You’ve heard that so many times, but what does that mean? The words never meant much to me. Surely there is an answer, I used to think, a way, a set of directions that followed would lead to success. Do you feel frustrated that your drawings don’t come out “right”? that your paintings don’t match the passions you want to express? Maybe you feel if you just had more, well, something: time, knowledge, talent, your art would be better.
Frustrated? Give yourself a break.
Your very frustration tells me you care, that you are trying. I can assure you: caring matters. It matters so much more than whether this stroke works or that color is right. Caring is the first step. It is also the energy that keeps you going. You are already an artist, you know, because you care. (Think of all the people you know who don’t paint, draw, try…) Any “failed” work is not failure, it’s practice.
Achievement by definition takes practice, work, time. Think sports. Think music. Heck, think dentistry or hair-cutting. Cutting my own hair during lockdown has given me a keen appreciation for how much my hairdresser knows that remains a mystery to me. Likewise, what you learn, each time you try, will remain unexplored by most of the human race. As an artist, you are an explorer. You are finding your way.
Improvement comes with in small steps, made over the course of hours. Most of the time, you do not see progress as you work. You may not even see it when you look back - not one day, one week, or even one month later. But pick up your sketch book from five years ago, and you’ll know: all that time you felt you struggled, you were growing. You are getting better all the time. Maybe you didn’t yet “get there” but you are getting somewhere, for sure.
Years into art making I now realize that arrival is not the point. Yes, you may have a class assignment to fill, or you want to have work ready for a show. These are pauses along the way. But arrival? It never happens. We keep working, keep trying to reach that next step. Come to think of it, if we could arrive, if the work did come easily, we might just get bored. Instead, perhaps the joy is the work: the search, the trying, they are as much the point as the finished art. We wrestle and wonder and try again. Art is work. It’s work we love. Let’s try a new metaphor. Painting is a dance.
Join the Dance
Like dancers moving in pattern, art-making is a constant trade of energy among the elements that art requires. Your eye examines your source. Your brain responds to your eye and guides your hand. You alternate between knowledge and feeling. Your heart/soul speaks up. You try, first one possibility, then another, as you seek a rhythm of color, line, and mass which will move the viewer towards the truth you want to convey.
As you paint, your attention constantly alternates, between the eye and the hand, between the analytical and the felt, between what you know and what you hope to discover. In front of you is a photo, or a landscape, or an object. To paint a subject is to have your attention in constant motion, from your source to the painting and back again.
Zone/Zen
A painting is a transfer of energy, from your love of the world, to the world of the canvas, and so to the viewer. A painting can feel like a story when you look at it, but the story behind its creation is often so different from the effect that the finished piece gives.
The more I paint, the more I realize that the best work occurs when I am *almost* not looking. I slow down, wait between brush strokes. Not thinking so much as listening. The approach is one of questions instead of goals. Even more that the object or view, the subject is the painting. The painting is, after all, just one color juxtaposed or superimposed on the next.
“What color does this need?” “How is that shape working?” “Is the contrast great enough? Too much?” “Where does the eye need to move?” The dialog comes and goes in my head. Then, a brush stroke is made. The process is like I imagine sky-diving. Lots of practice on the ground: drawing, color swatches, value studies. Then, once in motion, double check your target, and jump. Suddenly there’s wind and infinite chance. Move with courage but listen to your surroundings. Trust what you know and ask what is needed next.
Step forward
even if you don’t know where you’re going
“Painting is like an endless question-and-answer session. Each stroke is followed by a question; the next stroke is the answer.” -Mitchell Albala
Sometimes making art feels more like walking the wilderness without a good map. Infinite temptations in a vast space. Is that the path? How to know? Each step forward we feel our way, looking for the next steady place to stand, reorienting our self to the what light we can see.
This month I (finally) read Cheryl Strayed’s Wild. If you’ve read the book or seen the movie, you know she took a near-breakdown and put herself to the task of walking the Pacific Coast Trail, alone. In Wild, we travel with her through this miles-long journey, and through the grief of her fractured past.
Strayed writes courageously of not-knowing, of the journey taken up in ignorance, desperation, and hope. She lays out the parallels between walking alone and living your life. It’s all a journey. Risk and trust and sometimes good luck make it worthwhile. Her journey leaves her stronger in spirit as well as body. When she is about the to finish, she realizes
“I didn’t feel like a big fat idiot anymore. And I didn’t feel like a hard-ass Amazonian queen. I felt fierce and humble and gathered up inside, like I was safe in this world.”
An individual painting, assignment, or technique may make you feel like “a big fat idiot” but don’t let it be the boss. Put it aside, refresh your energy with sketches. Mix color swatches. Paint some papers for collage. Then try again.
Trust me, your brain will have been working on the problem while you looked away. Solutions are in reach. The painting may not be a bad as you thought. An answer is just around the corner.
I believe that making art can make us feel “gathered up inside.” Even the smallest project can soothe and restore. So, get out your art supplies. Draw a shoe, a plant, the view out your window. Paint. Paint again. As the poet Basho wrote, “Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”