Last week I stood in front of a group of artists and said, “I am a mark on a page.” A dark mark. Charcoal, probably. Vertical. I leaned a little left, then swayed right, describing the changes as though someone were drawing me.
Then I asked a student to join me. She was a thinner mark, a colored-pencil line. We were similar in height, both upright. Now there was something else to look at, and something to compare. Beside her, my charcoal mark looked heavier. Her line looked finer and more colorful. Our similarities made our differences easier to see, and the contrast gave the space between us a quiet charge.
We looked at each other from a distance, then moved closer. And closer. I fidgeted, and people laughed nervously. The compression of the space between us changed the relationship significantly. What had felt open began to feel intimate, even slightly uncomfortable. We turned our attention toward each other and away again. With each change, the relationship became different.
Using people as marks makes these relationships easy to feel. A shift in distance becomes a shift in intensity. It can create curiosity, hesitation, attraction, unease, or relief.
How much space? Place two marks far apart and your eye has a distance to travel. The separation can feel calm, spacious, or lonely. Bring them close and the narrow strip of paper between them can feel more intense. You can follow its width, where it narrows, and where it opens. That small gap may begin to feel tense, expectant, or full of possibility.
Both marks give that strip its shape. A slight bend in one changes the space along the other, as though the marks were responding to each other.
Their proximity also changes the rest of the page. Two marks close together can become a single group, leaving a broad area of white beside them. That surrounding space might feel peaceful, empty, or abandoned. There is the space within the pair, and the space around it.
Which way?
Keep one mark upright and tilt the other toward it. Their directions converge. There is a place where they would meet if they continued. The implied meeting can make the marks seem drawn toward one another, even though neither one moves.
Let the tilted mark meet the edge of the paper. The rectangle becomes an active part of the composition, holding the marks and the spaces between them. Where the edge cuts off the diagonal, the boundary is activated. We’re reminded this is all contained within a flat rectangle. There is tension between the two marks, and between the marks and their container.
This can suggest movement without giving the mark a destination or a desire. We may sense pressure, resistance, or anticipation, but the image does not tell us exactly what to feel.
What kind of mark?
A dense charcoal stroke beside a soft smudge makes the difference in their edges especially visible. One ends abruptly. The other disperses into the paper. The hard edge can feel decisive or severe, while the smudge may seem vulnerable, atmospheric, or uncertain.
A fine line beside a broad patch of broken texture offers another comparison. The line concentrates its darkness into a narrow path. The patch spreads its darkness across a larger area, with white showing through. One may feel controlled and deliberate; the other may seem to crackle like static.
Each change feels different. Size is one part of that. So are density, texture, value, color, edge, and placement. These qualities can make a mark seem quiet or loud, fragile or forceful, stable or unsettled.
A small, dense black mark can carry more visual weight than a much larger pale one. Placed near an edge, it can pull the whole arrangement toward that side.
What surrounds it?
Curve a line around a small black mark and an inside appears. The white within the curve becomes distinguishable from the white outside it, even though it is all the same paper.
The surrounding line has changed where the black mark belongs. It may now feel protected, enclosed, isolated, or watched. The same mark can seem vulnerable in one setting and powerful in another.
Move the mark just outside the curve and the enclosure becomes empty. Our attention shifts to the narrow gap between the mark and the boundary. The closeness still connects them, while the line separates them. We might sense exclusion, an approach, or a recent departure.
Move the mark farther away and the relationship stretches across the page. The eye travels between the two shapes, crossing a broad expanse of white. The black mark is smaller here, too. Both its scale and its distance from the curve can contribute to a feeling of isolation. Even this far apart, each changes how we see the other.
This is what interests me about composition: a mark has its own qualities, and it also takes on a role among everything around it. A line can frame, interrupt, contain, divide, or direct attention. A dark shape can become an accent, a center, or a counterweight depending on what surrounds it. It can feel like a presence, a disturbance, a pause, or a point of focus.
That gives us more ways to work. If a mark feels too heavy, we can change the space beside it. If it disappears, we can change what surrounds it. We can alter what a mark does without touching the mark itself. We can make it feel more isolated, more connected, more threatening, or more at ease simply by changing its relationships.
We often feel these relationships before we can explain them. Art works with the ways we already see: comparing, grouping, noticing differences, following a direction. An arrangement of marks can hold our attention, hurry us across a page, or make a small gap feel full of tension. It can create intimacy without contact, conflict without action, or loneliness without emptiness.
As artists, we can become more attentive to these responses and make choices that give others something to see and feel. Try making two marks, then repeat them with a different distance between them. Notice what happens to each mark, to the space around them, and to your own attention. Does the arrangement feel calm, crowded, expectant, or uneasy? How much can you change by moving one thing?
Ruthie V. Co-Founder, Creative Director Seattle Artist League
CONGRATULATIONS! You’re only one more day away from the end of this possibly impossible 30 day challenge! Our 2nd-to-last-prompt is from the League’s own Lyall Wallerstedt: Day 29: Movie/TV Scene TRANSCRIPTION. Draw a scene from a favorite movie or TV show. Post it To be eligible for prizes (yes prizes!) at the end of the …
If you’ve taken a class with us recently, you’ve probably exchanged emails with Connie Pierson, a 7-year League member, and our magical admin helper. Known affectionately as the “Brushstroke Queen”, we’re thrilled to display some of Pierson’s still lifes and interiors. “Internal Dialogue” is a selection of artworks that were mostly made during the pandemic, …
Richard Diebenkorn Diebenkorn was an American painter. His early work is associated with abstract expressionism and the Bay Area Figurative Movement of the 1950s and 1960s. His later work were instrumental to his achievement of worldwide acclaim. Wikipedia Born: April 22, 1922, Portland, OR Died: March 30, 1993, Berkeley, CA Artwork: Cityscape I, Ocean Park #54, …
Do you send out a handmade holiday card this year? It’s a lot for an artist to keep up with, hand making each gift and greeting. Printmakers seem well suited for this time of year. Painters, not so much. Sending an original work of art to everyone on my list seems impossible, but an inability …
The Space Between Us – Part 1
Last week I stood in front of a group of artists and said, “I am a mark on a page.” A dark mark. Charcoal, probably. Vertical. I leaned a little left, then swayed right, describing the changes as though someone were drawing me.
Then I asked a student to join me. She was a thinner mark, a colored-pencil line. We were similar in height, both upright. Now there was something else to look at, and something to compare.
Beside her, my charcoal mark looked heavier. Her line looked finer and more colorful. Our similarities made our differences easier to see, and the contrast gave the space between us a quiet charge.
Using people as marks makes these relationships easy to feel. A shift in distance becomes a shift in intensity. It can create curiosity, hesitation, attraction, unease, or relief.
How much space?
Place two marks far apart and your eye has a distance to travel. The separation can feel calm, spacious, or lonely. Bring them close and the narrow strip of paper between them can feel more intense. You can follow its width, where it narrows, and where it opens. That small gap may begin to feel tense, expectant, or full of possibility.
Both marks give that strip its shape. A slight bend in one changes the space along the other, as though the marks were responding to each other.
Their proximity also changes the rest of the page. Two marks close together can become a single group, leaving a broad area of white beside them. That surrounding space might feel peaceful, empty, or abandoned. There is the space within the pair, and the space around it.
Which way?
Keep one mark upright and tilt the other toward it. Their directions converge. There is a place where they would meet if they continued. The implied meeting can make the marks seem drawn toward one another, even though neither one moves.
Let the tilted mark meet the edge of the paper. The rectangle becomes an active part of the composition, holding the marks and the spaces between them. Where the edge cuts off the diagonal, the boundary is activated. We’re reminded this is all contained within a flat rectangle. There is tension between the two marks, and between the marks and their container.
This can suggest movement without giving the mark a destination or a desire. We may sense pressure, resistance, or anticipation, but the image does not tell us exactly what to feel.
What kind of mark?
A dense charcoal stroke beside a soft smudge makes the difference in their edges especially visible. One ends abruptly. The other disperses into the paper. The hard edge can feel decisive or severe, while the smudge may seem vulnerable, atmospheric, or uncertain.
A fine line beside a broad patch of broken texture offers another comparison. The line concentrates its darkness into a narrow path. The patch spreads its darkness across a larger area, with white showing through. One may feel controlled and deliberate; the other may seem to crackle like static.
Each change feels different. Size is one part of that. So are density, texture, value, color, edge, and placement. These qualities can make a mark seem quiet or loud, fragile or forceful, stable or unsettled.
A small, dense black mark can carry more visual weight than a much larger pale one. Placed near an edge, it can pull the whole arrangement toward that side.
What surrounds it?
Curve a line around a small black mark and an inside appears. The white within the curve becomes distinguishable from the white outside it, even though it is all the same paper.
The surrounding line has changed where the black mark belongs. It may now feel protected, enclosed, isolated, or watched. The same mark can seem vulnerable in one setting and powerful in another.
Move the mark just outside the curve and the enclosure becomes empty. Our attention shifts to the narrow gap between the mark and the boundary. The closeness still connects them, while the line separates them. We might sense exclusion, an approach, or a recent departure.
Move the mark farther away and the relationship stretches across the page. The eye travels between the two shapes, crossing a broad expanse of white. The black mark is smaller here, too. Both its scale and its distance from the curve can contribute to a feeling of isolation. Even this far apart, each changes how we see the other.
This is what interests me about composition: a mark has its own qualities, and it also takes on a role among everything around it. A line can frame, interrupt, contain, divide, or direct attention. A dark shape can become an accent, a center, or a counterweight depending on what surrounds it. It can feel like a presence, a disturbance, a pause, or a point of focus.
That gives us more ways to work. If a mark feels too heavy, we can change the space beside it. If it disappears, we can change what surrounds it. We can alter what a mark does without touching the mark itself. We can make it feel more isolated, more connected, more threatening, or more at ease simply by changing its relationships.
We often feel these relationships before we can explain them. Art works with the ways we already see: comparing, grouping, noticing differences, following a direction. An arrangement of marks can hold our attention, hurry us across a page, or make a small gap feel full of tension. It can create intimacy without contact, conflict without action, or loneliness without emptiness.
As artists, we can become more attentive to these responses and make choices that give others something to see and feel. Try making two marks, then repeat them with a different distance between them. Notice what happens to each mark, to the space around them, and to your own attention. Does the arrangement feel calm, crowded, expectant, or uneasy? How much can you change by moving one thing?
Ruthie V.
Co-Founder, Creative Director
Seattle Artist League
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