Breakthroughs

Breakthroughs with the painting session today on several fronts: 1) A different combo emerged in the same painting. 2) The capacity to work in different “styles” on multiple canvases in the same session.

Over the last few months a need has emerged for something different to happen with the paintings – yes still abstract, but often recently I can’t just show up and start splashing paint around. An urge for something more deliberate (whilst still spontaneous) has been the thing – but what could that be?

One scenario piquing interest has been colour transitions (blending from colour to colour). In itself, it’s merely another effect. My wish has been to engage this yet still provide tension.

Worked on a painting recently in this new (for me) colour-blend mode. The difference was instead of the usual broad brush gestures, I started at one small zone of the canvas and worked out ... feeling what was needed in response to what was already happening.

As it turned out, the painting somewhat succeeded. It did also have the added backing of “inspiration” (which isn’t always available) – there was a specific colour-set in mind and a feeling driving the abstract formations.

Engaged in another colour-blend scenario today. The difference this time was the introduction of brush gestures over and peripherally-to the colour-blend areas – first with white, then with other colours. (Another addition was loose pencil gesturing on the canvas providing some vague framework to begin painting. I’ve never done this since going abstract.)

There was also a clear colour-set intent.

Also continued on a different painting where the style was (for me) different. Interesting because for years I’ve been looking for “my style” whereas perhaps there’s not one, but several, and they can all coexist and all be authentic.

What Inspires an Abstract Painter?

‘Abstract Art definition: An art form that represents ideas (by means of geometric and other designs) instead of natural forms.’

I found myself pondering what fuels my paintings recently, given its abstract aspect with specific intent that it not represent anything objectively perceived. (I was going to add “subjectively perceived” too but that territory soon gets tricky: Is there a difference between subjective perception and subjective feeling? It seems simple: One is perception, the other feeling, but in terms of how that translates to actual paint on canvas (or paper, wood, cow-pats, etc.) – hmm ... the feeling, once located, begins to reach out for visual potentialities, and does this not then become perception?)

So, is there “objective” stuff that inspires or is it a “subjective” kinaesthetic-type responsive engagement with body-mind-soul in the context of applying paint?

I think the answer is that it’s both.

Very rarely is there anything I see objectively that translates into a painting. I have tried this (like trying to create a synthesis of ocean waves colliding with rock formations along the Sydney coastline) with abysmal results. (Admittedly, if the experiment was compelling enough to encourage persistence, success may have ensued.) 

Getting back to the title of this art-blah: What inspires me to paint abstract stuff? Yes I outlined the essence of this in the rather lofty and ‘abstract’ first paragraph of my Artist’s Statement: “An urge to express ‘something’ in response to the wonder and mystery of life ...”)

Can I translate that?

There are nuts n’ bolts, meat n’ potato things that do inspire. It’s mostly colours, like: The tobacco stain from water seeping into my cigarette paper; Lemon yellow flowers amidst a green leaved backdrop (backlit and appearing more luminous); Vivid violet little fishies in Clovelly Bay; Paint splotches on the drop cloth in the painting room; The transparent yellow of my cigarette lighter (this prompted a painting called “Yellow Rhino”).

Then of course there’s stormy clouds, sunsets, urban detritus, and abstract paintings by other painters.

And there’s more.

The above-mentioned nuts n’ bolts shares are true but I feel a need to elaborate on the ‘Mystery’ thing a bit further (for this drives the interest in painting fundamentally and without which I may not even be doing it).

Being human on Earth is challenging for all of us. Doing this (human thing) till death is not enough for me (re: “Live Die Repeat: Edge of Tomorrow” movie type thing). Painting stuff doesn’t solve the challenge. However, it does provide a body-mind-soul avenue of expression in response to the Mystery – not only of being human here on Earth at this time, but also, that anything “Is”* at all. 

That’s the ‘meat’ of my potato paintings. 

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*I’m reminded of a talk Adi Da gave called “The Five Declarations of Ultimate Knowledge”. In it he references one of his books titled “Is”.

The Burden of Abstraction (First World problems, Multiple Intelligences and Not Pushing the River)

Got into some pickle over the Christmas break: Wanted to make paintings but ‘the hand’ did not seem responsive to ‘the mind’s’ intent. 

Still trying to figure this First World conundrum out.

Some say there’s multiple intelligences. I won’t bore myself trying to list them (for I don’t recall them all) but there’s something that rings true. 

The experience was of my hands not knowing what to do. Of course they (my hands) didn’t know what to do because I didn’t know what to do. A biofeedback loop was in action. The “bodily-kinesthetic intelligence” was not in sync with the others (and referencing one listing now it could be a few of them: Logical-mathematical intelligence (“number/reasoning smart”); Intrapersonal intelligence (“self smart”), etc.

Here’s my theory: I’ve chosen (for now) to paint ‘abstract’, and in particular, to paint ‘what I don’t know’. So, this translates (partly) to this: Because I’m not painting anything in particular, I’m reliant on ‘internal’ momentums to do ... something.

What are those momentum attributes? Choice of brush, colour, brushstroke and expression (and more exactly – a searching-for a particular feeling-expression).

In the absence of any of the above, what to do?

I could of course draw ... something (anything), try a different brush, paint with my eyes closed, paint naked, etc. 

I could – in other words “Just do it” (to reference the vernacular – whatever the “it” might be).

Currently (for reasons unknown), all of this has not been particularly interesting (though I have tried different brushes).

Abiding in discomfort, therefore, seems to be more interesting, and despite my best efforts at showing up doing something (rather than waiting for inspiration), there’s also something to “not pushing the river” (referencing Barry Stevens’ book “Don’t Push the River: It Flows by Itself”). 

Sometimes the river has need to flow in different directions, and where it goes, I do not know.

Art as Therapy?

When there’s too much ‘other stuff’ to do I’ll inevitably start feeling deflated (and creep into a ‘slave-mentality’ mindset where there’s no spaciousness for beauty, kindness or abundance – or so it seems).

So, painting doesn’t make me happy (for as Adi Da has pointed out, “You cannot become happy, you can only be happy”), but it can provide a context in which I get to feel ‘me’ a bit more (sometimes).

I’ll try to clarify.

When I paint, the rules of engagement are my own (rather than those imposed by others). I get to romp and play and get stuck in my own sandpit. I get to experiment and discover and sometimes participate in a happening that feels greater than anything I could muster through effort.

And by engaging in this process more aspects of ‘me’ (which I consider valuable) may be accessed, whereas when there’s too much of the other stuff to deal with (requiring great effort), ‘I’ drop off the radar (somewhat).

Therapy clearly arrives in many forms. For understanding pre-verbal early-life trauma, co-dependency, shame, etc., painting-therapy ain’t gonna cut mustard. As a supplement, it can be good.

Forays in Oil

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In 2017 I began the painting-with-oils experiment. Doing so did reside within my general purview of “painting what I don’t know” (which in this case included technique). There was also this bit of lingering subjectivity I clearly needed to allow into the mix: “I’m never going to be a ‘serious’ painter unless I paint in oils.”

In addition to the natural irks of grappling with a new medium were broader ponderings: Could oils open up avenues of expression better than with acrylics? Will there be more ‘depth’ to the colour? And of course “Will painting in oils legitimise myself as a serious painter?”

A brief response to some of the above is this: Yes the colours can have more depth. Also, there are oil colours that aren’t available in the acrylic paint brands I use (and use simply because access to them is easy, local, and moderately priced). 

Naturally I did initially struggle with oils and my first weekend’s experiment rendered me rather light-headed (using the traditional mediums and cleaning products).

There were also practicalities to take into account: I work in a small space with limited ventilation. I use large house painting brushes requiring large amounts of paint. 

Whilst there was a novelty to trying out this different medium, the practicalities rendered the experiment too hard (and rocking up to work Monday morning fog-brained didn’t help).

Enter ‘Medium W’.

I asked one of the peeps at one of my local art supply shops if there was something that can be used with oils that’s not so brain-fogging? She said ‘Medium W’. 

It’s expensive but good: Mix it with oils then you can add water! 

So what and why bother?

Why bother with the expense when I can just use acrylics?

Combining oils with Medium W provides something I would never have arrived at if not for trying the combo out: Rich oil colours, some different colours not readily available with the acrylic brands I use, and a curious paint fluidity that behaves differently than with acrylics.

Plus, brushes can be cleaned using a combo of water and dishwashing liquid.

Some of the results were very exciting. In fact, with the seemingly opposing conjunction of rich oily colours with the fluidity of water-enhanced Medium W, the canvases naturally urged themselves towards being flat rather than upright. 

I would probably be continuing with oils and Medium W now if not (again) due to practical constraints: Oil paintings require longer drying periods and during winter the drying period gets too long (given limited space). Also, I prefer to paint larger canvases now (so limited space is again a factor).

With this ramble preamble, has painting in oils (admittedly in hybrid form with Medium W) helped me feel like a more ‘serious’ painter?

No.

So good to get that out the way.

Before I forget, one aspect about richness of colour re: ‘Oils versus acrylics’ I’d like to share is this: I did some research regarding varnishing paintings prior to selling. For now I’ve chosen to varnish my paintings and the only reason is this: Varnishing protects the painting (from dust, grubby fingers, etc.). I think this is a good thing. A bonus to doing this is that by using a gloss varnish it will enrich the colours (and will enhance acrylics more obviously than oils). This is particularly relevant for my paintings since the ‘white space’ (which could be the primed canvas) is as much a contributing aspect of the work than the painted areas.

And if I had unlimited space, unlimited funds, and unlimited time, I’d like to flirt with the notion of painting unlimited sized paintings with unlimited fat, oil-rich paint (and see where that experiment would go).

Freedom from Meaning

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The current form of my paintings enables more of a dance-like engagement. Whilst I cannot divorce myself entirely from ‘meaning’, I’m now not so burdened by ‘trying’ to paint something ‘meaningful’.

There’s a momentum to the current work (having been exploring this approach* consistently for the last five years).

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*The approach being: Painting with my non-dominant left hand in a ‘free-form’ manner, devoid of ‘shape’. Yes, circa 14 years ago there were ‘shapes’ residing adjacent to each other over a background colour. These then segued into four ‘ovoids’ occupying the quadrants of the canvas (top left, right, bottom left, right).

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And such momentum has a life of it’s own. I don’t know where it’s going (and don’t want to know). However, there is some dexterity and depth to the process (like perfecting any craft). AND, there’s ongoing fumblings and messinesses.

There are ‘aesthetic preferentials’ in the work which seems to be tethered to ‘me’ in the same way we each find ourselves with particular personalities. For instance I strongly dislike clumsy, frumpy gestures in the brushwork or the configuration of colours and shapes which lack ‘tension’. 

At the end of the day, is there any meaning in my paintings? I don’t know. They exist for their own sake. I do need them to provide some enjoyment for me (and hopefully a few other peeps). Part of the enjoyment is seeing something in the work that’s greater than anything I could consciously concoct. 

My Painting Process (and is there one?)

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I wouldn’t find any interest in writing about my painting process (I’d rather spend the time painting) if not for a pointer from a friend. She said folks sometimes like to check out who you are before buying your work.

I grokked what she shared, so here we go.

The preamble to painting usually requires a period of sitting in the studio and watching my paintings whilst imbibing some cheap house red and smoking cigarettes. If there’s already inspiration then mixing paint and commencing the first brush-stroke may happen soon. If not (which is often the case) then the watching period will likely take a while.

If I’m lucky there may be something to start with: a colour or urge towards a gesture of brush-strokes. If not then there’s pondering (amidst the watching): What colour (or colours), where does the first mark, blotch, or cluster want to be? 

If no particular impulse emerges I’ll eventually just DO SOMETHING. So (devoid of inspiration or impulse) it’ll be somewhat mechanical for a while: pick a colour (any colour will do – it may be a favourite colour, a colour I’ve not used for a while, or just black), mix it to a brushable fluidity, grab the 100 mm Rokset* and (with my left non-dominant hand) move the loaded brush somewhere on the canvas.

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(*I use large house painting brushes. My favourites are the Rokset Super Trade hogs bristle (100, 88 and 75 mm). Why? Because the bristles are longer than standard brushes, they’re natural** and enable a more ‘luscious’ brushy delivery. They can also take more ‘abuse’ whist still holding their form.

**I’ve experimented with various synthetic brushes but found they didn’t provide the same luscious brushy quality. Also, they’re not as robust and don’t hold their shape amidst the more vigorous treatment that sometimes happens.)

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So with something now there to respond to, and depending on what it is, I may take a wet soft cotton rag and wipe out or smear some of what’s there (and I’ll only do this if what presents itself is frumpy and irksome). Then another colour will be mixed and applied in response to what’s emerging.

If by this stage something is beginning to happen and the work-in-progress is taking on a ‘life’ then it may flow and finish soon. Sometimes I know I need to add some white brush-back overlay (I usually use gesso for this if it’s acrylic) and may need the paint to dry before doing so. Sometimes I’ll ‘blotch-on’ thicker gesso over and into the existing wet paint.

If I’m unsure I’ll set aside the piece and begin another (or several). After the other piece/s are dry I’ll continue with them – sometimes turning them upside down if they feel constipated, or obliterating much of the what’s there for the same reason.

If excitement doesn’t happen for some duration during the process with any painting, it will likely be a dud (and even with excitement there’s no guarantee of ‘success’).

As an aside, there are sometimes emerging interests with a particular technique. (Whilst I value the feeling of the work over technique, clearly some form of technique is always involved.) 

For instance, recently I spontaneously wanted to overlay more transparent colour (requiring the usage of a transparent medium). Sometimes I find interest in a more fluid approach with the paint.

I also don’t subscribe to any intentional colour theory or composition. I prefer an intuitive approach. This of course can lead to irksome results. However, I’m interested in painting what I don’t know and partly for this reason if I find I’m becoming attached to technique or outcome I’ll endeavour to mess with this (whilst not engaging in full sabotage).

Why Paint Anything?

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As much as I’m personally inspired by art (generally speaking for not all ‘art’ inspires me), to engage in creating ‘art’ myself seems lofty and impractical. Painting costs money and money is in short supply. I don’t have a PhD in art blah-blah and neither do I have a credentialed backstory of work sold or ensconced in galleries, institutions and collections (or submitted in esteemed art shows).

Yet I persist in painting stuff. 

Now (for the sake of fuller disclosure) I can acknowledge that for years there has been a mostly unconscious agenda of ‘painting to get love’ scenario (it hasn’t been the primary motivator but it has been a ‘most def’ undercurrent and one which I’m not proud of admitting to). 

The ‘painting to get love’ scenario is more conscious now so that’s not such a driving factor. 

The impulse to ‘painting something meaningful’ scenario is also no longer a driving factor (though I do not wish to make meaningless art).

To paint ‘because it makes me happy’ is also not a driving force because it’s usually difficult (a confrontation with ‘self’ and other ‘shadow’ aspects not yet fully conscious, healed and alive).

So, why paint?

I paint because there’s excitement around creating something new.