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| What makes a good drawing? Māris Bišofs Irēna Bužinska In writing this article on artist Māris Bišofs, I had to reconsider the stable position occupied by simple, laconic drawing in contemporary art, now in the 21st century. Should contemporary drawing (and the artist) be viewed essentially as an isolated concept, or as a typical and essential element of some wider whole? Is the artist - "the draughtsman" really endowed with something divine and unique - as I have read in several reviews of the solo exhibition by Māris Bišofs? If "Bišofs' View" is indeed endowed with such properties, then what conditions have promoted the development of this phenomenon? However, in the case of Māris Bišofs, traditional theoretical conclusions and generalisations "don't apply", because his ironic drawing, full of paradox and absurdity, is not constructed or created according to the classical principles of shaded drawing. Many seemingly remote and superficially unrelated factors may be mentioned as preconditions for the emergence of this phenomenon. This is revealed, for example, by certain facts from the artist's life, such as his schooling at the Woodcarving Department of the Riga Secondary School of Applied Art (1954-1959) and studies in the Interior Design Department of the Latvian Academy of Art (1959-1965). Bišofs' fellow-students included Maija Tabaka, Imants Lancmanis, Bruno Vasiļevskis, Andris Freibergs and Malda Muižule. The space of his life extended from Latvia, where he spent his early years, to include Moscow (1966-1972), Israel (1972-1980), Paris (1981-1983) and New York (1984-2003). Since autumn 2003, Māris Bišofs is once again living in Riga. The forty years of the artist's life outlined above might be described as a precise trajectory, very favourably arranged by fate. We touched on various essential aspects of drawing, or "what makes a good drawing", in our conversation on 25 January 2005, at the artist's studio apartment on Pērnavas iela in Riga. | |
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Irēna Bužinska: Our first meeting at the Zimmerli Art Museum in New Brunswick (USA) on 9 March 2002 might be described as a significant meeting point of hitherto separate trajectories. Of course, I already knew about your work from some publications in the magazines Māksla and Jaunā gaita. However, many people, including those familiar with your art, only really obtained a true idea of your creative activities at your solo exhibition "Bišofs' View", which was shown from 9 February to 13 March in the White Room of the State Museum of Art. In preparing this exhibition, I drew various conclusions, the correctness of which I would like to test in the course of our conversation. I have to admit I was surprised that today, when so many artists are drawing only by computer, you create your drawings in the classical mode: working with paper and pencil or Indian ink; and developing the drawing by means of countless sketches. You use good paper. This classical method of work - is it really still so important today?
Māris Bišofs: I can't imagine myself doing something electronically. My first education in art was as a woodcarver. I was working in wood - a solid material. Perhaps this is why I attach importance to the paper I use. Of course, I can use very different sorts of paper. It might be expensive or very cheap. When I arrived in America, there was a time when I couldn't afford expensive paper. Then I found simple blocks of drawing paper with 500 sheets. They cost about $10. I really liked this paper, because it was very good for pencil drawing. I could draw and then easily erase what was unnecessary. I used up a great number of such blocks. Now I'm making a selection. I've divided up the blocks into separate sheets and kept only the useful sketches, which I've now brought to Riga. But for colour drawings I used good quality, expensive, thick paper suitable for watercolours. I work in the old-fashioned manner, with paper, pencil, pen and brush. I rarely use a ruling pen or a rapidograph. All my works are created in the traditional manner. I'm used to it, and there's really no need to use anything else. Sometimes I use a very worn pen that gives a broad line. But I'm used to it, and I accept the width of the line produced by the pen. A pen takes a long time to wear down. Then, some time passes before I get used to a new pen with a thin line. It's a purely physical feeling. Perhaps in the past, when I was working on some constructional drawings, I'd have found a computer useful, but back then, in the 1970s, computers weren't available yet. In those days, I had a wish for perfect precision, but now I don't work that way any more and it holds no interest for me. I. B.: I'm particularly intrigued by your sketches, which, even though you don't use a computer, I'd like to compare with countless files. This "chaos of images", in my view, fitted very well into the exhibition as a contrast with the characteristic clarity of your finished drawings, their structure, order and simplicity. In my view, this behind-the-scenes material gave an insight into the way you work. M. B.: The sketches record momentary ideas. For example, I'm walking down the street and see a car. I start thinking about how the wheels turn, and this suggests a calendar, and then a meter turning. I note down what I've seen and walk on. My sketches are completely different in style. I put my emotions into them. In this process, I'm playing around, and this gives me pleasure. I simply like doing it. And in my sketches I can develop even quite absurd ideas. In the sketches, there are deformed, very distorted faces. All manner of things! I can cubistically deform a figure, even chop it into pieces, and all this appears in my sketches. I can draw something ridiculous. It makes some people laugh. I never laugh at my own drawings or those of others. If I'm asked whether I laugh at my own jokes, then I have to say that's complete nonsense! But I'm pleased when I see that a joke has come off. I. B.: Is it from such "playing around" that you developed the "Bišofs look" - a profile of a human head with a projector beam "coming out" of the eyes - the look? Māris Bišofs. This is one of the ideas I developed. Playing around with appearances: the eyes, light and the projector. It can be different every time. For example, the look can be a narrow one, as when you see something in the distance, but you don't see what's close up. Or it may be the kind of human look that can break through a brick wall. Yes, the look is something I invented myself in America, and I'm proud of it. Then, others began to follow my example - I was influencing them. We borrowed from one another - in Israel and America. Many people have done that. I. B.: Perhaps you could tell us something about the beginnings of your creative work. M. B.: I'm happy and thankful to God that I haven't had to spend my life working in an office. In my student years, I earned money with caricatures for the Dadzis magazine. I'm surprised that so many people still remember that! In Moscow I illustrated and designed books. In Israel, I sold watercolours, most of which have been left behind there. But in this traditional direction I could go no further: I had perfected this particular style. And so, I started drawing, initially for my own enjoyment, and these drawings were no longer caricatures. I also chose the themes myself. Two exhibitions were created from these drawings "The Exhibition"(1974) and "Time out"(1977). The latter dealt with sport, machinery and competition taken to absurdity. For example, tanks competing by crashing into one another. These two exhibitions were held in Israel's two biggest museums, in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. The "Time out" exhibition was accompanied by music from the Pink Floyd album "The Dark Side of the Moon". There was also a slideshow with pictures from magazines, on the subject of sport. The slides also showed technical aspects: masks, accessories and dress. The works in this series had in common the idea of recreation turning into burdensome, exhausting work. And after the "The Exhibition", my first book of drawings was published. Silk screens were also made from the drawings, but I have little left of this. I. B.: Is it characteristic that you create series of works, or do you combine separate works into thematic cycles? M. B.: It always starts with separate works, but major subjects end up forming series devoted to some particular theme. For example, literature. This series began in Paris. Certain drawings from what was to become the series had even been published in a newspaper before that, for example, one of the first drawings depicting a book was Emil Zola as the author of "Coca Cola". That's how it started, and then I considered what else I might do. For example, I imagined that Lolita might have written "Nabokov". This was around 1982-1983. With this discovery, I went on to consider what else could be done. Certainly, nobody else had previously created such series of intellectual drawings. I became interested in the idea. And, once you start thinking, the next ideas come along. Work on the literature series continued for several years, and resulted in a book of drawings entitled "Feisty Virginia Woolf". In some ways, Virginia was simply added on. The life story of this feminist writer who ended her life by drowning herself was very popular in early-eighties intellectual society. I. B.: I think Virginia Woolf has not lost her popularity even today. Just at the moment, two quite different productions of Edward Alby's play "Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf" are playing at theatres in Riga - the National Theatre and the Russian Drama Theatre. But in your book, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung and Alfred Hitchcock are all shown afraid, or not afraid, of this lady! But initially, I suppose, you had to find out more about Virginia herself.... M. B.: Yes, I had to read a book about her. The publishers had the idea that the book should have a title connected with Virginia. The cycle of drawings on literature was already complete, but, thanks to Virginia, I had to create additional drawings on this subject. This is how the cover drawing came about: various famous writers from different periods look on as Virginia jumps into a pool. And there's the page from the book with various phone numbers. The list also includes some nonsense names. Thus, the list of writers also includes the names Elizabeth Taylor and Margaret Thatcher. Which is ridiculous. I. B.: But how did the "drawings for yourself" come about? The exhibition included what is almost a whole series of drawings under this quite fortuitous title. M. B.: First to be published in America were black and white drawings that hadn't been created specially for some particular publication. Then, in the second half of the eighties, I began to work in colour, introducing contrasting colours and simplification. These were not commissioned works either. From these drawings, I created advertising postcards, which I sent to editors. Then I began to get calls and job offers. There was a time when I had a great deal of commissioned work. It was a kind of endless rhythm. In the afternoon, I submitted a drawing for some newspaper. Then, over a cup of tea, I came up with a sketch for the next publication. So it went on for several years: I exploited the situation where I was in demand. It also served to train my capacity for work. Then the commissions began to decrease and I returned to drawing for myself again. Or sometimes the publishers said that the drawing wasn't appropriate to the theme, and in this situation, too, I ended up creating drawings for myself. I. B.: Is there a difference in the way that drawings are commissioned from an artist in America and in Latvia? M. B.: In America, I was told the subject, but they never intervened in the formal approaches. In America, I used very bright colours. And I chose the colours myself. In Moscow, I was constantly being reproached. For example, they told me not to use inverse perspective for chimneys! In America, they never give such directions. The main thing they object to is when the drawing doesn't reflect the article, and they point it out most politely. The newspaper DIENA usually specifies some current topic in Latvia, but I'm free to come up with topical subjects of my own as well. For the opening of my solo exhibition, I came up with a drawing that shows visitors to the exhibition. Only once, I made drawings specially for the magazine Rīgas laiks - for an article about pornography. Rīgas laiks has generally selected and published drawings I'd created in advance, rather than works specially "tailored" to the article. This I like quite well. In general, I view drawing for the press as work. I. B.: I've noticed that your drawings are full of big contrasts. A little person in an enormous city. Small details opposed to some large form or volume. You're fond of showing these inner-outer relationships. You have heads in profile and in cross-section. You also use "cross-sections" for rooms and spaces! Ping-pong balls flying back and forth. A horse jumping over obstacles. A situation shown from one side and the other. M. B.: This inner-outer view is a way of showing interaction, connections and relationships. The head in cross-section is and idea I borrowed from Saul Steinberg and developed further. The room in cross-section - that comes from Latvia! After all, I studied interior design, and in my student years I was drawing plans and cross-sections! Everything I've learnt is somewhere inside me. Just like woodcarving: that too is somewhere in my works. I've also had the fortune of becoming acquainted with various places, countries and systems. Russia, Israel, France and America. With different ways of thinking, different customs. And different food! I think this "inner-outer" view comes about as a summary of these impressions and of my attitude towards what I see. I. B.: Your drawings are paradoxical and well-aimed, miniatures revealing a more profound essence and significance. Published at the end of 2004 with funding from the Latvian Institute was yet another book, your eighth: "My Latvia", with 100 revelations in drawings (as J. Borgs has put it). (The solo exhibition included only seven original drawings from this book.) The book has been remarkably very well received. M. B.: The idea of the book belongs to Ojārs Kalniņš, Director of the Latvian Institute. We agreed on the possible number of drawings and I suggested possible themes. The main thing was to cover as wide a range of themes as possible. It was clear that these would be black and white drawings, because, in my traditional mode of work, I wouldn't be able to realise my ideas so quickly if I tried doing 100 colour drawings. Also, I wanted to be positive, to show what is special here and characteristic of Latvia, and also that we are people just like anywhere else in the world. I've discussed with Ojārs Kalniņš the idea of creating a second book about Latvia. While I was living abroad, I had the idea that I was unknown here. I've come back to Latvia and I feel very good here, and it's very important to me that now, after the exhibition and the book, I'll be much better known here. I'm never bored with myself. As far as I understand from talking to Miervaldis Polis, he feels the same way. I can read and stroll. For example, I like strolling in the streets of Riga. I'm a city person. I like the countryside, but I'd be bored there, because I need the urban environment. I. B.: We've come back to the city. To Riga and Latvia. The area from which you began your flight in the wide world. What determined the coordinates of your trajectory? How did you reach your philosophy of life, the philosophy we see in your drawings? M. B.: It's all about work. About inventiveness and intelligence, first and foremost. I think my drawings are on a different level. And I consider that I have a certain talent. You do need special abilities. Bigheaded as it may sound, I consider that it is God-given. And there's luck. But it was hard to achieve this simplification of drawings. Now I can act with complete freedom. I can draw a person sitting, even without the chair, and it's entirely clear all the same that the person is sitting. Yes, I've found freedom; I've broken down perspective and volume. It did take me a long time. In the drawings, it's important for everything to be absolutely clear. It must be absolutely clear, even if it's absurd. And at the same time, it needs to be as laconic, schematic and simple as possible. While you're still learning, it's not possible. But now I've achieved it. There's one theme and another. I note down both and I'm thinking about yet another theme. And this other theme "clicks with the first" and then all the themes and images come together. The images are put together like building blocks all the time. In new combinations. I can feel when the drawing has come together. It's simple. And it's my classical style. I always strive to think up and foresee all the possibilities for creating a good drawing. | |
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