Painting

I've been trying to get back into painting for some time, but a whole range of mental blocks and self criticism was stopping me, not to mention the thought that I might not have enough energy to do so.  I've been sneaking up on it, though...bought some canvas boards, got a wee bit of paint for my birthday... and the final kick up the pants was a conversation with my friend Alison, who said all the things that I would have said to someone in that situation... and I thought, sod it, why not? 

The real block is about representational drawing and painting, so I thought I'd warm up a bit with some abstracts, my comfort zone.  I usually start with nothing, other than a blank canvas or sheet of paper.  That's not always the best way to go, however, particularly if your inner critic is perched on your shoulder, giein' it laldy, so... Since I'm guilty of taking hundreds (literally) of source photographs, sometimes playing with them on PSP, and then doing nothing with them,  I leafed through my images and found this one. 

It was a photograph of a bench, believe it or not, or a part of a bench, the seat,  made from a beautiful piece of natural wood.  As you can see, I played with the colour and contrast quite considerably, but if you look carefully, you can still see the grain and a few cracks in the wood.  As a painter, I'm not interested in making a copy of what I see : that's what photography is for.  \(Come to think of it, that's probably part of my block with representational painting...but that's another story altogether).  There are lots of different ways to use a photograph as a source: I meant to write a book about it (should I?), but thought I'd just combine a couple of them.  One is to pick up the colours in the image, and combine them in a different way, and the other is to look at the underlying structure of the image, and use that as the basis of a new work. 

There's a lot going on in this particular image, so I simplified it quite considerably.  I don't usually draw as the basis of a painting, but it seemed like a good idea, so...

The lines basically delineate three main sections in the image, with a bit more detail.  I used the lines as guidance, not gospel, and ended up with this...

As you can see, I've changed the orientation.  If you compare it to the original piece, it uses several of the colours intrinsic to it, but not in the same balance.  The lines have disappeared, though if you look carefully, it does still divide into three main sections.  I can see there's a lot I would rework, if it had been on board, but I probably won't on this, because it's on paper, which doesn't support layer on layer of paint terribly well.  It's fine as a first attempt, though, and I think it will be worth making a version on board, eventually.  I'll probably make another few sketches on paper first, though, just to see where it goes. 

I took things one stage further on another, smaller piece of paper.  Again, it started with lines :

No real resemblance to the image this time, just the basic idea of curved lines, and a using up of the paint from the first piece.   And here's how it ended up...

Different palette, this time, to some extent, but similar approach.  And, as before, I prefer the other orientation...

Thinking about it, this refers back to the grain lines in the wood.  Overall, I'm really pleased with these pieces, they're a good start.  I've remembered how much I enjoy painting, and why I prefer oils (though I'll probably stick with acrylics).  I'll definitely take this forward...but not today... I've used up all my energy... knowing when to stop is A Good Thing.

Sunflowers...

...are up there with poppies, tulips and chincherinchees as my favourite flowers.  T'is the season for them, so there's a bunch on the coffee table in my living room.  I thought I'd take a few photos...and here they are...  call it pure eye candy.

I tried to look at them with fresh eyes, to catch pictures of areas, such as the back, that I wouldn't normally consider.  Partly, because I might well use these to paint or draw from, and partly because it's good for me to stretch myself and my thinking a little.

I was particularly intrigued by the centres, which, close up, don't read as they do from a distance.  I really must learn how to use my camera properly, instead of relying on the auto function...perhaps when brain fog isn't quite so much an issue.

The Poppy Photo

For once, the image I'm talking about today wasn't taken by me.  I very rarely use other peoples' photographs, but this one is a definite exception to the rule, .  It was taken by my friend Margaret McLaren, and I'm sure you'll agree, it's very beautiful.  Margaret has kindly given her permission to share the image with you.

Margaret has caught the moment perfectly.  I saw this image first thing this morning on my FB feed, and felt the need to respond to it, other than just raving about it.  So I wrote this haiku :

Poppyland at rest

           bathed by the setting sun

crimson to fuchsia

I don't think the poem is anything like the beauty of the image, but that's okay.  What it does, though, is to remind me of the beauty of the image, and that's enough.  When I look at the image, I'm reminded of pictures of poppies that I have taken over the years, like this one, places where I have seen poppies, walks in the country, all sorts of memories triggered by this one image.

This isn't the first time I've written about poppies, either; there's a post here, and another haiku.

The haiku I wrote for the photograph, though, has its own allusions, for me, at least.  Mostly, it reflects Margaret's image...but the word Poppylands comes from my childhood.  I was in a choir, as a child, and we put on a show every year....and one year, I was the Princess of Poppyland.  It's an odd reference, really, doesn't sit with the image itself, but it is hugely personal, and has meaning for me, and nobody else.  And that's the thing about images; if we allow them to, we can find all sorts of allusions to all sorts of things, memories, ideas, dreams.  

I'm a visual artist, but I find that poetry and writing in general help me to access my visually creative side.  Writing is very direct; I'll often write about something I'm contemplating making work about, to explore it.  Mostly I'll write in haiku, short and disciplined; sometimes, though, I'll write text.  I tend not to tell stories, but rather to write descriptively, write down what I see and what it makes me think of.  That process usually produces several ideas.  Were I writing about Margaret's image, I'd be writing about a wide range of things.  The first thing that draws me in is the colours and the light; working in those colours would be an interesting thing to do...particularly in abstract.  There's the structure and balance of the image, which is remarkable in itself.  It could be used directly to produce a representational textile image, or printed off as is, and stitched into.  The shape of the tree, and the way it sits slightly off centre, the relationship it has with the position of the setting sun...all of these things could be explored.  And then there are the poppies themselves, so many of them, so beautiful, so fragile.  They memorialise the war dead of so many nations, and yet are full of life for their incredibly short existences.  

All of that, and far more, from one beautiful image.  People talk about creative blocks, but I have never been a great believer in them.  'Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working', Picasso said, and he was right.  One way of making sure you have more ideas than you can comfortably deal with, is to stop worrying about creative blocks, or the muse (who doesn't really exist, trust me), and to sit down with a photograph or other image, and really look at it.  Let it tell you stories, and write those stories down.  Those stories are really ideas: let them come, and allow yourself to explore them however you wish.  Better still, take your phone or camera out with you into the natural world, go for a walk and see what you can find...and then use the photographs you take as the basis for new work.  Or go to a public gallery, sit in front of a painting and really look at it.  Take notes.  You know you want to...have fun!

Going To Pieces.

So...what do you do when you're too physically tired to do anything, much, but your mind is turning cartwheels?  Well... there's drawing, of course, and hand stitch...but I really like a jigsaw.  With two cats, however, that's really not advisable; they bat the pieces all over the floor, attempt to eat them... you get the picture (or rather, you don't, because at least one piece gets lost as a result).  Reader, I discovered online jigsaws, and I am hooked.  I've had a wonderful time on Jigsaw Planet reconstructing other peoples' paintings and photographs.  And then I thought.... maybe I could do this with my photographs... so I did.... and that was great fun, too.

So what's that got to do with the price of cheese?  Well... I've talked about it elsewhere on this blog, quite recently (not that I'm obsessed).  It gets more interesting when it's your own image, though.  I realised a number of things.... firstly, that I don't really think about my photography as being an end in itself.  I tend to take pictures either for reference, or to stitch into (see an example of my stitched work here, one of my personal favourites).  So it's useful to look at these images  as potential jigsaws, look at their construction, decide if they're interesting enough to use in this way. 

Secondly, I already knew that I'm mostly interested in detail, so most of my photos are macro.  I try to find details that might otherwise be missed.  The image at the top of the post is a Norfolk flint wall (I think, if I remember rightly, it was a church in Wymondham),  It makes a truly evil jigsaw; all those little stones... you have to observe carefully to fit the pieces together.  The jigsaw format helps you to look at each piece separately, to consider how it fits into the whole, to see even more of those tiny details that make up what I hope is a good image, at least for reference purposes...it might want cropping if I were to print it out for stitch.  Flaubert said that 'God is in the detail' (or the devil, depending on which of these similar sayings you ascribe to).  Looking at an image this way seems to take me past detail, and into nuance, which usually would be picked up by my unconscious mind, but I don't think it does me any harm to contemplate them in a more overt fashion.  Most of the nuances here are about texture and light; the direction of light, the way it hits a particular section of the flint, the way that flint responds.

Thirdly, I hadn't noticed until I made a couple of jigsaws that my colour palette in my photographs is very narrow, almost monochromatic.  The same cannot be said for most of my work, although the ME piece I wrote about here is moving in that direction; I now have a small bag of fabric in these subdued tones and colours to make more pieces in what I suspect will be a series.  I hadn't realised, though, that my photographs were leading me in that direction, probably long before I consciously chose to explore it.

Finally, the act of jigsaw assembly is not unlike the creative process.  Artists and writers both talk about the blank page... jigsaws, at least, give you a jumping off point, encourage you to look for the edge pieces and assemble them to create a framework.  I think we all need that in some way; my equivalent of edge pieces, in textile, is usually the creation of a small piece using whatever I have to hand (usually, up until now, from the bits lying on the floor).  In paint, it comes from the process of selecting colours for my palette, which I do intuitively.  I think that creating a starting ritual, and using it consistently,  is comforting, but it's also a springboard into creativity.

And then there's the point where you've got the edges more or less assembled (there's always one or two that I don't find til the end, but I don't let that get in the way of assembling the rest of the image).  And then I'm face to face with my own doubts; this is hard.  How will I ever manage?  Well... partly through intuition... that piece looks as if it should fit there... no... but it does fit two pieces along... and on I plod.  Emphasis on the plod; building jigsaws seem to go in fits and starts, depending on how easy it is to group colours together, to assemble little, but obvious, details so that they can then be fitted into the whole.  And there's something about perseverance, too, just keeping going, pushing through the problems (most of which are in my head) to create the image. 

Yes, it's harder for artists; they don't always have a clear idea of what the end goal is, making deciding what the end product actually is, quite challenging.  Fortunately, we don't have to limit ourselves to Just One Ending or Just One Process; that's what working in series is about.

If you'd like to do the stone jigsaw, here's the link; if that doesn't work, look for artmixter...I only have three images up, this one and a couple of floral ones.  There are a surprising number of quilt images available as jigsaws, but I'm not sure that my work would lend itself to that kind of treatment.  Above all, in jigsaws as in art, have fun.,,that's a significant part of the process.

Collaboration...

is fun.  One of my Facebook friends, Mary Kaye Catone,  is a keen photographer, and regularly posts her images.  I just as regularly say, that could do with stitch.  This time, she said, go for it.  This is the original image;

I love the textures and colours in this, and my initial intention was to make some long stitches in parallel running down the way.  Because I wanted to work small, I printed it out on some commercially prepared cotton...well, actually, it turned out to be silk organza.  That proved to be an additional bonus, as you will see.  But the transparency both added and detracted; I found myself struggling to put something behind the image that worked well.  In the end, I tried a stitched piece, which worked like a charm.  It was a piece of lutradur to which I had added encaustic paints, and then stitched.  Here's the back of the finished piece, to give you an idea of what I started with;

And here is how it turned out... 

and yes, I used those long stitches I was talking about earlier, though there is a row of small stitches at either long side, to keep the thing together.  And that's that, right?

Well, actually, no.  The thing about using silk organza, is that a lot of ink gets transferred to the backing paper.  And it would be wasteful to ignore that, right?

This is Ghost Tree, made from the backing paper, collaged onto mountboard, with swirls of shimmery medium to suggest mist.  I'm quite pleased. If you get very close up and personal with the piece, you can see silver leaf shapes drawn onto the board, my original intention, but somehow, it wasn't enough.  

So there you go; two for the price of one...and counting.  I still have some scraps to use up, probably in another collage.  Collaboration is fun...why not try it?

I Love It...

...when things come together.  A creativity prompt from Myfanwy Hart's 'Be Creative' project on Facebook and Wordpress, a piece of fabric I didn't know what to do with and a software package.
Myfanwy's prompt was to draw a self portrait with your non dominant hand.  Not being terribly good with other peoples' suggestions, I thought I'd take it a stage further, and draw with my sewing machine (look, mom, no hands!...or should that be, both hands?).  I took a piece of Evolon I'd  transfer dyed in layers, which has heavy diagonals, which I felt interrupted the piece.  I cut a section off, and started stitching.

I've never drawn a face with a sewing machine, before, just out of my head, no .  I showed Robin the reverse, and his first comment was, your face, on a bit of fabric...so it can't be all that bad...he did say he wasn't sure if anyone else would see a likeness, however.  You can always rely on your relatives to tell it like it is...

As with everything, i see all the flaws... but it's okay, I guess... looks better with colour.  And so, I played a little with it in PSP, to see what was possible...

Now, this has potential.  Years ago, when I started working with Bertha the large scale printer, I wondered about working digitally into images of my own work, but never actually did anything with the idea.  I think this piece suggests that it's definitely working.

I had been working with photographs of myself, exploring depression and what it means, what it might look like if you could see it.  I wasn't happy with the results of that, and stopped, because the images felt static, somehow, like these images;

The one on the top is early depression, the stage where you are sad, but not yet immobilised; the lower image is late depression, when you are frozen in place, and pain is almost unbearable.  I think perhaps that some combination of images, photographs and stitch, might be the way forward.

Back to the sewing machine...

More Finds...

It's interesting, this little cache of work I've found.  It varies from manipulated and stitched photographs, like this one,

which I've stitched in two versions...

When I showed it on FB, almost everyone preferred the one on the top, the one with more stitch.  I agreed...but now, I'm not so sure.  Both are stitched with a dark variegated metallic thread.

And then, I| found this.

It's called Norfolk Fields, and it's a combination of monoprint and painting.  I love the Norfolk landscape, the huge flatness of it all, the long avenues of trees and the enormous skies.  It's stunning.  I'm reminded that landscape and things natural are really where my art is rooted, though it's not always immediately apparent.  It's just that I'm as fascinated by the inner landscape as by the external landscape that surrounds us.

Just to give you a closer look at Norfolk Fields, here are a couple of details...

My work has always been diverse, and I think these two pieces epitomise it.  Fortunately, I don't feel I have to choose between mediums, between methods; it's all expression, in the end, all creativity.  It is as it is.