So, back to the Y Conference I had the chance to attend about a week and a half ago. If you’ve never had the chance to check out this West-Coast event, one thing to say for it is that it’s a really great size for 1) getting to know people and 2) getting to experience everything that goes on. They keep the size at a couple hundred, and everyone watches every speaker together in one big lecture room. (The conference took place this year on the University of San Diego campus.)

And another aspect of this bigger-isn’t-always-better mentality is that everyone participates in what’s called a “Thinkshop” on the second day of the conference. There are multiple sessions to choose from, and many imply a hands-on aspect that takes information into a DIY-atmosphere. There were Thinkshops about stamp design, collaborating with photographers and hand lettering.

About a week before I headed out to San Diego, I got an email telling me I still needed to register for one of these Thinkshops. There were five to choose from, and I narrowed it down to Stefan Bucher’s “The Beauty of Multiples,” because I was familiar with and admired his work (he’s designed one of our covers and illustrated a fun, interactive worksheet/feature for us about discovering what you love and how to steer your career that way).

Evidently, I didn’t read the description too closely, though. Because when I showed up, I discovered that I—with no drawing abilities beyond hearts and stars and swirly letters (I’m an editor, remember)—had selected the Thinkshop that required you not to draw just one item—but 100.
 
Now, last year, you may remember that HOW’s August 2005 issue was themed “All About Design & Illustration.” Danny Gregory penned a feature about drawing in a journal everyday to energize your creativity. And he cautioned to not edit your drawing—to just draw. That was impetus enough for editors Bryn and Megan: On papers, one would sketch an impressive picture of her Starbucks cup or draw what someone in the room was wearing. Soon, doodles would fill the page. I, however, didn’t bite.

So imagine me sitting in a room full of professional designers and being told, for the next two hours, to draw (what they, in the brochure, referred to as “zen drawing”). The thought crossed my mind to get up and leave. But then I wondered what I’d do instead, so I decided to give the old college try.

I considered the things I typically doodle in meetings (because we all do it): Usually it consists of outlining headlines with puffy clouds and jagged lines. The most exciting it becomes is adding in flowers and leaves and maybe a unicorn (seriously). (Evidently, my drawing never really progressed past 6th doodling.) So I decided to start there, drawing what Stefan described looked like “an herb garden.” (I thought that was very nice of him to say.) At my table, the guy next to me was drawing a panoply of intricate hearts (which made me think of a Valentine’s Day mailer by Marian Bantjes). Across the table, one girl was drawing a slew of eyes and another girl 100 faces. Other people in the class were drawing gerbils and cupcake homes for them; all kinds of airplanes or jet fighters; and another drew 100 things she missed about home. Suffice it to say my “herb garden” was quickly paling in comparison.

But then (because I couldn’t think of any more reiterations of leaves and flowers) I started to pay attention to my tablemates and the way they were working. I started to see how they weren’t merely drawing 100 things, but how they were using those 100 things to tell a single story—how they pulled them all together to form one narrative. For instance, I saw how the 100 hearts didn’t just stand alone, but how they fit together, one atop the other, in an intricate sort of dance. The 100 faces all melded together, as a collective sort of memory—a medley of moments in time. (Stefan’s posted images of everyone’s drawings on his blog.)



So, I started looking at my clusters of sprouts and fallen leaves and four-leaf clovers differently. I tried to figure out how to bring them all together and make them stand as one, not 100. I started weaving in huge, curly-cue ferns and flitting insects and oversized fronds that wrapped around the flora, and an idea that spoke to the wilderness and mystery that’s an essence of nature.



I still don’t consider myself prone to take up drawing as a regular hobby, but this experience gave me a new, realized perspective, and truly I think that’s what it’s all about. (These photos were taken by new conference pal Kirby Yau; you can see others from the Y Conference on his site).