I used to accept the mentality that “art is suffering.” And if I were to create anything worth seeing it would have to be the result of passion, rather than the diligent effort of a well regulated life. My struggles are private, and I really don’t want to share them, mostly because I don’t want to be judged. So much of what I create relates to my own life, that simply to create the work means that I end up navel gazing, because I wonder what people think of me because of it. But things have to come from somewhere, even if they are ultimately transformed into a work that exists on its own right.
Silly, as the maxim is Create Good Art! But not at the expense of one’s life.
Sometimes I find the stories distract me from understanding how these artists worked: when they got up, how they avoided procrastination, how they got their work done, and whether they were happy doing it.
Saint-Exupery may have based the Rose in the Little Prince on Consuelo, his wife, and current popular wisdom holds that Lewis Carol, who wrote Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was obsessed with children. But perhaps that’s because Carol’s family purged his archives after his death to remove any records of Carol’s relationships with adult women, in an effort to protect his reputation as an unmarried don.
While my interest in art trivia could be seen as a waste of time, I prefer to view this research as giving me permission to live my life first, and create my work second. I aim to live a drama free life so that I have the energy to create interesting work, but if I live no life at all, the creative well will be dry.
I still haven’t read articles that make the point of the importance of materials to the artwork itself that are convincing enough for me to change my stance. Bosch’s choice to work in oil paint, rather than tempera, had more to do with technological invention in media, than grandstanding through binder choice. If an artist brought cultural acceptability to a media (ie Ansel Adams and photography), the choice of media would be important, but for the rest of us, it seems immaterial. It’s a rabbit hole that distracts from the work itself.
I don’t think that art is some rarified thing that people only do if they can afford a studio, or worse, are content to transform their living quarters into an unventilated space for oil painting. Art making isn’t only for students, or for people willing to live in punishing circumstances.
It is possible to create something meaningful and beautiful and have a decent life. It doesn’t preclude great art, although perhaps it does mean that works need to become smaller, or that we need to have a second job. Vermeer was an innkeeper in 17th Century Holland, and no one now argues that his work was third rate because it didn’t provide his sole source of funds.
Usually my projects began with more fanfare, although they are not necessarily better for it. A decision like: “I want to make a dragon” or, “I want you to meet Otis” (the blue ringed octopus featured at the beginning of this post, who is hiding under a root). Faith is generally enough to get me through the beginning stages of these projects. Even when I can’t see who they will become, I believe firmly that the drawing will become someone.
Usually my projects began with more fanfare, although they are not necessarily better for it. A decision like: “I want to make a dragon” or, “I want you to meet Otis” (the blue ringed octopus featured at the beginning of this post, who is hiding under a root). Faith is generally enough to get me through the beginning stages of these projects. Even when I can’t see who they will become, I believe firmly that the drawing will become someone.
I’ve been playing with the concept of writing adds to visual artwork, either in the form of titles, surrounding text (in the case of illustrations), or artist statements. Often the title feels like a placeholder: e.g. “Abstract No. 1.” In these cases, I’m left with the feeling that the title merely exists for the art catolog, rather than for the viewer. A notable exception is Paul Kee’s Two Men Meet, Each Believing the Other to Be of Higher Rank (1903)
I’ve been playing with the concept of writing adds to visual artwork, either in the form of titles, surrounding text (in the case of illustrations), or artist statements. Often the title feels like a placeholder: e.g. “Abstract No. 1.” In these cases, I’m left with the feeling that the title merely exists for the art catolog, rather than for the viewer. A notable exception is Paul Kee’s Two Men Meet, Each Believing the Other to Be of Higher Rank (1903)
To me, experiment doesn’t translate to haphazard, but instead to a thoughtful investigation. Growing in your craft is always a good thing, right?
Originally, I chose ink as a media because it wouldn’t smudge once dry and I couldn’t change my mind once the line was on the paper. Still, it’s amazing how often I change my mind. And the longer I work, the more it changes. Sometimes the changes are subtle — increasing the contrast to fix the light balance, and sometimes they’re drastic – getting bored with a drawing and deciding it would look better sideways. Sometimes I change the orientation so often that the drawing ends up in its starting position.
The flexibility gives the final image an ambiguous form. My grouper drawing illustrates this well. The grouper evolved to become an undersea fowl – or, more likely, beautifully rendered shadows for a larger, yet to be made work.
Original Grouper Sketch
Grouper, pen & ink McNamara 2014
Final Grouper Sketch (same orientation)
Grouper, Pen & Ink, Seana McNamara 2015
I lost faith in the grouper, and my drawing devolved into an exploration of texture. Just how dark you can get your blacks and have them still look like something.
I flipped it once again. The grouper is no longer visible and has become background. You can still see a fish (one white one is dead center and another, very black, is lurking top right.) The drawing has a fuzzy, velvety quality.
Shaded Water
This image is so dark that it would look best as the shadows of a larger work. I can see the edges of something, new, shiny, half formed outside the page. It’s a sense, rather than an image. I have the deep shadows – now I just need to find the clear lines and simple forms that will balance it as I collage it into something new.
