On Art

The Naming

It didn’t start with Ursula LeGuin, who says in The Wizard of Earthsea that discovering someone’s true name gives you power over them. Since ancient times people would have a secret name, known only to those closest to them. This lives on in our middle names, and every child knows they’re truly in trouble when their mother uses it. To the Ancient Egyptians, the name (ren) was a part of your very soul. When captured by the cyclops Poylphemus in the Ancient Greek epic, The Odyssey, Odysseus claimed his name was Outis (meaning “No one”). It is only after Polyphemus, deceived and blinded, learns Odysseus’ true name that he is able to curse him, and delay Odysseus’ return to Ithaca (yet again). Even in the bible, Adam gives names to all the animals and God gives him dominion over them.

And so it is in Art. The graphic designer Robin Williams in her book, The Non-designer’s Design Book tells us the story of her discovery of the joshua tree. The gist of it is this: until she learned of the tree by name, she never really saw it before. And she came to learn that joshua trees were planted extensively throughout her very own neighborhood. Until she learned their name, they didn’t exist.

The same is true for anything else. We typically draw things using symbols: tree, car, house. Using other symbols for the parts: eyes, nose, lips. From plants and animals, to anatomy, to machines. Once you name something you have a handle with which to grasp it. Look at drawing a spider…

A child’s first attempts at drawing a spider might look like a dot with some legs.

…and they learn that spiders have eight legs.

…that spiders have eyes.

…spiders have fangs.

…legs have joints.

…the body has two main parts, the cephalothorax and the abdomen, and all the legs attach to the cephalothorax.

…spiders have two smaller grasping legs, called pedipalps; and the fangs really have two parts: the chelicera and the fang.

…and so on, until you’ve learned enough about spiders that you can draw them 99% realistically. Until you can name, very nearly, all of their parts: pedical, coxa, trochanter, spinnerets, etc.

Repeat ad nauseam until you can draw the entire world.

But, you can’t know everything. You can’t know all the names.


I like broccoli

I like broccoli—No, it’s true!

When I was a little child I didn’t want to eat it. Growing up, my mother never made it fresh—always from frozen and well-boiled. I didn’t like the color of the just-slightly-cooked-too-long broccoli. I wasn’t fond of the way that it flopped on the end of my fork. I was less than enamored of the bright-green-turned-just-a-little-grey-green color.

My mother told me to pretend that I was a dinosaur and that the broccoli was a little tree. For the next several years I was a dinosaur, eating broccoli trees smothered in butter—rawr. I learned that I actually like my cruciferous vegetables. There’s a little bit of sweetness in the broccoli stalk, unlike cauliflower, that contrasts nicely with the saltiness of butter. The florets break apart in a satisfying manner when I bite into them. I devoured forests.

I learned a lesson about trying new things and I don’t need to pretend that I’m a dinosaur anymore… I don’t need to.





My first memory is from when I was about three or four. My father woke me up by scratching me with his mustache while trying to give me a kiss on the cheek. He was on his way to his first day at his new job.

My first science fiction memory is of seeing Star Wars in the theater with my father. I vividly remember the large green riding-lizards, dew-backs, in the desert of Tatooine; and the escape from the trash compactor, Darth Vader, and the Death Star. I took my first steps into a larger world.