Loosing Focus, Finding Form
Growing old is an odd and wonderful journey. With age comes the inevitable physical changes - slowed metabolism, aches, memory lapses, and loss of eye sight. But time is a strange thief, and with these changes come life experiences and an evolution in mental perspective. We learn to overcome loss, work around our limitations and appreciate that life is more about this journey than the hopeless pursuit of perfection.
My ability to see the details in my art, once laser-sharp, has been loosening its grip. I’m not going blind, but my focal point gets closer to my nose by the day. I wear contacts to correct my distance vision. I used to draw with them on, though I’m finding that they no longer allow me to see up close. My studio has become a graveyard of fallen soldiers – "cheater" glasses scattered to the daily battles against the fine print.
The irony is laughable. Here I am, an artist perpetually striving for realism, attempting to recreate the tiny details, and now I can’t see those details unaided, or without the paper a foot from my face. My drawing technique has had to adapt, and I now draw without contacts. This has allowed me to see the details, but strangely I’m finding that I spend more and more time drawing out of focus. And with this, has come a change in my art.
I now spend more time concentrating on the form of my subjects, the tones and shadows - the essence of the animal - without the distraction of the minutiae. With better vision, I would drown in details. Every scale on a fish or ridge on an oyster shell demanding meticulous rendering, leaving me overwhelmed. Without the crutch of glasses, the world transforms into a dance of shapes and values. I start seeing the bigger picture – the harmonious interplay of light and shadow, the way lines flow and forms interact.
The blurriness forces me to slow down, to truly observe. Drawing has become a meditative process, a way to turn inwards and let emotions guide the movement of my hand. This introspection adds a layer of personal expression that felt absent when I was laser-focused on external details.
Life, I realized, wasn't about achieving perfect focus. It was about embracing the beautiful, messy blur – the unexpected encounters, the happy accidents, the moments of pure, unadulterated emotion. Life is about finding the stories in the imperfections, the dramas whispered in the soft edges of the everyday.
My changing eyesight has forced me to see the world differently, to see past the details and focus more on the form. In that blur, I discovered not just a better artist, but a richer, more compassionate human being. I continue to work on both, but have come to understand that the world isn't something to copy, but a masterpiece to experience. And sometimes, the best way to truly see it is to embrace the blur.
