Last year, after I had completed treatment for hep c, I was in a strange place artistically. For much of the year I had been in survival mode and spent little to no time in my studio. When I did return, everything that I had been working on was dead to me. As I looked around the room I couldn’t find anything that I wanted to continue working on. There were several pieces in various stages of completion, all in the minimalist style that I had been working in for years. It was all so white, so organized. It seemed odd, like I was looking at someone else’s work. Odd because all I wanted to do was paint it all red with an angry brush.
By the time I settled in it was autumn, the days were cooler and that cosmic shift from the energy of summer to the laid back serenity of comfortable change had set in. I was feeling less angry, less agitated, but still at odds with my previous work.
I can’t say with precise accuracy, but something, a quote, an article, or whatever, pointed my attention to Orwells Animal Farm. It had been years since I read the book. Years since I considered Snowball a hero. He was the one who got away. He was the lucky one, even though we never knew exactly what happened to him other than him being banished from the farm. My hope was always that Snowball went on to have an amazing life in a place where his views and sense of justice were appreciated.
Snowball became the inspiration for my next series of paintings. “Animal Farm”
A small series of collage, mixed media paintings in a graffiti style, very busy, with lots of energy. The first piece was a large canvas tacked to my work wall. It stayed there for a couple of months while I worked on other pieces. The first one that I finished was titled “Snowball”
Then came a few more, around twelve in all, and poof! My energy shifted and I was on to the next thing. Changing up my palette, my medium and starting something new, again. But always leaving the door open to go back, add to the previous series, or further back to other series that I add to from time to time. Nothing is ever finished, completely.
I can’t say why I work in series. I admire artists who find one thing and stick to it for years. I admire it, but could never do it. I need to flex and grow in my work as I flex and grow as a human. This idea that an artist must be boxed in by a particular phase in their career is more a marketing tool for art sellers than a working model for creative growth. So I bat it around in my head from time to time. In the end I always go into my work space and leave all of the chatter behind. A series for me can last several years or like Animal Farm, months.
So here we are, summer again and I am just getting around to stretching the Animal Farm paintings to take to the gallery. I have some of them rolled out on my work table, some still on tubes and a handful ready to hang.
I am trying to get back to that less chaotic place. Where I was before that first day in the emergency room when my mortality was bluntly spelled out to me by the amount of time I had left to live.
Note: That initial diagnosis was wrong and the medication prescribed (if I had taken it) would have surely killed me and that diagnosis would have been my reality. Lucky for me an insightful tele-med doc set me up for additional testing, and an appointment with a specialist who got everything on the right track. Second opinions, additional opinions. They can save lives. Saved mine. Be loud, be your own advocate.
I recently posted a “Virtual Exhibit” of the “Animal Farm” Series online. As I mentioned some of these pieces will go to an actual gallery space, and a couple of them have already sold.
Here is the link for anyone interested in taking a peek.
https://assets.artplacer.com/virtual-exhibitions/?i=19683
My next thing, my flex, is not like the last thing. I have rearranged my work space. Put away the acrylic paints, my bags of collage papers, buckets of medium and all of the things designed to make fast art. Now I am set up to create slow art. The oils are out, the smell of paint is in the air and the whole vibe is different. When people walk into my studio now they comment on the smell. It never ceases to amaze me how much people like the smell of oils. It’s a warm inviting smell, and maybe that should be my cue.
At the same time it would be fibbing to say that it all just flows from one thing to another with ease. It’s hard to make that kind of change. It’s hard to make any kind of change. Thats why most people don’t do it. That’s why my first small canvases (the trial runs) are less about completing a painting and more about settling in to the groove of a slower pace. A medium (oil) that behaves differently than acrylic. A medium that has hard and fast rules. A medium that for all its slowness and laid back appeal, is unforgiving of mistakes. There is no going back, no do overs.
Today as I am getting ready to go to work, I say to myself. Maybe this will be the day. Am I settled in enough to do the work that I am feeling, or do I still grapple with the chatter swirling around in my head. Right now I have a 60” canvas on the wall with first marks. It is red, mostly. An underpainting. Thin washes of color, shapes and markings in grease pencil and graphite. I will do my next pass with lighter shades of earthy muted colors, building it up until that magical time when it is done with me and I walk away.
I have at least learned that much. When the work speaks, listen. It’s smarter than me, and I accept that. There are no heroes here. Just a pragmatist with a few, sometimes sketchy ideas that may or may not pan out.