To draw you must close your eyes and sing. — Pablo Picasso
Closing Eyes, Opening Intuition
Picasso’s injunction suggests that seeing is not the only path to vision. By “closing your eyes,” you suspend the compulsion to copy appearances; by “singing,” you let rhythm, breath, and inner cadence shape the line. In this shift from observation to sensation, drawing becomes less about reproducing objects and more about translating felt experience. Consequently, craft is guided by intuition—what the hand knows before the mind over-edits—so the page records a movement of attention rather than a mere likeness.
Lineages of Intuitive Making
This intuition-first stance echoes modernist experiments. Kandinsky’s Concerning the Spiritual in Art (1911) proposed music as a model for painting’s inner necessity, while Paul Klee’s Pedagogical Sketchbook (1925) urged us to “take a line for a walk.” Surrealists like André Masson pursued automatic drawing under André Breton’s 1924 manifesto, trusting the unconscious to lead. Even the phrase “I do not seek, I find,” often attributed to Picasso, aligns with this ethos: the artwork emerges by following a current, not by forcing a plan.
Hearing the Line: Rhythm and Synesthesia
Moving from history to sensation, “singing” implies that line quality has tempo, timbre, and phrasing. Artists have long described cross-modal sparks—Kandinsky reportedly linked colors with sounds—while Oliver Sacks’s Musicophilia (2007) documents how auditory stimuli can reshape imagery and gesture. When the hand “keeps time,” strokes become legato or staccato, thickening like crescendos or fading like diminuendos. Thus, a drawing can read like a melody: it gathers motifs, pauses for breath, and resolves tensions across the page.
Neuroscience of Unfettered Creation
Moreover, contemporary research helps explain why closing the eyes and “singing” the line invites fresh invention. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s Flow (1990) describes the absorbed state where self-critique quiets and action feels effortless. fMRI studies of jazz improvisers show decreased activity in self-monitoring regions during spontaneous creation (Limb and Braun, PLoS One, 2008). Likewise, the default mode network—linked to associative wandering—supports novel connections (Raichle et al., PNAS, 2001). Reducing visual load can free these systems to recombine forms without the drag of perfectionism.
Practices That Make the Metaphor Concrete
In practice, artists can literalize the metaphor. Blind contour drawing, popularized by Kimon Nicolaïdes in The Natural Way to Draw (1941), keeps eyes on the subject while the hand traces without looking—training trust in tactile and kinesthetic cues. Betty Edwards, in Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain (1979), uses similar exercises to bypass symbolic shortcuts. Add a vocal element: hum a steady meter while making a single unbroken line, then vary tempo to feel how rhythm alters shape. Gesture studies, 30–60 seconds long, further cultivate this embodied tempo.
Risk, Error, and Creative Honesty
Consequently, embracing risk becomes essential. A sung line may wobble, smear, or collide—but such “errors” reveal life in the mark. John Cage’s Silence (1961) argued for chance as a collaborator rather than a flaw, a stance that reframes accident as information. Picasso’s oft-quoted claim that “every act of creation is first an act of destruction” reminds us that shedding control clears space for discovery. When correction yields to curiosity, the drawing records a candid negotiation with uncertainty.
Returning to Seeing With New Eyes
Finally, closing the eyes is not an end but a reset. After following the inner song, reopening them often reveals overlooked rhythms in the world itself. Merleau-Ponty’s Eye and Mind (1961) suggests that the painter “lends his body to the world,” implying that perception is reciprocal: the world shapes the hand as the hand shapes the world. In that spirit, Picasso’s remark about spending a lifetime to paint like a child points to renewed seeing—where simplicity, surprise, and sincerity guide the line home.