Un comienzo que siempre es nuevo

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(Hay algo de redundante en esto de decir “un nuevo comienzo”. Y mucho mas en mi caso, que desde que re-tomé los lapices siempre he estado cambiándo. De estilo y de motivación. Incluso de público.)

evolutionchico

Tras una pausa, retomo el blog con un enfoque renovado y un estilo transformado. Antes, mi trabajo se centraba en retratos monocromáticos: dibujos en blanco y negro que capturaban emociones mediante sombras y luces. Era una forma directa de explorar la expresividad humana a través de rostros. Sin embargo, con el tiempo, sentí que este enfoque limitaba mi creatividad. Necesitaba explorar más allá, incorporar colores y formas menos rígidas.

El cambio llegó al experimentar con la pintura digital. Usando una tableta y programas como Photoshop o Procreate, accedí a un medio con posibilidades ilimitadas. Abandoné los retratos realistas para adentrarme en el arte abstracto: formas fluidas, colores intensos y patrones que transmiten ideas sin necesidad de figuras definidas. Este giro ocurrió durante la pandemia, cuando la monotonía me llevó a probar algo nuevo. El arte abstracto permite expresar emociones puras –alegría, caos, melancolía– sin restricciones. Además, lo digital ofrece flexibilidad: se puede corregir, ajustar o experimentar sin desperdiciar materiales. Mis obras ahora combinan texturas que evocan óleos o acuarelas, pero con un enfoque contemporáneo.

Mi reciente mudanza a España marca un nuevo rumbo para el blog. A partir de ahora, escribiré únicamente en español, en sintonía con mi vida actual y mi interés por integrarme en la comunidad artística local que me rodea. Mantener el blog en español facilita conectar con una audiencia hispanohablante y expresar mi proceso creativo en un idioma que fluye con naturalidad. Progresivamente, migraré el contenido del sitio al castellano, traduciendo entradas antiguas y generando nuevo material que refleje esta etapa. Este espacio seguirá siendo un reflejo de mi evolución artística, desde la inspiración que encuentro en España hasta los matices de mi trabajo abstracto.

Nos vemos.

How Failing Inktober Led Me to One of My Best Drawings

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middle man

I remember creating this drawing for Inktober 2024 — and quite a few things happened along the way.

First, for those unfamiliar: Inktober is an art challenge. It was created by Jake Parker in 2009. Artists are encouraged to draw and share one ink drawing per day throughout October. They use the hashtag #Inktober. It’s a great way to improve technique, build an artistic habit, and connect with fellow creators.

In 2024, I made the decision to (almost) fully commit to ink drawing. It’s a discipline like any other, but with its own quirks and constraints. The challenge was literally called INK-tober. So, I figured it was the perfect excuse to leave other media aside. This allowed me to dive deep into mastering ink.

I began working exclusively with ink. First traditional ink on paper, then digital ink. Photoshop’s immense flexibility lets me emulate any kind of ink or tool I can imagine.

Inktober requires a new drawing every day, so speed is essential. So is inspiration — you can’t draw what doesn’t come to mind. I planned to have two or three drawings ready before October started, just in case.

About five days before the challenge began, I found a reference image that inspired this drawing. I decided to try a different technique for rendering the skin. I knew the effect I wanted — but not how to achieve it.

I started with the basic structure: large shapes and a few key lines, softly suggested. But I couldn’t figure out how to bring the image to life. I got stuck for days. Every solution I tried felt too familiar. I spent hours just staring at the half-built image. Some remnants of those failed attempts are still visible near the top of the head.

I’d start and stop, again and again. Eventually, I gave up on the idea of posting daily. My Inktober plan fell apart.

But once the pressure was gone, the drawing finished itself. I regretted not completing the challenge, but I’m proud of the result. It’s one of the most accomplished pieces I’ve made.

And honestly? One drawing per day… it’s an impossible challenge.



The Silence of the Line

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Drawing of a man.

Silence of the line

Sometimes, drawing is not about representing — it’s about presence.
A form that doesn’t tell a story, but poses a question.
That’s how this male figure emerges: captured in minutes, but born from years of quiet observation.

His face is serious, yet not severe.
There’s restraint, introspection — as if he’s looking outward without revealing himself.
The grays do the work of flesh, shadow, and thought.
The light, empty background allows him to breathe within his own isolation.

No superfluous details. No decorative lines. Just enough for the figure to be.

Drawing like this is like hearing the echo of a voice that doesn’t shout.
A voice barely whispered — but one that stays.

This monochromatic digital drawing is part of a personal search: to move away from the literal and toward the essential.
It’s not about portraying someone. It’s about suggesting a human condition.
In this case: the man who holds back, who waits, who remains silent.

The process

Showing the stages of a drawing can be a powerful way to invite the viewer into the artist’s studio.
Each step —the first line, the structure, the shadows, the final adjustments— reveals decisions, doubts, and exploration.
We don’t just see the result; we witness the path.

This comes with clear advantages:
It allows us to share the reasoning behind the image. It humanizes the act of drawing. It demystifies it.
It can even generate more empathy: the viewer no longer faces a closed image, but a living construction.
Seeing step-by-step progress can also be instructive for other artists or students.

But there’s a risk.
Sometimes, showing too much of the process can break the spell.
The artwork stops being an autonomous object and becomes a kind of tutorial.
Some gestures are more powerful when they are only guessed at, not fully explained.
And not every drawing needs to be understood step by step —some are meant to be simply felt.

That’s why, when I choose to reveal the process behind a piece, I do it carefully.
Not to teach how it’s done, but to suggest that drawing is also a form of thought.
And sometimes, that thinking can be shared in images.

🎨 A Brief History of Artistic Drawing: From Fire to Touchscreens ✍️

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KimJungGi displaying his ink signature: large scenes, without a prior sketch.

Artistic drawing is as old as humanity itself. More than 30,000 years ago, someone traced with charcoal in the Chauvet Cave (France) or Altamira (Spain). They created the silhouettes of bison, hands, and deer. They didn’t call it art—but they were drawing the world.

In ancient China, masters like Gu Kaizhi (4th century) used brush and ink on silk to depict human figures. They illustrated landscapes with a unique poetic sensibility. Meanwhile, in Japan, centuries later, artists like Katsushika Hokusai (1760–1849) emerged. He explored drawing as a form of printing. His famous Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji reflects his contemplation in art.

In the West, drawing became a pillar of artistic education during the Renaissance. Leonardo da Vinci, through his anatomical studies and machine designs, transformed drawing into a tool of knowledge. Michelangelo, on the other hand, sketched figures with almost sculptural power, preparing the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel.

Later, Rembrandt mastered chiaroscuro with pencil and ink, while Ingres displayed elegant precision in his portraits. In the 20th century, artists like Egon Schiele and Pablo Picasso broke away from academic norms. They demonstrated that expressive lines could be more powerful than perfection.

Today, drawing has migrated to the digital world. Artists like Kim Jung Gi (South Korea) amazed the world with their prodigious visual memory. They created complex scenes without preliminary sketches. Artists from every corner of the planet now share their work on social media. This restores drawing’s place as a universal language.

🖼️ Drawing isn’t dead. It has simply changed its skin. And it keeps telling our story—line by line.

There’s no undo button.

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digital ink drawing of Ella


Why undo?

Drawing in ink is like walking on a ledge. Every stroke you make remains. There’s no eraser, no “that’s it, I’ll start again.” And I love that.

Because when you draw like this, your whole body comes into play. You have to be present. You can’t hesitate. Your hand goes and you follow. Sometimes something comes out that surprises you, and other times… well, other times the paper ends up in the trash.

No, that’s not true. In the decades I’ve been drawing, I’ve never torn up a drawing. I leave it in a drawer. I forget about it. The only revenge and the only forgiveness, someone said.

I notice that when I draw with pencil, a little voice in the back tells me. “You can correct it later.” It always reassures me that changes can be made. With ink, on the other hand, there’s no margin. The stroke becomes an affirmation. Even if it’s crooked, even if it’s too thick or thin. It stays there, marking its place in the world.

There’s something honest about that.

And ink, with its strong character, its brutality, forces you to let go of control. It forces you to trust your pulse.

Drawing like this is almost an act of faith.

Michelangelo’s Preparatory Drawings for the Sistine Chapel

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Aiatine preparation drawing

In 1508, when Pope Julius II commissioned Michelangelo to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, the artist initially resisted. He saw himself primarily as a sculptor, not a painter. However, once he accepted the project, Michelangelo produced numerous preparatory studies. He used red chalk and ink to plan each figure of the complex fresco.

One of the most extraordinary examples is the Libyan Sibyl. The studies for the Libyan Sibyl were created around 1510–1511 in red chalk. These studies are preserved at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. These drawings reveal how Michelangelo worked out every muscle. He detailed every fold of the drapery and every gesture of the figure with remarkable anatomical precision.

These preparatory drawings have acquired an artistic value of their own. What’s striking is that they are sometimes even considered equal to or greater than that of the final paintings. Experts believe these sketches reveal the purest essence of Michelangelo’s genius. They highlight his understanding of the human body and his masterful command of line. His ability to capture movement and emotion with simple yet powerful strokes is evident.

More recently, researchers have identified what may be Michelangelo’s very first architectural sketch for the Sistine Chapel vault structure. This discovery shows that even the most technical aspects of the project began with drawing as a fundamental tool.

This true story proves that drawing is not merely preparation for other arts. It is a complete and expressive art form in itself. It is capable of revealing the creative process and technical mastery in a way that no other medium can.

Famous quotes

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old tree in pampas

I want to leave you with three famous quotes from three enlightened people about art.

Without art, life would be a mistake.
Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

What is art, if not a way of seeing?
Thomas Louis Berger (1924-2014)

If it is absolutely necessary for art or theater to serve any purpose, it will be to teach people. It can highlight the existence of useless activities. It is essential that such activities exist.
Eugene Ionesco (1912-1994)

As you can see, the first and third are practically the same. Ionesco is more resigned; Nietzsche forgets that it is in human nature to correct the mistakes he finds.

Woman drawing

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mujer en rojo

Woman drawing is a portrait of a beautiful young woman that I started a few days ago. In the reference photograph, the woman had a graceful smile. I wanted to tone it down. I transformed it into seriousness. Her eyes were light, and I also wanted to add a touch of concern. In short, to give her a more worried or self-absorbed tone.

I’ve always found the mixture of beauty and concern interesting to contemplate. You wonder what’s happened to her, what’s troubling her. This probably arises from the widespread idea that beauty should not be mixed with problems. Beauty, like wealth or happiness, is often seen as separate from misfortunes and difficulties.

On the other hand, I manipulated her eyes to convey a certain perplexity. It’s as if she’s looking at something she doesn’t fully understand. At the same time, her eyes aren’t focused on the object, person, or landscape in front of her. Her gaze is turned inward, focused on her thoughts, as if she were empty or lost.

A fabulous artist

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Screenshot 2025 07 06 at 10.07.50 AM
Published w/o permission.

Sometimes you come across a surprising artist. One who leaves you speechless. In this case, it happened to me with an artist named Alexander Boytsov.

I’m amazed by the way he handles shadows, even the faintest ones. It’s as if he could make the pencil transparent. As if the light could obey him in the drawing.

Sometimes I fall into a healthy envy. I see things that are impossible for me. I wish I could do them. Then I fool myself. I think that “I don’t have the patience.” As if that were the reason and not my limitations, as harsh as anyone’s.

Other times I fool myself into thinking there’s no need to be such a perfectionist. That what matters are deeper things than that preciousness. A lie.

These are all falsehoods. I tell myself that I don’t draw as well as he does because I don’t want to. It’s not for any other reason.

Go see him. You’ll be amazed. He’s magical.

I publish an image without permission, I don't think it bothers you, if so I will remove it instantly.

The Unseen Olympians of Drawing

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(Benedict Dylan | George Androutsos | Vadim Torbakov)

In a world where anything can be called art — and too often is — true drawing is quietly vanishing. But every once in a while, you discover artists who remind you of what drawing really means. Raw. Brave. Human.

There’s a hidden Olympus out there. It’s not in galleries or trendy biennials. It’s inhabited by artists no one talks about. Yet, they’re producing some of the most astonishing work of our time.

Three names. You probably haven’t heard them, and that’s the tragedy: Benedict Dylan. George Androutsos. Vadim Torbakov.
Each one represents a different frontier of what drawing can be.

Benedict Dylan is a master of chiaroscuro — but not in the academic sense. His figures emerge from darkness like wounded animals, filled with fragility, violence, and beauty. These are not portraits of people; they are portraits of pain, and they burn into your mind.

George Androutsos dares to “break” the drawing. His faces fall apart, explode into gestures, refuse to hold still. The chaos is the message. The like is not just contour — it’s rupture, fragility, and the constant threat of disappearance.

Vadim Torbakov, on the other hand, creates drawings that vibrate with life. His distortions are subtle but disorienting — like a memory that’s slipping away just as you try to recall it. His strokes are rhythmic, cinematic, always moving, as if the subject is dissolving before your eyes.

These three men, without fame or spotlight, have reached the peak of a discipline. Many think this discipline is obsolete: drawing as revelation.

If you care about drawing, take five minutes and look them up. This doesn’t concern drawing as a technique. Rather, it’s about viewing the human condition. Let their work confront you, challenge you, and maybe even change the way you draw or think.

They belong to the top.

Whether the art world knows it or not.

androutsos
Androutsos
dylan
Dylan
torbakov
Torbakov