This week I’ve been painting pretty dark, odd things, while also playing around with new ideas and techniques. And also some “back to basics” color charts. I feel like I am on the cusp of something, and when that happens it is somewhat frustrating – because what worked before isn’t working for me now – but also exciting, because it’s new territory, deeper work, a little (ok, a LOT) scary. I have to put aside my tendency to want to rush to the finish line and just enjoy the process. Not easy for a somewhat driven person like myself. But I will say that this week in the studio I have made a conscious effort to just let go and follow my heart and stop worrying about supplying the galleries and will this new work sell and is it even any good.
A post on Facebook by a sculptor friend of mine really hit home to me. In it he talked about a failed patina. But it was so much more than the patina didn't turn out as he had wished (and, not knowing much about patinas, I don't know if it is something you can remove and start over, or if the pieces are absolutely ruined.) But what hit me was his reference to the "rush" and "push" that happens at one time or another (and most likely several times) to artists who are actively selling their work through commissions and/or galleries. Creativity is not something you can turn on and off like a light switch. It is more than "thinking up" new ideas. It is a process in which stagnation is a death knoll; as artists we are constantly striving to do better, dig deeper and evolve our work.
And then there's the part about life...most of us don't have the luxury of not having to worry about money, or family issues, or our own physical or mental issues, or all the things happening in the world. Our lives, and the art we make, cannot be separated - nor should it. Art, in its myriad forms, is an expression of who we are, and that expression, if it is to be honest and true, must include all aspects of our selves. The good, the bad, and the ugly. That pure, complete expression leaves us vulnerable; it exposes our weaknesses, our flaws, our insecurities - all the parts we try to mask in polite society. But it is exactly that part - even more so than the parts we show, the parts we are comfortable with, the parts that we deem "acceptable" - that part, which some call the shadow self, needs to have a seat at the table and a voice in the choir.
But when we are pushing and rushing, trying to make something happen, trying to meet a goal, trying to be "done" with a piece so we can move on to the next, the work suffers. It becomes contrived and superficial, and it lacks the spark, the gut punch, the raw emotion that makes a piece exceptional. Sometimes we have to know when to set something aside and work on it later.
In a recent social media post, I showed a picture taken of my studio, and I had a dozen or more paintings hanging on the walls in what I phrased "various stages of doneness." This is how I tend to work: I start a lot of paintings and get them to a point where I am stuck. I don't know what to do next - which is an uncomfortable and soul sucking place to be. It is where all my demons - my shadow selves - conspire to convince me that I don't know WTF I am doing, that I should hang it up, that I should, as my sculptor friend (remember him? That's what started this post...) said, " Having one of those days where I want to throw my entire body of work in the nearest lake, then drive up to the top of Tava, lay down in the snow until I feel warm and sleepy..."
The one saving grace is the little voice that tells me, "just start another. And another. And another. At some point something will click, and you will know what to do with all the others." It's part of my process, the part I hate, because it is uncomfortable and triggers every insecurity I have about myself as an artist. But it is the only way through. Because instead of relying on what worked before, I have to experiment and try something new. That's what keeps the work fresh and edgy, and keeps me excited and motivated. And when this happens I am on top of the world in my studio.
Without the darkness, there is no light.
