Sketches of Edgar A. Whitney

What I learned from a master

I have cupboards in my studio where I keep my sketchbooks. They now number over a hundred, of every size and description. Two special ones, I always keep close to hand. They're among the oldest: hardbound, dark in colour, falling to pieces.

Over some 45 years, I’ve moved my growing pile of sketchbooks from one apartment to another, from house to house. Most stay in my cupboards. Except for a special pair. A week doesn’t go by that I don’t open one or another of these two. They’re like old and trusted friends, full of wisdom, warmth and intelligence.

These are my sketchbooks (above and below) from workshops I took with Edgar A. Whitney in Maine and Nova Scotia, and they're full of his words. He was 88 years old at the time. I was 20.

I don’t remember how I lucked into his workshops. How I even heard about him. But he fundamentally changed how I’ve worked as a painter, sketcher, graphic designer and teacher. He therefore changed my life.

But let me backtrack a moment, to explain how I got there.

At an early age, I showed some interest in drawing. My parents noticed and, as supportive parents do, got me into a local artist's group lessons. As it happened, this artist painted in watercolour. That’s when I fell in love with the medium. And so I learned a fair bit from this first teacher…up to a point.

​

Enter Ed

Up until I took workshops with Ed Whitney, that is. Because up until then, my education had been straightforward: “As faithfully as you can, record what you see.”

Ed’s teaching and encouragement was different. A revelation, really. Maybe even a revolution in my art practice: not just to record, but to “express what you see.” This meant doing things intentionally, pictorially. Breaking down a scene into large and small shapes; whites and darks; textures, edges and shadows.

This also meant that, in order to make a more expressive and therefore better sketch or painting, you sometimes ignore what you see.

Edgar A. Whitney, doing a demo. Every day, after his demo and his always-insightful remarks, he retired for a nap. He was 88. That's me on the right, in the Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, recording notes in a sketchbook that has followed me around for decades. ​

​

Ed lives on

I remember Ed Whitney’s workshops as the most creatively stimulating period in my life. He was, after all, one of the greatest American watercolour teachers. It was a privilege to be in his presence. And to this day, when I dip into my old sketchbooks, I rarely look at my drawings. Instead, I'm looking for his guidance, and I always find it.

At the time of my first workshop with him, I had just finished my first year toward a BFA in graphic design. Ed’s teaching amplified what I was already learning in class. In fact, I'd say I remember more from my few weeks with Ed Whitney than from my years of university.

I was the youngest person in those workshops — by far. And so I felt intimidated by all the adults. But I dove into the lessons, furiously taking notes, little knowing that my brand new sketchbooks would serve me for decades. Through the many years when I gave up painting to raise a family and work as a graphic designer, to the present day when I’ve managed to return to my first passion

Ed did this quick sketch on a postcard to show me the value of planning. ​

Edgar A. Whitney, master

Decades after those workshops, I can still hear Ed’s voice: wise, funny, encouraging, always generous. And I still apply his lessons on every page of my sketchbooks, in every painting. White spaces, dominant shapes, edges, tonality, limited palette. Design over content. Suggestion over literalness.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Ed Whitney this week, because this week I launched my new online course, “Design Ideas for Your Sketchbook.” The design ideas would not have been possible without him. In fact, not much of my art practice and teaching would be the same if not for his instruction, wisdom, and encouragement.

Thanks, Ed.

​

​Unsubscribe · Preferences​