Since 2022, I’ve been exploring the world of digital drawing with an iPencil on my iPad, creating over 100 illustrations along the way. While I've touched on this in previous posts, I still find myself grappling with how my digital approach influences my artistic process.
Using the Procreate application has been a transformative experience for me, allowing me to create art anywhere without the constraints of a traditional studio or the need for extensive supplies. My iPencil can effortlessly mimic any art medium I desire, and the ability to zoom in on my work enhances my mark-making precision. Plus, the option to adjust my canvas mid-drawing—without the fear of erasing or damaging my artwork—is a remarkable advantage.
This leads me to a thought-provoking question: does working digitally diminish the authenticity of my art due to these conveniences? When you hold a high-quality printed reproduction in your hands, does it feel less genuine than an original drawing, even though both are crafted through similar processes?
Recently, I considered applying to a group art show at a local gallery, but I encountered a surprising stipulation in their guidelines: no digital art would be accepted. This requirement made me pause, as I had initially intended to create a piece in that format. It reignited my internal debate about the validity of digital creation in the art world. I reached out to the gallery for clarification regarding the no-digital-art rule, and they provided legitimate reasons for their stance. Apparently, there had been an instance of plagiarism in a previous show, which prompted the decision. However, this left me pondering whether banning digital art is truly the most effective solution to prevent such issues. Perhaps requiring artists to prove the authenticity of their work could serve as a better safeguard. Yet, given the nature of a group show with numerous submissions, implementing such a requirement might be equally challenging. It’s a complex dilemma that raises questions about how we define and protect artistic integrity in an evolving landscape.
I've recently reconnected with an old friend—my drawing professor from my time as an art student at NKU between 1996 and 2000. I've been visiting him at his home studio, where we engage in lively discussions about art and explore various artworks together. During these visits, I often bring some of my pieces for him to review, most of which are digital. Kevin is now retired, but he approaches my artwork with the same thoughtful scrutiny he applied during my critiques in class. As he picks up a print, he delicately caresses the texture of the paper with his fingers, taking the time to study the elements of the drawing. It’s as if a portal opens in his mind, and the words flow effortlessly from him, reminiscent of someone translating an ancient manuscript. He dives deeply into his own interpretation of the messages within my art, while I sit silently, allowing him to see and feel what resonates with him about the imagery. When I listen to him discuss my art and catch him uncovering elements I never even realized were present, it fills me with a sense of astonishment. It feels as though he is a seer, unveiling some unknown secret message that I had hidden deep within the well of my psyche.
One of the aspects I miss most about art school is the depth of critiques like these. Nowadays, I often lack that connection with viewers of my art. While I receive plenty of admiration when I’m vending or sharing online, very few people share their thoughts on the symbolism or meaning behind my work. Earlier this year, I began adding brief descriptions of the meanings behind my imagery, either pasting them on the back of the artwork or sharing them in online posts. I did this because I believed if it had a description it would encourage sales. However, I genuinely prefer allowing viewers to form their own interpretations. I find it even more rewarding when they engage with me to discuss their perspectives and hear my interpretation as well.
Beyond the intensity of our discussions about the symbolism in my creations, Kevin and I have extensively explored my struggle with the authenticity of digital art. When I initially reached out to him, it was not only because he had a significant impact on me as my teacher but also because I was returning to printmaking, specifically copper plate etching, and sought his guidance. He has been able to evaluate both my printmaking endeavors and my digitally rendered art. He told me that my digital prints possess a far superior tonal range and aesthetic. — “Your disposition is for mark making and detail.” — “Your profoundly careful shape-making is quite beautiful.”
The following is Kevin explaining why I should embrace creating digitally:
— “We’ve touched on some internal artistic artisan issues for you, which are complicated.”
— “You’re in a different situation, and struggling with printmaking doesn’t mean you are not a great artist per se.”
— “The only thing you should concern yourself with is the aesthetic and content that you are striving for.”
— “Michelangelo would have used a computer today and a CNC router to carve his tall standing figure of marble, David.”
— “Copies of great sculptural art are currently being carved using that technology as a backup and for the ability to sell the same piece multiple times.”
— “Rodin’s The Thinker exists in at least eight places that I know of. The original was two or three feet tall on top of the Gates of Hell. His assistant enlarged the sculpture and cast it multiple times to make money.”
— “Fear not your excellence in any tool or media.”
— “If a great printer is printing your great images it doesn’t matter how you drew them, how you made them or how you would share them or use them now.”
—“ Your excellence and your achievement is all that matters.”
—“Fear not that you like it.”
— “Fear not that you make great work with the expressive tool you have and under the restraints of time and financial space and the experience you have.”
—“You are making beautiful-relevant personal and significant artwork.”
—“Fear not- In school you had a lot of critics and walls put up before you, but you survived and are doing more with your art than any of those critics ever did.”
—“ Fear not Robyn because you are a fucking female warrior.”
This was just a small tidbit of all that was discussed and reasoned with me, but it was incredibly worthwhile and helpful. I will officially embrace creating digitally because Kevin is absolutely right. The rendering, regardless of how it is transferred, is still a form of art-making. An image that exists, even through a computer, is still a permanent archival image. I will also continue to explore printmaking, painting, and drawing alongside my digital work, but I will no longer feel ashamed to create and enjoy using my digital tools.
I want to clarify that what I’m discussing has nothing to do with AI influence in art when I refer to digital creation. AI is a completely different entity, where someone provides instructions to the AI on what to create. A good comparison would be like telling a chef in a restaurant what you want them to cook for you or instructing a carpenter on what you want them to build.
When I pick up my iPencil to draw, I approach it in the same way I would with an HB pencil on a pad of paper. I am not typing in a command or code to create my art; it is all hand-drawn.
2025 is right around the corner and this will be my last blog post of 2024. I’ll continue to make at least one post a month next year and maybe even share art making experiences through YouTube in the blog.
Let’s hope the world doesn’t get too crazy with the foreboding changes ahead.
For now I leave you with love and light AND Kevin if you are reading this— I am forever grateful for your insight, guidance and friendship.