Andy, Aubrey, Pablo, and Jean

I recently visited an exhibit of Andy Warhol (1928-1987) at a local art museum. A retrospective, it covered the wide range of his work--from Celebrity Portraits (Michael Jackson with his 'Thriller' nose) to the Soup Cans to his Screen Test films. But of all the work on display, I found myself pulled to his early drawings. Done well before his extended 15 minutes of fame, when he was employed as a young illustrator and graphic designer for department stores, their delicate form and expressive lines were the antithesis of his later and more famous ironic and cooly distant pop art. Whether it was ladies shoes or a cat sleeping or a portrait of a friend, the tenderness, humanity, and affection for the subject came out in the whimsical turn of a curve or the sensuous tracing of a form. This revealed to me an Andy I could imagine as a person I could talk to, who was engaged with his art and not standing back as voyeur and critic.

It also brought to mind several other artists who have mastered that delicate balance of economy of line and sensual expressiveness.

Aubrey Beardsley (1872-1898) took linework to baroque excess. His pen-and-ink works are filled with dots and curlicues and bold patches of solid black, forming a hallucinatory Art Nouveau fantasy world. Often connected with the writings of Oscar Wilde, his drawings embody the fin-de-siècle decadence that was bringing the 19th century to an end.

Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) was a genius in whatever medium he chose. His line drawings are at once primitive and sophisticated. Calling forth mythological figures like satyrs, minotaurs, and nymphs, his drawings brought out a raw sexuality without vulgarity.

Then there is my favorite (and the inspiration for this site), Jean Cocteau (1889-1963). Essentially a poet who expressed himself through drawing, painting, sculpture, theater, film, and writing, Jean lived in a dream world and the real world simultaneously. As evidenced in his films like Orphée, the two are only separated by a thin membrane, breached as easily as water. He often drew sensual and erotic drawings of young men, who were either dreaming or half-asleep. Even those with their eyes open seemed to be transfixed by some far off vision, practically blinding them.

It is this most primitive form of art, the black line on a blank sheet, that holds the most power for me. The line carves form out of the void and creates a tension between inside and out, black and white, surface and mass. This is the energy that brings art its life force.