience, he quickly realized that he "was a compulsive doodler who had never viewed drawing as anything other than a diversion until, quite suddenly, [he] realized that it was actually the rest of [his] life that had been the diversion." Indeed, man has been doodling as soon as they located tools to use and have been their way to understand objects and people around them. Drawing is in essence the most raw of human expression, devoid of the limitations of color's innate expressiveness or the boundaries of thought. It can tell a story as a literary piece or a painting can; suggest movement as dance does; or allude to one's mood or attitude as music can. Multiple lines closely drawn together or drawn jaggedly create a nervous agitation; wide loops and whimsical swirls a happy, casual situation; and dark shading and thick lines can suggest a brooding, antagonistic sensibility.


Arthur's dancers rehearsing while off-duty dancers listen to instructions from the Ballet Mistress


Edgar Degas, The Dance Class (1873-1876)

Looking through Arthur's sketches, comparisons to Degas's dancers cannot be avoided. Both artists focused on the activity of the rehearsals and the crucial moments leading up to curtain call. Rather than concentrating solely on the expected beauty of the performance that we see as spectators, we are allowed a behind-the-scenes-glimpse into the world from which we are ordinarily excluded. As the figures stretch and warm up, converse with another, or listen intently to an instructor, we realize that these are not the glorified scenes of a perfected stage performance, but of the dancers's excrutiating efforts to make that performance appear brilliantly precise and effortless.



His "Good Ideas Grow On Trees" piece (above) demonstrates the lyrical nature of his work, where one idea or line seamlessly shifts toward another, which branches out to another, and becomes a jumping-off point for yet another and so forth. With each deliberate line, one can witness Arthur's organic thought process - and the charming fact that he doesn't take it too seriously. Arthur's inspiring story of taking an interest in drawing and, amid tragedy, relocating to a new city and a new life, has occupied my thoughts for some time. Drawing has also been an early memory of mine, where I would create hypothetical creatures and worlds that existed just on the cusp between imagination and reality. Arthur's beautifully written piece inspired me to pick up a pen again. Perhaps I will follow in his steps and take a stroll to the Met, walk along Fifth Avenue, pick up a book...and go from there.