Following, Finding, and Repeating
I once learned a drawing method from Ozayr Saloojee called the unfolded section. This method creates long linear drawings on accordion sketchbooks that can span the course of an entire day. The drawing had so much flexibility in scale, subject, and style, and I loved that it had the potential to capture all kinds of moments along a walk. I was curious about how it could track direction and pace and how it might oscillate between plan and section. Lately, I’ve been experimenting on this base method. Considering how my project’s curiosities in infrastructure, flora, and time might drive a process of making, I’ve been imagining how these features manifest in the urban fabric and form the trajectory of a route. For instance, infrastructure, like highways and river walls, often slice through the city with little regard for existing pattern or form, leaving a linear superstructure behind. If you were trying to explore the way this structure shapes experience in the in-between corridor it creates, how would you interact with it? Walk along? Across? Probably both? What would you draw?
What about plants? Plants don’t play by the rules, they often find ways of moving and growing that don’t necessarily follow predictable patterns. Because plants behave in this way, it doesn’t feel appropriate to draw them in the same long, linear style, but something a bit more organic, maybe overlapping, or sporadic. How can walking find and follow plants? What about plants that exist because infrastructure created space for them to grow? This is where things get interesting.
And time, not a physical object like the other two themes, but a mechanism that drives change. Time functions at different scales that influence the dynamics and meaning of spaces. What does it mean for a walk to traverse time? Should the same place be visited in a repetitive way, capturing a broader picture of experience while compressing or overlapping time? Should the walk seek out traces left behind by past times and peoples? What should I know before visiting? What shape does a repetitive pattern take on?
These three general categories, following along an element, finding a feature, and repeating observations loosely shape how I’ve been imagining routes and methods while experimenting in ordinary places around my house.
Following an Element
How are lines formed across the landscape? As a walk that follows a clear path, it makes sense that the drawing reflects that linearity. Recently, I’ve tried following Minnehaha Creek, the walking route takes the shape of the thread of the stream and vignettes capture moments of intrigue. Because this walk is driven by a particular feature, vignettes tend to frame that feature at various scales and levels of detail. Perhaps the stream is sketched in plan to highlight a curious meander, or a particularly gnarly stump growing out of the bank is captured in detail. I’m torn about whether the vignettes want to feel very connected and continuous (is there a single connecting line that unites them?) or be discrete series of frames. Also, if I ever double back on the route, do I draw over past drawings (see experiment 2 below). How do the vignettes function as an examination of the linear or infrastructural feature?
In this short walk along the creek, I tried flipping the notebook upside down when the route started doubling back. While the subject matter and views of the drawings may not be entirely legible, I do appreciate how the textures and general forms read through, overlap, and build relationships among each other. See enlargements below.
Finding a Feature
What if a route is governed not by a line but by the presence of a particular type of element? I’ve been experimenting with following a particular feature type (plants, puddles… ) on an unplanned route and drawing vignettes that comingle on a single composition. In the case of Rome, this might be plants. I’m curious how the sketches interact, much like the thoughts and memories of these experiences overlap and mix in my brain, and how you can see them all at once on the drawing. Rather than an accordion notebook, does the shape of the drawing form on a folded rectangle that’s unfolded and refolded along the walk? Is the page much smaller and captures a very distinct series of frames that create a composition? Do these happen in multiples along a walk?
This drawing experiments with creating an expanding composition by folding and unfolding a single sheet of paper. The walk focused on only drawing plants along Minnehaha Creek. It is intended to move in a linear way, starting at the top left panel, snaking down to the bottom left panel. I like the scale of this drawing a lot, but the panels feel too distinct, like individual vignettes. In reality, these moments are interacting and overlapping and lingering. I wanted to try representing that in the next study.
Above, I’m following a similar extractive rule, this time only drawing puddles, but making the page size smaller, not folding/unfolding, and not drawing to represent the linearity of the route, rather, the sketches merge together to form a single composition. Of all the experiments, this might be my favorite, it’s a bit mysterious and feels like a dream, much like memory often does.
Repeating Observations
Considering how time drives change, I’ve been practicing repetitive walking by drawing one of my regular walks around Lake Hiawatha both in the format of a long, linear connecting sketch, and a series of individual vignettes. It’s interesting how different each of the drawings are. I wonder why I’m noticing different moments, anything from time of day, angle of the sun, in Minnesota’s instance, the relationship of objects to the melting snow, or even how I’m feeling that day might affect how spaces are being perceived and drawn. Additional, I’m wondering how the tempo of walking could be captured and have tried holding the pen upright on paper and literally walking, allowing the pen to move at the tempo of my steps. It’s quite abstract, but does create beautiful patterns that harken to a metronome or electrocardiogram.
It’s interesting how these walks in multiples are so different. I think it comes from a combination of simply noticing things, and also, maybe, a subconscious reaction to not draw the same thing twice? I didn’t intentionally set this rule for myself, but I think it makes for a curious compilation of drawings. The three images above are similar sketchy views of the lake from different walks and angles.
This walk was an experiment on drawing nothing but the tempo of my stride, simply holding the pen and allowing it to move along the page as I take steps. When I change direction, the notebook moves (the right side of the page is always the forward-facing direction when I start walking). I think this creates a lovely pattern, and may roughly capture things like the surface of the ground, but I’m not sure it captures a clear enough picture of what I’m seeing before me. I’m curious about a combination of this with more perspectival sketches to capture tempo and time. This study also folded melting snow into the pages of the book which created these lovely symmetric blooms.
