I have artists all around me. Sometimes they're the children I work with. Sometimes they're friends and family. Equally often, they're the ghosts of professors or imagined ancient artists that live within me.
I am always kind to these artists, because I want them to grow. When an artist grows, we all benefit. And I've got some amazing artists swirling through my space.
I am less kind to myself and my own work. I am easily discouraged, because I find I cannot advocate for my work the way I can advocate for a friend, or a child. I somehow view my "stakes' as being higher than the stakes of those around me, and thus I'm hedging my bets against myself by not lending me my full support. This isn't fair to myself or to other artists, yet I do it anyway.
The truth is, I need to not freak out about everything in my artistic life. It's not going to happen all at once. I can only try and work and think and not think too much and hope to gain footholds here and there that will, someday, lead to successes. Or at least fewer freakouts.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Friday, August 9, 2013
Binge
I found a website, artsy.net, that has satisfied my search for a "visual artists' Pandora". You choose a few artists you like, find recommendations for similar artists, or browse by categories like "figurative painting" or "Conceptualism". It makes it easy to eat a lot of art. I can't stop looking. So much art and so much of it is fascinating. Of course the first thing I did was look for artists whose work looked like mine, or looked the way I wanted mine to look. I think that's a natural reaction, sort of the way we look for our own faces in a group photo. But it's equally interesting to see some art that's in a completely different universe than mine. The only danger is that I seem to be flipping through the site so fast I'm not sure I'm digesting anything.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Just Paint.
Yesterday I wrote that long dissertation on the rights and responsibilities of being a modern person examining and using the past.
Then I painted. I put paint on a brush and moved it around. And I wasn't really thinking about those things. I was thinking about paint, and brushes, and medium, and color. It wasn't an intellectual exercise. It was painting, in the physical world, using tools and moving around and changing things.
Neither way is wrong. Both ways are important.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Historical Privilege
No matter how much you admire something from the past, there are a distinct set of privileges that arise from living in the contemporary world. I move in circles that are concerned with recreating the past, but what draws me into the practice is the impossibility of a perfect recreation--as well as the privilege with which a modern person may approach the past. I find that I deal with these concepts both as a painter and as a faire enthusiast.
I used to think of my art life, academic life, work life and faire life as separate entities, but lately I've taken a more holistic view. I make things. Different things, depending on the situation, but ultimately all are important contributions to my life and point of view as an artist. Remember that artists, like scientists, are researchers. Whenever we make something, we stand on the shoulders of giants to do it. In this age of hyper-accessible research, that couldn't be more true. You don't have to leave your seat to discover one million other ways someone has done precisely what you intend to do. But it is a poor researcher who replicates exactly the experiment of another. The innovation comes in analyzing what has been done before, and deciding how you will do it differently.
When I sew a historically-inspired garment, I learn all of the rules about that garment so I can decide how to break them. Skirts weren't traditionally mounted to waistbands? Mine will be. It makes for easier wearing, for me at least. Whalebone was used to stiffen corsets? I'll use cable ties, more efficient. I am approaching this garment with an idea of how I need it to perform, what I intend to do with it and in it. Painting offers a similar experience. When I approach a painting, I have some idea of what I want to accomplish with it. I research other artists who have explored similar themes, techniques or subjects. Then I decide what changes I will make. Just as the Tudors didn't have cable ties to stiffen their corsets, Rembrandt did not have cameras or computers to create his paintings. These new materials, tools and techniques are available to us to make our work more efficient, more creative, more experimental, more of what it needs to be.
The sole purpose of rule-breaking is not to make things easier. It is to improve on things. The contemporary world offers alternatives to the historical world that we'd be foolish to ignore. Because the truth is, I do not want to visit the Renaissance any more than I want to paint the Arnolfini Portrait. We have learned so much since then that as a people, we have nothing to gain by reliving it. What's important is to re-interpret, examine what aspects are still relevant and why, and present it to a new audience so they can see why the community values it. The rote reenaction of the past is a cultural experiment, and valuable in its own right. Looking to the past with an eye towards innovation and rule-breaking is an opportunity to create art. By approaching the past with the knowledge we carry as moderns, we can do more than reenact the past. We can re-create it. Keep what we like, and change the rest. These changes and rule-breaks shouldn't be considered cheats, but innovations to be shared with the community, that we might continue to innovate and enrich the experience for participants, observers, and "makers" of many kinds.
I used to think of my art life, academic life, work life and faire life as separate entities, but lately I've taken a more holistic view. I make things. Different things, depending on the situation, but ultimately all are important contributions to my life and point of view as an artist. Remember that artists, like scientists, are researchers. Whenever we make something, we stand on the shoulders of giants to do it. In this age of hyper-accessible research, that couldn't be more true. You don't have to leave your seat to discover one million other ways someone has done precisely what you intend to do. But it is a poor researcher who replicates exactly the experiment of another. The innovation comes in analyzing what has been done before, and deciding how you will do it differently.
When I sew a historically-inspired garment, I learn all of the rules about that garment so I can decide how to break them. Skirts weren't traditionally mounted to waistbands? Mine will be. It makes for easier wearing, for me at least. Whalebone was used to stiffen corsets? I'll use cable ties, more efficient. I am approaching this garment with an idea of how I need it to perform, what I intend to do with it and in it. Painting offers a similar experience. When I approach a painting, I have some idea of what I want to accomplish with it. I research other artists who have explored similar themes, techniques or subjects. Then I decide what changes I will make. Just as the Tudors didn't have cable ties to stiffen their corsets, Rembrandt did not have cameras or computers to create his paintings. These new materials, tools and techniques are available to us to make our work more efficient, more creative, more experimental, more of what it needs to be.
The sole purpose of rule-breaking is not to make things easier. It is to improve on things. The contemporary world offers alternatives to the historical world that we'd be foolish to ignore. Because the truth is, I do not want to visit the Renaissance any more than I want to paint the Arnolfini Portrait. We have learned so much since then that as a people, we have nothing to gain by reliving it. What's important is to re-interpret, examine what aspects are still relevant and why, and present it to a new audience so they can see why the community values it. The rote reenaction of the past is a cultural experiment, and valuable in its own right. Looking to the past with an eye towards innovation and rule-breaking is an opportunity to create art. By approaching the past with the knowledge we carry as moderns, we can do more than reenact the past. We can re-create it. Keep what we like, and change the rest. These changes and rule-breaks shouldn't be considered cheats, but innovations to be shared with the community, that we might continue to innovate and enrich the experience for participants, observers, and "makers" of many kinds.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Today
I haven't been blogging, but I have been busy. Busy working, busy looking for more work. Busy moving-- which, for me, included vacating my studio space and setting it up in a corner of the apartment. Sometimes when you're busy, inspiration is hard to come by. That's been the case for me, lately. I submitted a piece for a themed contest, which gave me a starting point for a piece, but once that was done (and accepted for the exhibition!) I didn't feel my usual "push" to make the next painting.
I don't believe in not making work merely because you lack inspiration. My dad doesn't take a day off of work because he's not "inspired" to provide IT solutions. I'd rather make crap work than no work, so I decided the cure was a marathon.
My goal for this art marathon is ten pieces a day, but in the back of my mind I know that's just an arbitrary number, and what I'm really seeking is some kind or eye-opening insight into my work. When I'm marathoning, I try to keep an open mind about what a piece can be, or mean, or how something relates to "my work".
Today I made a bunch of pieces, and the theme that emerged was one of occupying space. I like to be my own figure model, and model for myself in the mirror, but I don't have the giant mirrors I once used in my rented studio. So I was faced with the challenge of drawing my body from life in a mirror about 4"x12". That means some interesting cropped, cramped poses. Other pieces were nonfigurative and featured architectural elements like water towers and cement processing plants, but even these seemed concerned with the occupation of space. Small narratives began to emerge of people reclaiming these industrial spaces with temporary, outmoded shelters encamped around the steel structures. Sort of a dreamlike space that reflects some of my thoughts lately about community a form of rebellion.
Now I am so tired. I did a lot of drawing and thinking and errands today. I think I even found a job. But now I gotta go find some food.
I don't believe in not making work merely because you lack inspiration. My dad doesn't take a day off of work because he's not "inspired" to provide IT solutions. I'd rather make crap work than no work, so I decided the cure was a marathon.
My goal for this art marathon is ten pieces a day, but in the back of my mind I know that's just an arbitrary number, and what I'm really seeking is some kind or eye-opening insight into my work. When I'm marathoning, I try to keep an open mind about what a piece can be, or mean, or how something relates to "my work".
Today I made a bunch of pieces, and the theme that emerged was one of occupying space. I like to be my own figure model, and model for myself in the mirror, but I don't have the giant mirrors I once used in my rented studio. So I was faced with the challenge of drawing my body from life in a mirror about 4"x12". That means some interesting cropped, cramped poses. Other pieces were nonfigurative and featured architectural elements like water towers and cement processing plants, but even these seemed concerned with the occupation of space. Small narratives began to emerge of people reclaiming these industrial spaces with temporary, outmoded shelters encamped around the steel structures. Sort of a dreamlike space that reflects some of my thoughts lately about community a form of rebellion.
Now I am so tired. I did a lot of drawing and thinking and errands today. I think I even found a job. But now I gotta go find some food.
Monday, April 30, 2012
What Is: Drawing, Painting, Photography
Recently I've been grappling with ideas about the boundary between drawing and photography.
I use photographs as preliminary or collage materials in my work, but never without a sense of conflict. I'm not a photographer, I have little understanding of the mechanics of a camera, and everything I've learned about photography has been simply from playing around with cameras. On the one hand, I feel like photography is my natural right, simply by virtue of my having been born into the age of digital cameras. I've scarcely known a world where cameras haven't been so prevalent as to exist in places where I don't even want or need them. On the other hand, I feel a responsibility to be educated about the camera and photography if I'm going to use them in my work, especially since I abhor the underresearched art student.
I found a happy medium in this struggle in the form of my printer/copier. Photocopying is a photographic process. However, the minimal history and codified "rules" of copier art relative to traditional photography make me much more comfortable using it in my practice. Photocopied drawings still resemble drawings, and other photocopied material can be reduced to resemble drawings or paintings as well. In addition, Xeroxes lend themselves to transfers, meaning the material can be taken even further from the source to become more and more drawinglike.
Lately, however, my thoughts have turned to the origin of the word "photography" and some of the earliest photographic processes. Broken down, "photography" translates to "drawing with light"--hence, early light-based tracing techniques, like the camera obscura or camera lucida, can be considered photographic. My concern is, where does this distinction end? Is a "photo-drawing", such as a camera lucida tracing, a "photograph"? Is a lithograph made from a tracing of a camera lucida tracing a "photo-drawing", and if so, are the resultant prints "photographs"?
This preoccupation recently collided with issues life size self-portraiture that I'd also been working on, and yielded a studio experiment that provided even more food for thought. I sat down in front of a large mirror, approximately 4' tall, and using a washable marker, traced my image in the mirror. As a left-hander, I was unable to draw my left hand in the act of drawing my left hand, so the end of the figure's right arm dissolved into specific but abstract marks. Once I'd finished tracing myself, I laid a sheet of bond paper over the mirror, traced my tracing, and cleaned the mirror for the next piece. I made about eight of these tracings without stopping much to think, then stepped back to survey what I'd done.
The first question, of course, was whether what I'd made was a drawing or photograph. If camera lucida tracings are photographs then surely what I'd made was a series of photographs. If, however, a "photo-drawing" is more drawing than photo, I'd made a body of drawings.
Another concern was the right arm--my left arm. The marks describing this arm look gestural, but they're a series of tracings-- as accurate as I could manage-- of a moving arm. Is this a gesture, or the most tedious kind of contour drawing? This question depends on the definition of gesture. If a gesture is a series of marks that create an illusion of motion, my work is a gesture. If a gesture is a mark made with an intuitive sense of body to describe the motion of a body, then my pieces were almost the exact opposite.
Another surprise was scale. When I looked in the mirror--a mirror that's taller than me when I sit down--I felt as though I was seeing a life size image of myself. My drawings, however, all fit comfortably into an 18"x24" sheet of paper. Given that these images were direct tracings, the dissonance was strange.
Finally, on reviewing the tracings, I found that I'd inadvertently used two different techniques that yielded two different results. During the first few tracings, I'd kept one eye closed, flattening the mirror image and allowing a highly accurate likeness. In other drawings, I'd kept both eyes open and struggled with the shifting that occurred as my eyes moved and refocused. The binocular drawings were more interesting to me--they contained dead-end lines that reminded me of pentimenti and gesture. Because the image was more ambiguous when viewed through both eyes, tracing it required some measure of interpretation, which qualified these pieces--in my mind--as drawings.
I hope to discover other experiments I can do to help me get to the bottom of this struggle. I'm not looking for an authoritative answer, just the answer that's true to me-- and I hope it will give me some clue of how to proceed in my work.
I use photographs as preliminary or collage materials in my work, but never without a sense of conflict. I'm not a photographer, I have little understanding of the mechanics of a camera, and everything I've learned about photography has been simply from playing around with cameras. On the one hand, I feel like photography is my natural right, simply by virtue of my having been born into the age of digital cameras. I've scarcely known a world where cameras haven't been so prevalent as to exist in places where I don't even want or need them. On the other hand, I feel a responsibility to be educated about the camera and photography if I'm going to use them in my work, especially since I abhor the underresearched art student.
I found a happy medium in this struggle in the form of my printer/copier. Photocopying is a photographic process. However, the minimal history and codified "rules" of copier art relative to traditional photography make me much more comfortable using it in my practice. Photocopied drawings still resemble drawings, and other photocopied material can be reduced to resemble drawings or paintings as well. In addition, Xeroxes lend themselves to transfers, meaning the material can be taken even further from the source to become more and more drawinglike.
Lately, however, my thoughts have turned to the origin of the word "photography" and some of the earliest photographic processes. Broken down, "photography" translates to "drawing with light"--hence, early light-based tracing techniques, like the camera obscura or camera lucida, can be considered photographic. My concern is, where does this distinction end? Is a "photo-drawing", such as a camera lucida tracing, a "photograph"? Is a lithograph made from a tracing of a camera lucida tracing a "photo-drawing", and if so, are the resultant prints "photographs"?
This preoccupation recently collided with issues life size self-portraiture that I'd also been working on, and yielded a studio experiment that provided even more food for thought. I sat down in front of a large mirror, approximately 4' tall, and using a washable marker, traced my image in the mirror. As a left-hander, I was unable to draw my left hand in the act of drawing my left hand, so the end of the figure's right arm dissolved into specific but abstract marks. Once I'd finished tracing myself, I laid a sheet of bond paper over the mirror, traced my tracing, and cleaned the mirror for the next piece. I made about eight of these tracings without stopping much to think, then stepped back to survey what I'd done.
The first question, of course, was whether what I'd made was a drawing or photograph. If camera lucida tracings are photographs then surely what I'd made was a series of photographs. If, however, a "photo-drawing" is more drawing than photo, I'd made a body of drawings.
Another concern was the right arm--my left arm. The marks describing this arm look gestural, but they're a series of tracings-- as accurate as I could manage-- of a moving arm. Is this a gesture, or the most tedious kind of contour drawing? This question depends on the definition of gesture. If a gesture is a series of marks that create an illusion of motion, my work is a gesture. If a gesture is a mark made with an intuitive sense of body to describe the motion of a body, then my pieces were almost the exact opposite.
Another surprise was scale. When I looked in the mirror--a mirror that's taller than me when I sit down--I felt as though I was seeing a life size image of myself. My drawings, however, all fit comfortably into an 18"x24" sheet of paper. Given that these images were direct tracings, the dissonance was strange.
Finally, on reviewing the tracings, I found that I'd inadvertently used two different techniques that yielded two different results. During the first few tracings, I'd kept one eye closed, flattening the mirror image and allowing a highly accurate likeness. In other drawings, I'd kept both eyes open and struggled with the shifting that occurred as my eyes moved and refocused. The binocular drawings were more interesting to me--they contained dead-end lines that reminded me of pentimenti and gesture. Because the image was more ambiguous when viewed through both eyes, tracing it required some measure of interpretation, which qualified these pieces--in my mind--as drawings.
I hope to discover other experiments I can do to help me get to the bottom of this struggle. I'm not looking for an authoritative answer, just the answer that's true to me-- and I hope it will give me some clue of how to proceed in my work.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Dreams
When I'm stressed, I have dreams. They're not bad and they're not good but they're usually confusing and often tiring.
Last night I dreamt that I was trying to get to class, but better and more meaningful experiences kept presenting themselves. I fought it for a while, but eventually gave up on class and found myself listening to my minstrels play at a bookstore. That's got to be more important than the class I'm supposed to be attending this morning, which I dread.
In another dream, one of my professors told me that it was really important that I go to Iceland. That it would do good things for my work.
I'm jealous of dream-me. She gets all the good opportunities.
Last night I dreamt that I was trying to get to class, but better and more meaningful experiences kept presenting themselves. I fought it for a while, but eventually gave up on class and found myself listening to my minstrels play at a bookstore. That's got to be more important than the class I'm supposed to be attending this morning, which I dread.
In another dream, one of my professors told me that it was really important that I go to Iceland. That it would do good things for my work.
I'm jealous of dream-me. She gets all the good opportunities.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Portfolio is Live
Check out my new portfolio at meganboehm.carbonmade.com. It's a bit incomplete right now but the highlights are there.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
My Second Research Conference
Research Conference 2.0 was a very different experience than the first one. My new and improved poster looked a lot more professional and polished, and I felt more prepared and knew what to expect.
I didn't get many questions, or get to strike up very many conversations. The other researchers were busy at their boards, and the faculty don't seem interested in wandering outside of their discipline to ask questions.
I did meet two young women who had plenty of excellent questions. They weren't presenters, in fact, I'm not sure why they were there. But they were very happy to talk to me, despite professing they didn't know a lot about art.
Well! For not knowing a lot about art, these ladies were asking some hard-hitting questions. "How does your environment affect your work? What leads you from one piece to the next? How do you know when your work is finished?" It was a challenge to answer these on the spot, as they're exactly the kind of questions I struggle with in my day-to-day studio practice. But conversations like these are gifts; it's so much easier to answer a question in discussion with another person, rather than just digging deeper and deeper into yourself.
Moments like this remind me that art is an experience, one you can approach with little to know outside knowledge and come away from with new insights. In fact, I think every discipline should take this approach. It's akin to how we learn as kids. I didn't understand fluid dynamics at eight, but I was fascinated that water, oil, and honey would layer instead of mix in a jar. I was able to intuit some of these scientific principles by having new experiences.
We are all researchers, and we should all be open to sharing. It doesn't require a ton of technical knowledge on the part of the listener. Just a patient explainer and a willingness to share an experience.
I did meet two young women who had plenty of excellent questions. They weren't presenters, in fact, I'm not sure why they were there. But they were very happy to talk to me, despite professing they didn't know a lot about art.
Well! For not knowing a lot about art, these ladies were asking some hard-hitting questions. "How does your environment affect your work? What leads you from one piece to the next? How do you know when your work is finished?" It was a challenge to answer these on the spot, as they're exactly the kind of questions I struggle with in my day-to-day studio practice. But conversations like these are gifts; it's so much easier to answer a question in discussion with another person, rather than just digging deeper and deeper into yourself.
Moments like this remind me that art is an experience, one you can approach with little to know outside knowledge and come away from with new insights. In fact, I think every discipline should take this approach. It's akin to how we learn as kids. I didn't understand fluid dynamics at eight, but I was fascinated that water, oil, and honey would layer instead of mix in a jar. I was able to intuit some of these scientific principles by having new experiences.
We are all researchers, and we should all be open to sharing. It doesn't require a ton of technical knowledge on the part of the listener. Just a patient explainer and a willingness to share an experience.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Academia!
The semester is wrapping up faster than I could have imagined. I'm surprised that I'm not freaking out more, but I think that's merely because it hasn't "sunk in" yet. I'll be graduating with my BFA in a month and a day.
I'm tired and uninspired. I wonder what will happen when I don't have professors to make me turn in work?
I'm tired and uninspired. I wonder what will happen when I don't have professors to make me turn in work?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Making Work
Recently, I made a painting that I actually like. This hasn't happened in a while, so I was pretty excited.
The trouble is, I'm not sure this painting is about the stuff I want my work to be about. Actually, right now, I'm really not sure what I want my work to be about at all.
Most of the things I've made and liked lately have had little to do with my authenticity/anachronism ideas, but I still think that's what I want my work to be about. I have all these other ideas kicking around in my head, but I can't commit to them, because they feel like plan b. The only thing I feel certain about right now is figure painting. I can commit--at least right now--to the idea of being a figurative artist. Drawing, too, is something that feels right, and the combination of drawing and painting in my last work was pretty energizing.
Is it time to take a step back from concept and focus on form and process? That's what I did with my marathon project and it was refreshing but not totally satisfying.
I know I need to make work, but I don't know what kind of work I need to make.
The trouble is, I'm not sure this painting is about the stuff I want my work to be about. Actually, right now, I'm really not sure what I want my work to be about at all.
Most of the things I've made and liked lately have had little to do with my authenticity/anachronism ideas, but I still think that's what I want my work to be about. I have all these other ideas kicking around in my head, but I can't commit to them, because they feel like plan b. The only thing I feel certain about right now is figure painting. I can commit--at least right now--to the idea of being a figurative artist. Drawing, too, is something that feels right, and the combination of drawing and painting in my last work was pretty energizing.
Is it time to take a step back from concept and focus on form and process? That's what I did with my marathon project and it was refreshing but not totally satisfying.
I know I need to make work, but I don't know what kind of work I need to make.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Debriefing the Undergraduate Research Conference
Over the past week, I've been processing my experience at the Florida Undergraduate Research Conference, and I've come to a few conclusions. Number one is that I'm glad I went. I think it was good practice to present myself as a professional and dedicated researcher, and I did pretty well holding my own in discussion. I also relish the opportunity to talk with colleagues about matters they're heavily invested in. I think that kind of passion is contagious across disciplines.
In addition, I learned a lot about how this kind of conference works, and how participants in other disciplines present their work. I'm hoping to apply this knowledge to FAU's upcoming research symposium, and perhaps retool my poster so it's more in line with traditional templates.
This has been a week of great conversations with people in and out of my discipline and concentration. In this last semester of college, I find my perspectives shifting regarding my relationship to other people on campus. Lines are beginning to blur, and classmates and professors are all becoming simply colleagues. I hope that's not terribly presumptuous of me. I just mean that I'm working together with all kinds of folks in all kinds of meaningful ways.
In addition, I learned a lot about how this kind of conference works, and how participants in other disciplines present their work. I'm hoping to apply this knowledge to FAU's upcoming research symposium, and perhaps retool my poster so it's more in line with traditional templates.
This has been a week of great conversations with people in and out of my discipline and concentration. In this last semester of college, I find my perspectives shifting regarding my relationship to other people on campus. Lines are beginning to blur, and classmates and professors are all becoming simply colleagues. I hope that's not terribly presumptuous of me. I just mean that I'm working together with all kinds of folks in all kinds of meaningful ways.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Frustrations
I'm so frustrated with Spring Break being basically over and the Research conference hot on my trail same weekend Surfing Florida opens and it's almost time to get my BFA show pieces approved and why haven't I made anything good lately and am I really a painter or should I run away.
happy birthday!
happy birthday!
Friday, March 9, 2012
BFA Show Prep
Yesterday was a highly unsatisfying studio day. Eight hours with not much to show for it, but I will chalk that up to my tendency to do fairly in-depth preliminary work, and the humidity making my gesso dry really slow. Just because I don't put paint down doesn't mean I didn't have a productive day I suppose. Today should finally be a painting day.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Permission not to Know
When I first started working with collected images (mostly photos), I had this problem where I'd weed out images that I actually liked. I'd look at materials and think, "Wow. I love this. But it's too pretty/silly/weird/unrelated subject matter to go with the rest of the imagery."
This blog is proof that I've struggled with that-- just look at the tuning musicians photo that I wasn't going to paint.
Fortunately, I've learned that materials don't need to be homogenous to be related, and that if I love something that's probably a sign that I should include it in my projects. I've given myself permission not to know exactly where a project will take me, or how components will work together, or what something means. I try not to stumble blindly into my projects, but leaving my mind open keeps me from prematurely killing a good idea that might pop up.
I try to use this newfound power judiciously. Just because I love a picture of my little sister leaning over a stingray pool doesn't mean it belongs in a painting about, say, personal adornment (though even as I typed that, I thought -- ooh, maybe it does!). One really big challenge right now is trying to remain open-minded even as I do things like write artist statements and work on the BFA show which tend to be narrowing, focusing activities. I feel like every few days I'm asking myself what I want my art to be about, what I want it to look like. It's exhausting and discouraging, but remembering that just about anything can find a place in my work lets me breathe a little easier.
This blog is proof that I've struggled with that-- just look at the tuning musicians photo that I wasn't going to paint.
Fortunately, I've learned that materials don't need to be homogenous to be related, and that if I love something that's probably a sign that I should include it in my projects. I've given myself permission not to know exactly where a project will take me, or how components will work together, or what something means. I try not to stumble blindly into my projects, but leaving my mind open keeps me from prematurely killing a good idea that might pop up.
I try to use this newfound power judiciously. Just because I love a picture of my little sister leaning over a stingray pool doesn't mean it belongs in a painting about, say, personal adornment (though even as I typed that, I thought -- ooh, maybe it does!). One really big challenge right now is trying to remain open-minded even as I do things like write artist statements and work on the BFA show which tend to be narrowing, focusing activities. I feel like every few days I'm asking myself what I want my art to be about, what I want it to look like. It's exhausting and discouraging, but remembering that just about anything can find a place in my work lets me breathe a little easier.
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