Sometimes I feel like a stubborn, petulant child being made
to color within the lines when I really feel like scribbling. This happens a lot and nobody is making
me do it; I create constraints all by myself. Then there are other times when I am handed a great
opportunity and I still resist.
For the past two months I have been immobilized by an invitation
to be in a show about architecture.
The theme is one that I have explored many times before, but since my
show of house and church collages last year, my thoughts have been elsewhere.
Over the last year I have been working on mixed media paintings, enjoying a newfound freedom in abstract, non-objective work. Just when I thought I had moved on and was finished with representation for a while, I am pulled back in that direction.
In theory, I understand all the reasons why change can be
invigorating and that repetition has its own rewards, but the prospect of
returning to a familiar theme has brought up a lot of resistance. My brain
says, “Yes”, but emotionally I have to find a way back into the subject.
Somewhat begrudgingly, I put away my non-representational work and am
refocusing on the familiar theme.
Knowing that something is good for me doesn’t help that
much; It does as much good as New Years resolutions, which is to say, not much. Maybe
it comes from having a temperament shared by many other artists, that of gravitating
to one thing and then wanting to do the polar opposite next.
Over the past few years I have been shifting between labor-intensive,
crafted work to more open, expressive art. These are the two sides of my
artistic self that I have always had: The neat, graphic abstractionist and the impatient,
messy artist. I am both the high school student immersed in her subscription to
Graphis Magazine and the college student building crudely constructed
sculptures from objects found on the street.
When I
alternate between representational and non-representational art or refined
versus more inelegant styles, I sometimes gain clarity, like when you hold your
artwork up to a mirror to see the unvarnished truth of your composition. Even the time spent not working on art has value. It is the sherbet between courses, a
palette cleanser. But change is hard and takes courage unless you are naturally
a risk taker or averse to commitment. I am neither and unless events occur that
force my hand, I find the whole business of change to be challenging.
Finding new life in a familiar subject and nurturing the
curiosity necessary to work begins with a commitment to face my resistances. My first step is just showing up. Choosing
any subject, method or material will eventually lead to a solution because, as
the old adage goes, “ All roads lead to Rome”. I usually fail terribly at first and the initial attempts
may not be the solution I anticipated or thought I wanted, but it will begin to
seduce me. With a little luck, kindness and realistic expectations, I can do
this. If I put in the hours and use my imagination, inevitably something new
will be revealed during the process and I will find a way to fall back in love
with an old subject. Happily, I think I have found a way into my new series and
I am encouraged. I pulled wood out of a dumpster last week and the other day bought
large sheets of cardboard at the shipping store. It’s a start.
Right now, I am consumed by the dilemma of whether to use
cardboard or wood, paint or collage.
These decisions loom large for me, although they are laughably
minor. My thoughts bounce from the
practical (Will it cost too much or will it require framing?) to thoughts about
the surface qualities of different materials. If initially I am unsure what I am trying to convey,
working will eventually reveal that to me.
When I get tired of the recurring problems that always
plague me, whether in the studio, or in my life, I hope I
can remember to bring more creativity to finding solutions. I would like to remind myself that avoidance isn’t the
answer. It is in the willingness to pick up a new tool or the decision to rummage
through a dumpster where everything will be revealed. The alternative is
deadening. Risk and change are the artist’s best tools, even if that means
returning to art you thought you were finished with and had resolved. I have come to believe that nothing is
ever really finished for me and those old ideas can have new life because I am always
changing too.
Photo credit: All work by Lorraine Heitzman
