100 Day Project - Day Fifteen

Day Fifteen: And the restored version incorporates and integrates the art, philosophy or psychology and so is a different whole to the one that was before… a new gestalt. Obvious perhaps but, to me, it remains profound nonetheless.

Surrender to the mess

All those clean, fresh starts had made me forget what it was like, until now, to be messy and honest and out of control. To be real.

Sarah Dessen

Right, so here we are... after two painting sessions and two layers, these are the hot messes that I've created. Layer one, designed to just break-in the white canvas, created with a mixture of dribble and smoosh techniques (technical terms those!) using only warm colours. Layer two - an exercise where we were encouraged to play with our tools, familiarise ourselves with the way the paint moves and make as many and as varied a collection of marks as we could, scrubbing, twirling, dabbing, dragging, stamping, etching... keeping the flow moving, not stepping back to worry about what it looked like overall, not over-thinking, remaining unattached to the outcome and immersed in the process.... Many of these requests harder for me to do than one might expect. The need to "fix" after I stepped back by just whiting it all out with gesso and starting again was the hardest to resist but, in the morning, when I looked at them again, I was so glad that I hadn't. I'm just going to trust it, surrender to the mess and see how it evolves.

I added layer two to my canvases after a particularly horrible day and one of the most dehumanising visa application experiences ever (and believe me, I've had some - I could write an entire book of ways that these places manage to turn it into a torturous art form). I was feeling frustrated, tightly wound and tearful. I thought that I'd probably wait until the next day to catch up on my lesson but when I got in, I changed into comfies, made a cup of tea, grabbed a handful of nuts, turned on some music and gave it a whirl. I can honestly say I've never enjoyed painting more and liked the results less.

There are small bits of each canvas that I love though. Bits that would not have happened if I hadn't given over to the process. Things I would not have discovered about how I love to move paint around with my fingers and about how I like working with those funny little foam brushes and how it gets easier to do when you play the right music and stick with it through the resistant parts. I still look forward to the point when we're encouraged to blend and harmonise composition a bit more and add more light and dark contrast... I'm very pleased there are about 16 layers still to come and most of this will probably be covered up but oh, what a release it provided and how much better I felt afterwards. All that anxiety and anger was just gone: sublimated into painting joy.

I think there's a profound lesson in here somewhere, and it's about more than just painting.

Unrolling rainbows

Last year, as a Birthday gift to myself, and inspired by this beautiful book, I signed up for a painting class.

I've always wanted to draw and paint. Or at least, for as long as I can remember. Art was not my recognised "thing" growing up though and when I was in my early thirties, I took myself off to my first art class since primary school.  I was following a quiet but insistent voice that had become harder and harder to ignore. I loved attending at first, being exposed to the creativity of others and having space to dabble in my own drawings and paintings, although my lack of skill felt frustrating and limiting. To be expected, I told myself. I'd never had any training. It would come. My art teacher - a lovely, professional fine-artist - worked hard to encourage me and provide me with technique. I practiced. My skills grew but not in line with my hopes (and expectations). I really struggled to turn out realistic and recognisable shape and form, to master shadowing and perspective... I never really did. I still haven't.

It became a sometimes painful undertaking. What started as a joyful exploration turned into an energy-draining exercise. I accepted that my creativity's not likely to be expressed in a beautifully executed charcoal/pencil drawing or a superbly controlled watercolour, how ever much I might admire these. I was disappointed with myself. I accepted that I'd perhaps not master the proper proportions of the human form within this lifetime. Stick people still challenge me. We worked on small canvases with limited palettes because materials were expensive and I was not brave or bold enough to venture beyond this format. 12"x18" is still the largest I've ever tackled. I made the mistake of sharing my fledgling attempts with someone whose opinion I valued (not sure why with hindsight) and he was even more critical of them than I. I became disheartened. The harder I tried, the less satisfying it felt and the more tightly wound and less associated with joy the whole process became for me. I stopped looking forward as much to going to class. When I changed countries, I was sorry to leave it behind but I haven't attended one since. Eventually, I stopped painting altogether, even in private. I wanted to master the rules before I felt I could legitimately break them. After all, Picasso and Kandinsky painted the most exquisitely realistic portraits and landscapes before adopting their distinctive break-out styles.

To put this in some realistic context too: I come from a family of wonderfully talented creative souls - many of whom do have artistic educations and amazing skills. That can be a pretty intimidating. Not that they've ever suggested my efforts are less worthy but I could see the difference. I compared myself and came up wanting. Rationally, I knew I would not catch up. Emotionally, that left me feeling inadequate.

But... the urge to paint remained. And I have changed. Am changing.

I don't have the time now or (more honestly) the inclination to practice drawing finely wrought and detailed botanical studies before I move onto expressionistic versions, like a Monet waterlily.... I might never create something that anyone else will even recognise as a specific flower species, however abstract. I can practice, I can improve. But it's not the thing for me. I'm just not that kind of artist. And... that's okay. More than okay.

Self-evident one might think but it took me a while to truly accept this.

It goes deeper than just being unable to catch up on a painting boat I missed in youth too. This is something I've only properly come to understand in the past few years and applies to my life in general, hence the changes I've made over the past year to my career path. Pursuing one's inclinations, being true to type* sometimes at least, is a good thing. In painting specifically, this reveals itself if I do manage to ignore the loud and critical voices in my head in favour of the quieter deeper whispers, which does happen occasionally. I'm actually much happier (and always have been, I now recognise!) when I just smoosh paint around and don't worry about what it's going to be at the end, how polished the technique is, or who will approve of it. Contrary to my early thoughts on the subject, liking my own creations and enjoying the creative process is not so much about being able to convert what I imagine in advance or what I observe in the real world into something detailed or recognisable on paper or canvas. It's about expressing mood. And playing with colour. And revelling in abstraction and symbolism. I felt this instinctively all those years ago but rationalised it (my habitual mode) as lack of talent or, perhaps worse, to excuse my lack of effort and commitment to practice. I don't mean to suggest that I'm now a Picasso or a Kandinsky in the making but if I pick my medium appropriately, I'm more likely to approach the range they had... and that pleases me. Photography allows me to capture the representative images that I cannot draw or paint.  And even then, I naturally tend towards the evocative rather than the journalistic... I understand better why this is now.

I still wish I could draw and paint well (i.e. realistically) and there's always likely to be something of a tension because I'd like to be accomplished in this way. I acknowledge now though that's mostly because there's satisfaction (and ego and pride) for me in learning to do things "well" and being able to demonstrate that. In this case though it's both counter-intuitive and counter-productive. I'm still working through this but I'm learning to listen in to the quieter voice, to trust it more. And I'm consciously looking for ways to create space for it to breathe and grow. So, to my choice of painting class... (I know, long way 'round to it or what?!)

I've been hankering after this class (or one like it) for ages and believe that the approach we'll be exploring, as demonstrated by our lovely guide, Flora Bowley, will encourage and enable my intuitive-colour-smooshing-happy-to-see-what-emerges artist to fully embrace and enjoy the process. We'll be working on huge (by my standards) canvases and using lots of colourful acrylics, which I'm told are very forgiving of a lack of practiced technique. Flora encourages her students not to entertain the notion of "mistakes" and to start, not with the end in mind, but to set aside expectation and to work with what emerges.... I think this will be freeing in all sorts of ways for me. I'm hoping that it will enable me to release a lot of the this residual painting-is-for-real-artists-and-I'm-not-one baggage and to escape into that colourful, creative flow I love, more often... not to mention, providing an antidote to the stresses of everyday work and the relentless grey of winter. I'm a bit nervous and I know I'll be challenged by it - the habits of a lifetime are hard to unlearn and the inner critic hard to silence - but mostly, I'm very excited.

We started today, with some thoughtful intention setting. Tomorrow we put paint on canvas. Yesterday, as I was getting the materials and space ready, I ended up testing some colours on my dropcloth. I also painted my toenails in honour of the occasion and, because I couldn't choose between turquoise and purple, I used both. After all, what does it matter? There are no mistakes and it's what felt right at the time. They make me happy. As does the rainbow underfoot....

I am ready.

*It's interesting (well to me it is - I'm fascinated by what makes people, including me, tick) because some of the pieces of this puzzle really fell into place for me when I undertook my MBTI practitioner training a few years ago. I'm what's identified as an -N-P type. I'd known that for many years before (I was "typed" on two previous occasions by employers) but the implications of it were not fully clear to me until I studied the tool and dynamics of preference in more depth. My academic and corporate experiences have provided me with useful skills (even habits) for working well (if not always satisfyingly) in a predominantly -S-J business environment but, when it comes to art... it really doesn't work for me. I don't enjoy it and I don't experience much benefit from it. As described above, it disengages and paralyses me instead.

The way I perceive, process and communicate information and operate most effectively is when I'm called upon for (w)holistic insight and behaviours unconstrained by too much convention and control. 

As an N, I'm stifled by lots of detail - more at home in the realms of abstraction, the conceptual, and big-picture connections. I'm the person in a group who may not recall facts and figures or concrete details but will distill patterns and trends, capture the gist, or synthesise meaning. This can infuriate my (unaware) S counterparts because it might seem like I'm forgetful, or just can't be bothered to take notice and remember. But it's not that at all. I am observant. I use my senses just as keenly. How I typically experience, apply, recall and share that input differs from the way someone with an S-preference typically does. And it has its uses. I'm not the person you want as a witness to a crime though - big, dark, with four wheels is probably as much as I'll have noticed about the getaway vehicle...

Thanks to my P preferences, I'm also quite comfortable in a nebulous, option-laden and emergent situation. I enjoy seeing how things unfold, going with the flow, rather than following an organised plan to a predetermined outcome. Not a preference I can afford to bring to complex project management situations (and I thank my -S-J learning in these situations) but that I like to follow when I learn or travel for pleasure, for example. And, if not something to be explored and given free rein in art, then where? This time, I believe I'm exploring an -N-P-friendly creative process. It'll be interesting to see what happens.

Once upon a sunny Sunday...

Woke to freezing temperatures and forecasts of snow but brief glimpses of wintery sunshine...

Three ingredients for happy weekend working: laptop, toasted hot cross buns and tea.

Followed by papering up my office wall in readiness for paint splatter!

Gathering colours and palettes...

By my standards, huuuuuuge canvases - at first really daunting but the more I live with them, the more excited I am by the freedom they represent... 

And yes, I was still in my pjs when I took this but it was early, before I'd braved the outside world. No sign of the snow yet but it feels and smells like it's on its way! It'll still be warm and bright inside though... painting in sunshine colours is my plan.

Will let you know how it goes...

Environmentally friendly graffiti?

Yes!


A creative and slightly subversive (in the best way) guy known as Moose extrapolated the idea of writing "Wash Me" or drawing a smiley face in the dust on a car and started a new urban guerilla art movement, known as 'clean tagging' or 'grime writing'...




The idea is that the dirt and soot on city surfaces - buildings, tunnel walls, pavements, bus shelters, for example - are cleaned away to create a work of art... that lasts only until the grime re-accumulates. Very cool.  

I came across this via the wonderfully talented Sakura Snow who recently posted some amazing pictures of Amsterdam graffiti, here and here. 

I do understand the impulse to graffiti although I understand too that it's not always appropriate or appreciated. I still love how clever and skillful (and often beautiful) some of it is. But I love this idea of cleaning to make a mark, instead of painting or drawing on surfaces, even more.  I also love that it's ephemeral in the way that drawing on a sidewalk with chalk is. Very cool.

And if we have the impulse to graffiti but aren't brave enough to tackle public surfaces, we can always stick to drawing in the dust on the car...

Oh, looks like Vermeer did it too. Very cool.

Explore here and here if you'd like to see more.

Things are not always what they seem and sometimes that's wonderful

I love this...

{Click to Enlarge}

Seemingly unrelated pieces of creativity, which apparently become a third work of art when night falls...

Very, very cool!

There seems to be some debate about whether the pictures are real or have been photoshopped but I don't really care...  It's a lovely, creative idea either way.

[Seeder - uncredited images found here via here]

Giving my heart a little of what it needs

The blogosphere is a strange old place and to this, like to many things, I am a relative newcomer. And I'm not even talking about being a blogger myself - I just mean as a blog reader. It's been not much more than a year or so since I first strayed into the magical world that is creative blogging.

I've always spent a fair bit on creative books. Even when I could barely afford them, I'd happily eat beans on toast for a month to do so. My husband never really understood this but I'm inspired (and always have been) by the words and images of other creative people and I take courage from observing others in their creative endeavours, as well as enjoying the results and success of those endeavours.

I clearly remember the moment I first made the connection from the printed word to the blogged word.... I bought a copy of The Creative License by Danny Gregory and after I'd read it from cover to cover, I typed a web address offered at the back of the book into my web browser and went to his blog, Everday Matters. And so it began.

It was a revelation. From there I followed links to other creative people on the web... And from those to others... My favourites list grew and grew! I lurked around (even when I didn't know that is what it's called) and I was thrilled by what I found. Creative individuals who shared their talents and their work, and the heartfelt ups and downs of their personal creative journeys, sincerely and generously. Who created online communities and offered one another encouragement and support. This is freedom of expression, well expressed, I thought. It was a revelation.

And then there was Etsy... Somewhere to buy the wonderful handmade arts and crafts that these people were making, affordably, and in support of each other. Again, I was hooked.

Somewhere along the winding routes I was taking in the blogosphere, I encountered these two women - Christine Mason Miller and Denise Lynette Andrade. I honestly don't remember if I found their Etsy shops or their blogs first. Or which one (as they are friends) led me to the other. But at first glance and first read, I was hooked. Hooked by their lovely words and images and hooked by the glimpses I was given into who they are.

I don't feel I know them, but I feel that - from what little I do know - I would like to know them. And I love their art - it is beautiful and heartfelt and it touches me.

So this month, a month when my heart is in need of a little extra looking after, is seeking reassurance, and ways to manifest what is important to it in my everyday, I have treated myself to something off my Etsy wishlist from each of them.

And now I see these items have been dispatched... And I feel just like a child on Christmas Eve... I can't wait to receive them. I am tingly with excitement and anticipation. And that's a little of what my heart needs too!

Affordable Art?

Every year the Royal Academy of Arts in London holds a summer exhibition, which is always a treat to attend!

So when I travelled down to London last weekend to spend some time with a friend, do a little shopping, and soak in some culture, we decided to go and check out this year's show...

The exhibition is described as "the largest open contemporary art exhibition in the world, drawing together a wide range of new work by both established and unknown living artists. Now in its 240th year, the exhibition includes around 1,200 works and the majority of works are for sale."

So many amazing works! And it's true that many of them are for sale. Although several are relatively inexpensive for original artworks, unfortunately all are well beyond the means of my pocket. But it is fun to imagine which one I would choose if that were an option. You can see some of the pieces here, here and here.

Academician, Tracey Emin, curated one of the galleries this year and, as one might expect from her, she selected several pieces that were designed to shock (the room came with an 18+ age rating). I liked several of the works in this room actually, although I can see why some would shock certain sensibilities. I found the video of a naked woman hula-hooping quite difficult to watch. Not because she was naked but because the hoop was made of barbed wire!

My feeling was that overall this was not as strong an exhibition as I've seen in previous years (or perhaps it just didn't appeal to me as much) but there were several wonderful pieces. It's virtually impossible to choose just a single favourite and many of those I liked are of such a scale that it'd require a whole new home, with much larger walls, if I were seriously considering bringing anything home.

But, if I was going to carry just one little work back with me, one I could actually see in my home space and enjoy living with, I think it would have been this one...

By The Moon
Matthew Ablitt, Etching

Love it!

Brief journeys - sea nymph in the city

I was working in Cardiff yesterday.

I travel there fairly regularly and I have yet to be in the city when it does not rain. Sometimes it's just lightly or sporadically but it's without fail. I love rain. Sometimes. It's just one of many weather moods and I like that. But seriously, what are the chances? Twenty-odd visits (at least) over the course of the last year... twenty rainy days. I have never seen it under a blue sky.

I had wondered if my colleagues might begin to dread my arrival, if only as a forecast of grey skies and showers. Maybe it's something about our chemistry? Cardiff + me = rain. And I said as much this time. I wanted to establish that it was not deliberate. One just can't control that kind of chemistry. I was hastily reassured that it rains a lot in Cardiff. Whether I am there or not.

Phew, that's a relief.

Now I look forward to seeing it on a sunny day. One day.

Something else I've noticed about Cardiff is that it's a city rich in architectural gems and it's a city full of art in public places. Unlike the apparently constant rain, this is something I love about it.

I'll take pictures for future posts of some of it's more unusual buildings but for today I just wanted to share with you this beautiful statue of a sea nymph that I pass on my way to the office. She always makes me smile. Even if it's raining.

Nereid
Nathan David, 1996

Brief journeys - Liverpool + Klimt = Golden

I had a time-off-in-lieu (TOIL) day from work on Friday last and, rather than potter around at home as I'm often inclined to do with these days, I took the opportunity to hop on a train and travel up to Liverpool. This is a city that I had not yet visited. Which is odd really, as it is less than 2 hours away and I have always wanted to go. Like several places of interest that are on my doorstep (or not very far from it), Liverpool has been one of those places I have just not made the effort to visit before.

So I made the effort. And it wasn't an effort at all really. I just arranged to meet a friend; booked a couple of train and exhibition tickets; packed some snacks, my camera and a lot of excitement and headed off. And it was so worth it!


This year Liverpool is the European City of Culture 2008, a title that is bestowed on a different city in Europe every year and offers an opportunity for it to showcase its cultural life...

So it seemed appropriate to seek out a little culture. The Beatles tour perhaps? Maybe next time. For this visit, something else. The TATE Liverpool has an exhibition on at the moment that particularly appealed to me and after a little research made me even more excited about my début trip to the city.



I love Klimt. It is probably true that some of his images have been so reproduced that they have lost a little of their impact and become almost clichéd but I have always liked his style. I love the rich decorative textures and mosaic-like patterns and how he portrayed women. And there is no doubt that his fascination with redheads probably endears him to me too. Prints - no matter how well done - never really do the original justice and I didn't properly understand this until I was lucky enough to see some of his work in an exhibition in Rome some years ago. I was absolutely blown away by how rich and gorgeous they are in "person". Awesome.

And the exhibition in Liverpool did not disappoint. It was amazing. So inspiring. It placed Klimt's work in the context of his life in Vienna at the turn of the previous century and in relation to the work of some of his contemporaries in design at the time. Read more about it here, where it is described as an exhibition of "the shimmering and the shocking". Not all the reviews have been glowing and there were not as many of the best known paintings as one might have hoped for, but I loved it.

I always enjoy seeing an artist's preparatory sketches and there were many of them in this show - including those that had Klimt branded pornographic - but the finished painting that left the most lasting impression on me on the day is this one.

The Three Ages of Women

See more of the images from the exhibition here.

Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time to see much of the rest of the city - although this makes for a good excuse to visit again. The Tate Liverpool is in the famous Alfred Dock though and after we'd spent several lovely hours in the exhibition, we had a brief wander and enjoyed lunch with the sounds, smells and images of the docklands all around us. As I also love the sea and all things nautical, this was as near perfect as a day in a city can get for me.