Out on a limb
The words that I want to use
Descriptions that can sum up all the variables that confound my mind, refuse to come out in any semblance that makes sense. I’m in the grinder, deep deep in there. Tossed about like a rag doll as al the pressures mount around me. Which way is up, down? Is there a left, a right? My gut is the only thing pulling me in any semi-certain direction. A voice in my head constantly screams, the words I can no longer make out, but the effect is that I continue to grind. Forward, backward, I really don’t know. I just know that I have to keep moving.
Something from the depths of my brain, something I saw once in some random place, wants to be combined with me, explored, brought out to be seen. Can I explain it...not really. It does make sense...as part of a larger picture. Two years in I’ve learned to trust what happens because there is a reason, even if I can’t see it...yet. The pain I feel as I realize that there is likely no visual appeal of what I’m doing and that it’s all nonsense...a whirlwind of razors in my chest. But, over and over, the things that hurt me the most turned out to be the key pieces needed for something else. So, I grind on.
It’s all an experiment anyways.
My funds are limited yet still I must create, so I find methods. Ink is a road I hadn’t explored in a long time. Inexpensive, easy to have fun with...and so many ways to play. What kind of paper? The weight, tooth... wet, dry? Flat, crumpled, wet, dry. Beat up, new, red, black? Add some gold? How big a piece should I use? Do I keep things simple, get complex, be funky, definitive, random...
There are a number of pieces from this roll that follow my older abstract paths. A splash here, splatter then, lines, swipes...bits of evolution that I need to increase the level of my technique. The limitations on what materials I have refreshing in many ways. I’m comfortable doing this kind of expression and even though I know it will take a long time to fully develop my language in this format, I don’t have time to focus too hard on this aspect.
The other pieces...the other pieces...I
don’t know. I know the base concepts harken back to much older artists...I just am not sure who. I do catch some strains of Kandinsky...but...I don’t have that confidence yet. The symbols, as they come out, are sometimes fluid, other times dragged out. I’m not scared to make a mistake, even highlighting them for the viewer to see. That in itself becoming a part of the art...the process.
I want to chew on these...look at them...wonder why? A mix of improvisational and narrative, there’s a weird line that makes it’s way through a number of them. The subconscious, at least mine right now, is finding ways to tie them together. To me, each of them is a journey through the story I was telling myself in the moment. But, somehow, how I tell them, leaves them open to interpretation so that others may form what they want to see.
I battle with intentionality.
That thing that makes it easy for other people to understand what you’re painting. Is it a dog? A cat? An aardvark? There is a wall a mile high between my brush and the things that knock around the inside of my head, at least at the conscious level. Why don’t I just try? Just do? Paint what you want! Maybe it’s fear, it probably is. A fear so deep and wide that it encompasses my view and steals my perspective. These new paintings, the chisel I’m using to find the other side.
Grinding away, forward or back
I’m still not very sure. Is what I’m doing art? Is anything I’ve done art? The dark days are dark. A light probably sits less than an arms length away shuttered, but....finding it.... Even a whirlwind of razors cutting away the insides of my chest...even with that, I’m going to continue doing what I’m doing. Trust the process and all that. I mean, as long as I’m moving, that’s something...something that can be learned from and built upon. Even if what I’m doing now is nonsense to others...it’s not to me. That’s something I need to believe in.
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