June has been a fine month, yet pitted with uncertainties. The longed for distractions of summer - blue skies, the sun's warmth - have been interspersed with days of wind and rain. So it is when exhibiting, yet the long deferred opportunity to view the work away from the studio, at a distance both physical and psychological, has proved deeply rewarding. The overwhelming sense is of being able to move on, wiser, to a new series of works. What is equally instructive (yet it feels like it enters a different chamber of the brain) is the accumulation of responses from visitors to the exhibition. Happily feedback has been positive, and yet the discovery of which works elicit the most praise should sit alongside the disconnects and indifference, labelled 'drink in moderation'. To what extent an artist could (or should) modify their practice in light of such feedback will form the basis of a further post; for now I will simply acknowledge an artist who does not seek to exhibit their work is like a sapling behind the potting shed: sheltered from favourable and unfavourable elements it will never gain the strength to become a tree. For an artist growing strength from within is vital, and it is generally accepted that drawing, more than any other competency forming a visual artist's practice, underpins successful work. No doubt exceptions can be cited, yet I believe this is as true with much of the best contemporary art as it is with that say of Auerbach, Degas, Leonardo, or - reaching even further back - the charcoal scratchings at Altamira.
With these thoughts in mind I recently encountered a stunning breadth and depth of drawing practice at the British Museum's Italian Renaissance Drawing exhibition. It is worth reflecting that the majority of these drawings were created as private objects. Some were produced as purely functional studio items, for instance to establish a composition or to understand a detail; others served as personal records, pure accretions of veracity. And although these drawings were destined to remain invisible for centuries, the many years of apprenticeship and hard work needed to reach such a high level of accomplishment ensure they emerge here as a major testament. For here is ample evidence, should anyone need it, that inherent talent is not by itself enough to produce masterpieces, even if you are a Mantegna or Michelangelo. It is now recognised that hard work - and that means being prepared to work much, much harder than the majority of people are willing to do - is the major factor between competence and excellence. If you really want to excel at something then the investment required has been found to be around 10,000 hours, normally achieved steadily over a ten year period. The background to this assertion it is covered at length in chapter 2 of Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, however I wonder if the researcher Gladwell cites (the neurologist Daniel Livitin) came across the following from Cicero some 2,000 years earlier:

"Assiduus usus uni rei deditus et ingenium et artem saepe vincit."
"Constant practice devoted to one subject often outdoes both intelligence and skill."

I will push on from the heart with the ancient Roman's words in mind.