TH: Is there a parachute leap coming up?
MF: I took a year off, went to the mountains, and wrote a book. It was an invaluable learning experience but a very poor book.
When I got back, what I had been doing was no longer in demand. The business had changed. So there I was, starting over yet again! But I’m doing all right, actually. I’m still making a living with my art work. I’m finding more time to do art for myself, and those pieces are doing well in the market.
TH: How do you choose your subject matter?
MF: When it’s a commissioned work, like a magazine, or a private collector, the client tells me what it is they want a picture of. In other cases, it’s something I’ve heard, a piece of music. I’ve also had mental images generated by a single, visually interesting object; a landscape; or a person’s face, expression, or costume. On rare occasions the inspiration has been a dream. I would say two or three times over the years, I’ve awoken with a vivid image from a dream. I’ve never drawn those, but they’re still up there; I may do them yet someday.
TH: How do you turn an idea into a finished piece of artwork, both conceptually and mechanically?
MF: Conceptually, I always begin with a pretty vivid image in my head of what this is supposed to be. If I don’t have one, I can’t draw it.
The thing to remember is that the initial mental image is the place to start, not a place to end. The finished product rarely looks much like the image in my head, although it will bear a resemblance. It’s much like writing a book: the outline is just the skeletal framework that changes as I work on it, and fill in as I pursue directions that come up.
As far as the mechanics, it depends whether I’m drawing it manually or it’s a digital product.
For a colored pencil drawing, first I’ll make references. I’ll take photos, or find photos, of all the focal objects in the picture. I can draw the general composition, you know, a face, a tree. But I make references to get the tiny details: dimples, folds, shadows, planes. It’s the tiny details that you may not even notice that make a drawing come alive.
Then I do a whole bunch of drawings. Using tracing paper, I trace over my sketches, drawing onto the paper, using the photos and what-have-you as references. This is just the line drawing, the basic sketching. There will be things in the first sketch that are wrong, or misplaced—and others that are just right. So I lay another sheet of tracing paper over the first, and then I can see the earlier sketch, and keep the right parts and change, delete, or re-locate the others. This layering allows me to move the earlier sheets around underneath to get elements (like props, limbs) positioned correctly. I repeat the process, sometimes up to 7 or 8 layers or more, until the composition is just right. Then I start sketching details, like the environment, props, etc.
Then I can project the final line drawing onto a piece of 2-ply vellum-finish Bristol board. I do a light tracing there, and then use the colored pencil to complete the shading and color work, the details.
That’s for a colored pencil product. I’ve been doing more digital work recently. Creating a digital product is a very different process. For one thing, no tissue layers; all of that is much easier using the computer. I use a mouse for drawing. I use very few if any scanned art or objects in my digital work. Most of my 2D work is done in Photoshop 6.0. I don’t do any 3D work, no 3D CAD modeling systems; no automatic rendering tools.
TH: A struggling artist would probably be very interested in your statement “I’m still making a living in art.” Isn’t that really, really rare?
MF: It’s easier to do in art than it is in writing, especially in the genre fields. You don’t even have to be a great artist—just proficient, and reliable. People don’t realize that everything they see in the world was probably drawn by an artist before it was made. Cars, product labels, furniture, magazine and TV ads, clothing, kitchen supplies, office accessories—you name it! Everybody uses art work.
TH: So your advice for aspiring artists would be….
MF: Don’t figure out what people want, or what will sell. Figure out what you love to do. Learn to do it very, very well before you try to catch anyone’s attention. When you’ve learned to do what you really love to do as well as you possibly can, find out who’s paying for what you love to do.
There’s a real thirst for beautiful, imaginative, and original things in the world. That thirst is not always honored by the usual commercial venues. But if you’re doing beautiful, imaginative, and original work, it’s possible to get it to the public. We in the fantasy art world are fortunate to have the Cons as alternative venues.
TH: Is there anything you’d like to say to artists trying to get a foothold in the business?
MF: Yes! Hang on to what’s trying to get out from inside you, don’t lose it to what’s trying to direct you from outside.
TH: That sounds like a lifelong process.
MF: Indeed. I expected struggle and difficulties; they just came in different forms than I’d ever imagined. And I still don’t know what’s going to happen next. How life is going to turn out.
So I would add: embrace the ups and downs of what’s liable to be a long journey.
TH: What’s been happening in your career since we met up at WillyCon in March, 2000?
MF: That December I started getting gobs and gobs of work again. I got calls to do concept art for computer game companies. Some clients wanted me to do the concept art for the whole look of the game, which they’d then turn over to their in-house artists to base the games on. I got calls from product designers, for example doing coffee mugs for a major coffee company; calls from Target; drawing products for catalogues, for example upscale picture frames; and I designed sculptural fantasy beer bottles for a major national beer company. So I got really busy with a lot of projects, some were creatively satisfying and some paid the rent.
TH: Any idea why this sudden burst of business?
MF: Part of it was, I think, because the economy was collapsing. Everyone was downsizing, so they had fewer in-house people to do these projects. Also, when the economy is sinking, people can’t afford junk like they can during a boom. When everyone’s got money, they buy—not necessarily the best products. So maybe in a downturn, the companies are going toward better art, product, and writing, so people will still buy it. For the rest of it: serendipity, I think.
TH: You’ve hinted that you’ve got something major up your sleeve. Can you tell us about it?
MF: Only hints. It’s a digital product that everyone will want and be able to afford. It’s not a game, but it is an entertainment product. Personally I can say that without a doubt, it’s the single most creative job I’ve been offered in decades as an illustrator. If everything goes right, it will be unveiled at WorldCon at San Jose in August.
TH: It’s not a game…?
MF: No, but it’s oriented toward fantasy-interested people.
TH: You know the fantasy that’s on everyone’s mind right now…
MF: This is original, it has nothing to do with that or any other work or franchise. It’s my own, original concept.
TH: I guess we’ll just have to wait, then. Thanks, Mark, for the interview!
* * * *
Terry Hickman, cleverly disguised as a middle-aged woman of Danish-American heritage, writes science fiction and occasionally haunts local indie-rock shows. Her aberrations extend to startling unsuspecting moshers in the front rows of Nine Inch Nails concerts with her presence. Other oddments: one husband, two cats.
Visit Mark Ferrari’s Web site.
WillyCon IV is at Wayne State College, April 2002. Guests of Honor will be James P. Hogan and Terese Nielsen.
The Dimension of Our Galaxy
Finding Earth from the center of the Milky Way, in a lifetime or less
By Brian Tung
2/11/02
“Therefore, all things considered, it will be better for me to believe that I am not insane, and go with this gentleman to collect my Prize. If I am wrong, I shall wake up in an institution. There I will apologize to the doctors, state that I recognize the nature of my delusion, and perhaps win my freedom.”
—Tom Carmody, in Robert Sheckley’s Dimension of Miracles
In Robert Sheckley’s Dimension of Miracles, Tom Carmody finds out that he is the winner of a galactic lottery, run by a civilization that until that moment was unknown to humans. He is transported to the center of the Milky Way to accept his “prize,” which turns out to be nothing so much as a talking Dear Abby device, whose advice is occasionally bizarre or useless (or both).