Sketching Thoughts: The Sincerity Of Drawing
Pen and pencil shall never become redundant, argues Fabio Filippini.
The personal stroke ( photo © Fabio Filippini)
The great sculptor Alberto Giacometti used to say: «If we master a bit of drawing, everything else is possible.»
Design and art are fundamentally different disciplines. Yet also in the case of car design, drawing is the basis of everything. Even in our digital era, drawing with a pencil in one’s hand remains the most natural and expressive gesture: one that permanently fixes our thoughts on paper (or digital tablet, that is). This is particularly true for the discipline of automotive design.
In fact, the gesture of drawing acts as a filter, as our ideas are transmitted from the brain to the hand. As the mind works, the lines take the time necessary to gradually lead us to seeing things clearer and eventually fixing them on paper, in a defined form.
It happens though that sometimes these lines do not fully correspond to one’s expectations - by which point we should just start drawing again, looking for the desired shape. Indeed, the opposite can also happen: the drawing created by the pencil surprises us, unexpectedly showing an idea or a latent form much more interesting than the one imagined by the brain. In fact, it is in the very nature of ‘creation’ to try to escape rules and codified process.
During my own professional design career, I have met many a designer who were very good at drawing, including some absolute talents: people whose every little doodle turns into a masterpiece of unmistakable style. I could name a good dozen of them: from the one who draws very fluid and perfect lines, to the one that can express complex and intricate shapes in every view; but also someone else who can trace all the cars in history by heart; or another one who can spontaneously sketch cars upside-down, turned towards the observer.
Subject on a par with illustrating technique (image © ItalDesign)
I have always admired these people’s talents. Particularly of those who can express their ideas through few simple strokes, hence betraying an amazing capacity for synthesis and clarity of thought.
However, I also realised that extreme talent can sometimes result in being overwhelmed by this natural gesture. There’s the risk of expressing ‘only’ what flows spontaneously from the pencil - without any attempt at trying to question oneself ever during the process.
For me personally, this creative process has often worked somewhat differently. I always perceived drawing as an activity that involves a variable dose of suffering and satisfaction. Over time, I developed a fairly defined technique, allowing me to achieve some kind of natural graphic expression - in spite of some initial difficulties, such as my rigid and peculiar way to hold the pencil: I always remember Stefan - a very talented colleague of mine during my early Japanese years – staring at me with a serious face and telling me with his typically German sense of humour: «I wonder what you could really achieve if you just knew how to hold the pen properly.»
Beyond these personal quirks, my training as an architect has always led me to start with a phase of ‘mental construction’ of ideas and forms, followed by numerous steps towards bringing the image traced on the sheet progressively closer to the thought that originated it. Sometimes I would proceed quickly, but rather frequently, the process turns out to be particularly difficult and painful.
There is probably no single method which is better than the others; everyone must develop the technique that suits them best. In design, it’s the final result that really matters, and above all, the quality and value of the idea being expressed: we should not confuse the media with the objective.
A good suggestion would be to experiment with several different processes and techniques, and never rely on a single one exclusively. Changing tools and media helps developing new ideas, sometimes with unexpectedly good results. During the early days of my career, various colleagues and I enjoyed exchanging techniques and design styles respectively, forcing each other to come out of one's own skin and get into someone else's. The results were often surprising, and they stimulated beneficial interactions, which could be applied later, as part of our own established drawing methods.
In sharp contrast, I’m also aware of some very talented designers who spent years copying the drawing technique (and design style) of their mentor, to the point of not being able to spot any difference - and then, suddenly, transforming and becoming fully self-confident over a single drawing, finally creating their totally new and personal design style.
Obviously, all thoughts expressed above are specifically referring to traditional freehand drawing, which is the first step in true creativity expressing itself. These notes may relate only partially to the creation of 2D or 3D digital renderings that are the common expression of designers today. So much so that these spectacular digital images - because of their artificial construction, as they employ paths, layers and filters - sometimes deflect the ideas and hence help disguise the real ‘talent’ of the author. This might prevent the observer from understanding the true original creativity, or appreciating the time spent to achieve the final representation of the idea. All of which are important aspects of the actual task.
So, among automotive design professionals, it is particularly useful to request freehand drawings when receiving applications from young talents - even today. In order to be able to evaluate the real creative skills of those candidates, on the basis of their quick sketches on paper, by pencil or pen, where true creativity is expressed in its clearest and most sincere way, without any added artifice.
As Salvador Dalì once said: «The drawing represents sincerity of art. It is not possible to cheat. It is either good or bad.»
