Blog

36 wX 30 h

I’m always trying different types of materials and techniques, evolving as an artist. I find it particularly challenging and gratifying when I work with the abstract form. It’s amazing what we can create by simply letting the materials be the guide. In other words, “letting go” occurs when we stop judging and controlling how things should be. Using different ways of creating opens a different perspective, a different state of being. What you think and see is limited when you only have access to one side. If you keep doing things the same way how will you see the possibilities?

Transformation series

I go through long stretches of time where I spend endless days in the studio to get nowhere. Then when I least expect it, magic happen – suddenly everything just falls into place. Time disappears and everything becomes fluid and easy. Yet, this magical moment happens sporadically with no consistency. How can this be replicated?

I read an interesting article on Taoism and the doctrine of “doing without doing”. It describes a state of being where our actions become effortless regardless of what happens as long, as we’re in harmony with the natural order of the universe. Taoism, meaning “the Way” in general terms, talks about how everything instinctively follows one path and should not be interfered or altered. Chinese artists that follow the teachings of Taoism believed that chance images, events that occur without premeditation, indicated the artist was balanced with the natural world. In other words if you go with the flow, the images will come easily and effortlessly. If you disrupt the flow the images will come with resistance and friction.

The painting “Purity” is one of the few paintings where it felt easy and effortlessly to complete. When I reflect back on how this painting was done. I understand what they meant by being in harmony. This painting was an assignment from a class I attended at Emily Carr. In this class we were given the poem, “As Much as a Pen Knows, ” written by Rumi:

Do you think that I know what I’m doing?

That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?

As much as a pen knows what it’s writing,

or the ball can guess where it’s going next.

We were then instructed to repeat this poem in our head over and over while we made quick gestural marks with Indian ink. As I repeated the words I noticed I became less and less concerned about how the marks looked. Once we completed the exercise, we were instructed to cut up the gestural marks and make a collage.  While I was cutting that night and without realizing it, I started repeating the poem in my head, “Do you think I know what I’m doing?”… I absolutely have no idea what I am doing, but here goes. Two hours later I had a finished piece.

The repetition of the poem had put me in a state where I was focused on the words and not what I was doing.  Similar to the Taoism teaching, I was doing without doing.

When I’m painting I prefer to paint with no image and let the subconscious reveal itself through the materials. The majority of the time is spent experimenting with different ways of constructing and deconstructing layers by scratching, rubbing, and scraping until the painting feels balanced. This process can be labour intensive and can last months at a time – it’s a constant interplay between chance and control.

Yet, the friction created between the two is what inspires a painting. Scratches, a splash, a rip, are all actions that keep my body physically involved in the work. Action painting allows me to surrender to the act itself similar to what a dancer feels when they connect to a song. It’s the movement that is the conduit to the creative process.

When I paint, I place the canvas on the floor so I can work around from all sides. After adding a couple of layers I take a moment to observe each mark, color, and texture in search for a pattern. If I don’t see a pattern I keep moving the canvas, flipping it sideways or upside down, turning it each way until I see cohesiveness of color or lines. If I’m not satisfied I will go back and work the painting again and again until I see composition begin to emerge.

When I see a pattern, this is where control comes into play. This part is the most critical phase of a painting. Here is where I am consciously making decisions that could potentially complete a painting or destroy it.  Do I add more blue? Scratch paint off? Do I drip paint? Do I take a risk? Sometime a decision could destroy the painting yet this same decision has led to create work that I would of never have consciously created without chance.

Transformation series- chance-controlled painting

It’s still a learning process to know when a painting is complete or not, or how much to control a painting. However, the chance to create something that is totally unique is what drives me to keep trying.

As Pollock best described it:

“When I am in my painting, I’m not aware of what I’m doing. It is only after a sort of  “get acquainted” period that I see what I have been about. I have no fears about making changes, destroying the image, etc., because the painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through. It is only when I lose contact with the painting that the result is a mess. Otherwise there is pure harmony, an easy give and take, and the painting comes out well. “

I remember when I was about seven years old, I would trace pictures and then run to my mom to proudly show her what I accomplished claiming that I drew it, just so I could get my mother’s proud eyes to look down upon me.  She would say “good job” and encourage me to keep working at it.  One day, as I was busily tracing a cat, my mother walked in and caught me.  I will never forget the look of disappointment.  She scolded me, said that I was cheating, and if I wanted to draw I needed to learn. As a result, every day she would sit me down and give me a picture to copy.  Sometimes it was a cat, dog, tree, or a horse.  She did this until I was eventually able to reproduce it.  Little did my mother know, she was inadvertently teaching my first art lesson.