Stumbling Forwards (the truth about making art!)
Many art buyers (and most beginning painters) labour under the belief that experienced artists know what they are doing – that they have a plan before they start and that they simply employ their skills to execute said plan. I’m sure this is true of some artists and some types of art, but it couldn’t be further from the truth for me, and for most of the painters I know.
And the reason this matters is that this illusion discourages beginners. If their first attempts are disappointing, they are quick to give up, quick to assume that they just haven’t been gifted with what it takes.
But when I start a series of work, I know – right from the start – that I will make disappointing paintings for a while. I will use colours that don’t work; I will make marks I don’t like; and often I will just make an unholy mess on all the paintings I start.
Knowing this alleviates the pressure. I’m not looking to make things I like immediately … I’m looking to explore. I’m looking to find the right colours and marks and the right amount of space and the ideal balance of dark and light, and sometimes I’m even looking for the process that will help me to achieve what I want to achieve.
My process can best be described as a “stumbling towards.” I usually know roughly where I want to go. At the beginning, I won’t be able to describe the way I want the painting to look but I know what I am trying to achieve. At the very least, I know how I want you to feel when you look at the work.
But the process of getting there? That is messy, slow and sometimes seems to involve as many steps back as forwards.
If this sounds like a complaint, it’s not. I am so grateful to be an artist because it means that I am engaged in the pursuit of something no-one has ever done before. I am seeking to express the deepest parts of myself and to make art that no-one else could make (since no-one else has ever been quite like me). There is no road map, there are no directions. We artists have to hack our way through the brambles and somehow carve out a path that we alone will travel. No-one went before. No-one will follow.
I find that endlessly inspiring.
For the last 18 months I’ve been engaged in an all-consuming project. My goal has been to respond to the nature poetry of Ted Hughes – maybe even more specifically, the landscape poetry. I’ll talk another time about why I chose Hughes (or he chose me) – for now what matters is that this has been a monumental challenge. As an abstract painter, it has never been enough for me to paint things as they look … I am seeking something else. I am seeking how they feel – or how I feel about them. I am seeking to get to the bottom of what it is that I want to say about things. I am seeking to share my unique view on the world.
Since embarking on this adventure, I’ve tried different colour palettes. I’ve worked with different ways of applying paint. I’ve worked on paper and canvas and boards. I’ve worked large and small. I’ve added a wide range of mixed media. I’ve used all manner of tools. I have also spent many hours reading and re-reading Hughes poems, letters, speeches and papers. I’ve watched every last (all too rare) moment of video on Youtube. I’m working my way (slowly!) through academic reviews of his work, and I have been lost for some time in Jonathan Bates’ exhaustive unauthorised biography. I wasn’t looking for Ted Hughes the man in these books – I was looking for clues.
Why this poetry? Why these images? Why these descriptions of nature? Why of all the words and images I’ve encountered in my life, did these poems have such a hold on me? What part of me, as yet unrecognised, are they helping me to connect with.
And as I read and made notes, the pieces started to fall into place. Like on the day that I read that Hughes called the moors where he spent his childhood “an exultance.” YES! That’s how I feel about them too, so there’s the click of recognition, but that description also gives me a way in to a painting. (How do I paint moors as exultance? What colours? What marks? What shapes?) Or the day I discovered that Hughes believed poetry was a way to discover oneself and maybe to discover grace. Which is exactly the way I feel about painting.
Each sentence I read adds to the picture … not the picture of Hughes, but the picture of me. Because our response to any artist is always more about us than it is about them.
And as I read and make notes, the paintings begin to reveal themselves. Each image here is unfinished but each now contains clues for me to follow – ideas for me to investigate.
They key, I believe, is to notice when the paintings start to speak to me. For many layers, it can feel as if I am alone in my studio with a canvas or board or piece of paper. I paint it, while it just hangs there. But there is a point where it comes to life. A point where I am no longer alone. Suddenly, the painting starts talking…. it offers ideas about what it wants to be.
That is the point when I have a choice. I can listen and enter into a dialogue with the painting. Or I can keep imposing my will. I can’t count how many times I have taken the latter route and bulldozed over what the painting was trying to say. But in recent years, I have got better at catching the moment when the painting comes to life.
It’s the moment when you see something … it’s the moment when you get a little fizz of excitement… it’s the moment when you feel “Oooh I like that” even though you can see the painting isn’t finished.
In the past, I barrelled right past that moment and lost my painting. Now I am better at noticing when it happens.
This painting is actually two square un-stretched canvases joined by masking tape, which I painted over. At this stage, it is too chaotic – there are too may elements competing for attention and no clear decision-making as to which should be the painting’s ‘her.’ But it excites me. I feel me in it. I feel much of what I am trying to say. Most of all, it has the energy I want.
work-in-progress – 6 feet x 3 feet
So if the strength of it is the energy, that is what I must hold onto as I develop it. I must tread carefully as I make changes, so as not to lose it.
In this next one, I love the movement and the variety of mark-making …
work-in-progress 90cm x 90cm
I feel I need to add more subtlety into the colours, but I must do that in a way that doesn’t lose this sense of dynamic movement and I must ensure the interesting marks remain.
And finally, this one is much more neutral …
work-in-progress 90cm x 90cm
The paint application is a little too thin and a little too ‘samey’ for me at the moment, but I am loving the neutral shades and the variety of lines. So I will follow the painting’s lead and make this a painting about neutral colours and lines.
This is the process for every one of the paintings I start. Each one finds its way at some point. Each one starts to tell me what it wants to be.
All of these paintings are different, but each one addresses a separate element of my central idea. They all respond to the words of Ted Hughes. I didn’t plan them but I read and studied and thought and dreamed… and when I picked up my brush, I began to stumble forward towards whatever was coming.
That is the magic of painting.
These poems have inspired me for many years and interpreting them has been a wonderfully challenging project. My goal is to complete the series by the end of the year and then to make the work available in several different ways. If you are interested in this work, sign up to follow my journey. You’ll get exclusive access inside my studio and early notifications when paintings go up for sale. NOTE: this is not the same as my weekly news bulletin for artists – these emails will be solely focused on my work.