Sketch or Photo?

This Monday morning, my mind is on a poll I ran recently asking writers whether their work was more like a rough pencil sketch or a photographic oil painting. The reason for my wondering comes from something I once watched on the idiot’s lantern that really stuck with me, so here it is, an anecdote with at least a passing relevance to the world of writing. As a disclaimer, though, this is just my recollection of what I saw, and my memory is quite the fabulist.

So, many moons ago I caught the last few minutes of a daytime TV show, a contest in which three artists were charged with doing the portrait of a guest celebrity. The first was using watercolours, the second acrylic paints, and the third oils. They’d just finished when I tuned in, and the celebrity was looking at each effort in turn before choosing his favourite.

Portrait one, the watercolour, was really good, at least to this layman’s eye. The artist had done a pretty faithful rendering, capturing the pose and expression nicely and using a fairly breezy palette that gave the finished article a bright and optimistic air. Thumbs up so far from the celeb.

Portrait two, the acrylics, was also really good. Stunning even, in its attention to detail. The celeb was super impressed by how accurate the thing was, commenting that it was practically indistinguishable from a photograph. At this point, I had the feeling I was looking at the winner.

Then came portrait three, the oils, and when he saw it, the celeb visibly flinched. And not in a good way, because the artist had made him look a bit of a state. Eye bags, sallow skin, dark lines and creases, the whole shooting match. I mean, it wasn’t exactly Dorian Gray, but it wasn’t far off.

And this was where things got interesting. There was a short break for deliberations, and when the winner was finally announced, it was the oil painting that not only got the nod but also a heap of glowing praise. The celeb explained that he’d been so taken aback by the portrait because it was exactly how he saw himself when he looked in the mirror. In effect, the artist had captured something that the other two hadn’t been able to intuit.

This, to me, was fascinating, and it still is. How could that artist find something beyond what was literally sitting there in the flesh? How could he so successfully reach through the obvious and take hold of something far more profound? Could the same apply to writing? In fact, how on earth could it not?

Granted, this may not be much of a revelation to anyone else: I’m not the fastest of horses when it comes to this sort of thing. But a revelation it was, as it showed me I could write however I wanted. I could pick my shots and maybe find something truer than a faithful recounting of events and images. Which is incredibly freeing. Of course, some, if not many, readers may not like the little charcoal sketches I’m knocking out, and that’s alright. There’s nothing wrong with preferring precise attention to physical details, bright and bountiful colours, and so on and so forth.

But this is me. I choose what I choose, see what I see, and feel what I feel, and I do my level best not to second guess myself by wondering if my writing is going to please others. And it’s this realisation that’s made all the difference to what I write about and how I write about it. So my question is, are you being faithful to your own vision? If so, you just might be able to make someone flinch then fall in love with what you’ve written.

And that’s my penny’s worth for today. Until next week, happy writing to you all.