Lately I've been working on a lot of smaller mixed media pieces, and I've noticed how much I enjoy not knowing exactly where they're going.
Most of the time I'm just letting things flow and seeing what happens. I may start with faint marks or repetitive patterns, sometimes uniform and sometimes more chaotic. I'm not really thinking about what any of it means while I'm doing it. I just get lost in the process.
Eventually I'll stop. Maybe I'll go get some coffee or get distracted by something else and come back later. That little bit of distance can be enough for me to see the piece differently.
Sometimes I come back and immediately want to keep going. Other times I think, okay, I'm going to leave this one alone for a while.
I've also been experimenting more with materials lately. Watercolor, watercolor pencils, aqua markers, ink. I like seeing how the water and pigment move and blend together. I usually start pretty light and gradually build more color and contrast. The earlier marks don't necessarily disappear. They just become quieter underneath everything that comes later.
I think that's one of the things I enjoy most about working this way. I can still see where the piece has been.
As I continue working, something will usually start to emerge. Sometimes I notice it when I'm adding shadows or contrast. Once I see it, I start working around it, almost like I'm sculpting the form out of what is already there.
I try not to force it.
If I start worrying about whether something looks anatomically correct, I've learned to stop myself. A lot of the forms that show up in my work aren't meant to exist exactly as they would in the physical world anyway. They may remind me of a person, something from nature, or something more mythical. Sometimes they look like they're appearing or disappearing. Sometimes the whole piece feels more like a dream.
Making everything anatomically correct would almost take something away from that.
I think I've become more comfortable with allowing that weirdness to stay.
Maybe some of that comes with age. I don't feel as compelled as I once did to change my work based on what I think other people will like. There are plenty of beautiful pieces of art that are simply enjoyable to look at, and there is absolutely a place for that. But I've realized that isn't necessarily what I'm looking for when I make my own work.
I want to feel something when I look at it.
Sometimes I don't even know what that feeling is until afterward.
I've looked at finished pieces and felt sadness in them. Sometimes I see someone who seems lost or a feeling of longing for connection. Other pieces feel like dreams. Those weren't necessarily things I consciously decided to paint. I see them once they're there.
And someone else may look at the exact same piece and see something completely different.
I like that.
I don't really want to tell someone what they're supposed to see in my work. Their experiences aren't mine, so why would their interpretation be exactly the same?
When someone tells me what they see, especially when it's something I hadn't noticed myself, I enjoy hearing it. They stopped long enough to look and have their own reaction to something that came from me.
For a moment, they've experienced a little extension of my world.
And maybe they've found a little of their own in it too.
You can take a closer look at Woven in Time, the piece featured in this post.
