Nope, I didn’t mean losing. That’s not a typo. Loosing– as in, letting go, loosening the reins, giving some slack. I’m not the best at the loosing thing. And it shows in my work sometimes. I become regimented and have a hard time letting go and just going with the flow. When I saw these pieces in the Trashed series by Janet Lage, I immediately admired their seemingly “I don’t give f*** attitude“.
The splats of bright color, the twisted, energetic lines, the barely comprehensible scrawls, it’s like she is looking into the inside of what all our minds really look like. Aren’t we all just filled with chaos, contemplation, and contradiction? Maybe that’s why so many of us need help with the loosing. We’re struggling nearly every second to keep what seems like interior pandemonium from spilling out, ruining our calm, controlled facade. Or maybe that’s just me. Ha.
In this world of sharing every tidbit of our lives, transparency can be a blessing and a curse. A recent blog post by artist Emily Jeffords and these ink paintings by Sarah Irvin brought to mind a situation that came up for me recently and I thought I would share my experience with you. It was one in which I was transparent in my sharing, thoughts, and motives, which helped me to be understood clearly, but at the same time, has made me a bit more guarded.
If you’re a regular AF reader or social media follower, then you know that in the past year, I’ve been painting regularly for the first time in a very long time. Basically since college lo’ those many years ago! I’ve been trying to find my way and find my voice artistically and shared my progress here but mostly on social media. I finally felt like maybe I was beginning to hit on something when in a few pieces I began to notice a similarity to an artist’s work I greatly admire. And then the panic hit.
This artist and I, thankfully, are online friends ( we’ve yet to be in the same place at the same time to meet in person ) and I had a feeling she had seen the similarities, too. I wrestled with whether or not to say anything but finally determined that the best course was– you guessed it, transparency.
I sent the artist an open, honest email letting her know that I was in no way intentionally trying to copy her style. In generosity of spirit, she reassured me that although she’d noticed, she knew it couldn’t be intentional. As artists we are all influenced by the other work we see, we can’t help but be. We are all taking cues from those who came before.
Through this exchange, the artist gave me a piece of advice that I’ve been trying to take to heart. She counseled me to perhaps pull back on sharing work until I felt sure that the direction the work was taking was where I wanted to go and felt uniquely my own. Transparency in this case led to a pulling down of the veil, if only temporarily.
I am more guarded now, in what I share on public media– not for fear of someone else copying me, as more successful artists often are for good reason, but for respect for the process, which right now, is between me, myself, and the canvas.
The paintings in this series by Sarah Irvin are about a very different kind of confusion and definitely worth your time to explore and read about on her website.
Some people seem to be born knowing exactly who they are and they never waver. Others of us spend a good deal of our lives trying to figure it out! The process can be slow, but eventually, it will be apparent when our true selves emerge. To me, these paintings by Ryan Hewett seem to mimic those stages of self discovery and acceptance.
In his bold, painterly brushstrokes, we see in some elements of each face more detail than others. Just as the process of finding who we are is about refining, we become known in some ways more quickly and distinctly than others. Some aspects of who we are take a much longer time to nail down, especially as we shed inhibitions and outside influences. Once we can quiet that cacophony, we can hear the voice inside.
When we’re out hiking, I can’t help but run my hand along the surface of a tree, touch the softness of a patch of moss, gently dip my hand into cold, clear water. No matter where we are exploring, whether desert, woods, or mountains, there are always countless delicious textures to be experienced! The paintings of Seattle artist Drie Chapek with their thickly painted surfaces echo the intricate webs of textures to be savored.
Just as the plants and water and rocks and tress exist in wild spaces, one tumbling over and onto another, so do Chapek’s layers interweave and run through each other. We catch glimpses of one while contemplating another.
I think, in this world there are perhaps three kinds of people– those who love the desert, ocean lovers, and lake/river people. Mr. F and I are definitely not desert people and it’s taken us a while to realize we aren’t ocean people either. Both have their beauty, yes, but neither stir our souls the way a crystal clear mountain lake or river can. The love of lakes, for me, happened I think in childhood. I spent a good deal of time every summer on a lake– either at camp or with my aunt and uncle who lived on a tiny lake in Northern Florida. Two years ago we spent a summer on a lake in Idaho and it remains one of my favorite spot in all of our travels.
There is an easiness to lake life that creates an ease with the people around you– neighbors seem more neighborly, interactions are more likely to take place from boat to shoreline than by telephone or email.
Maine artist Amy Bennett‘s paintings capture the feeling of this unique existence. The artist begins by meticulously creating dioramas, which she then paints in oil on panel. The scale of the dioramas, when recreated in paint, gives the feeling of a world created by a child– doll houses and toy boats and tiny people. It makes me recall the innocence of those days, how everything appeared very soft, and fresh, and innocent and I was discovering a world that would come to be a part of me.
Boundaries are healthy. That’s what we’re told. But when do we cross the line over into compartmentalization? As artists and in turn, as people, every experience we have informs another. Lines and lives blur and maybe we worry that we are losing control, no longer able to see where one thing ends and another begins.
The work of St. Petersburg artist Jules Cozine finds the beauty in the blurriness, shapes shift and colors bleed as our pupils try to focus in on the details, but finding none, we are forced to see the whole. Just as when we concentrate our energies on one aspect of life for too long, the others fall apart. We are meant to take in the whole. To blur the lines, to collide our worlds.
To see more of Jules Cozine’s work, please visit her website.
Every day, we’re faced with thousands of decisions, some seemingly insignificant, others life changing. But with each decision is our choice to go down this path or the other. Sushi or pizza. Turn left or turn right. In the paintings of Katie O’Hagan, I’m reminded that no matter what the alternatives, in every circumstance we have a say perhaps not in what happens but in how we react to it.
We have to be careful not to think too very much about what could be the significance of every tiny decision we make– we run the risk of freezing in fear. Instead, we make our choices and know that we chose what we thought was right at the time. We may turn out to be wrong, but better to find ourselves in the wrong place than nowhere at all.
As artists, our sources of inspiration and interest are as varied as we are. Those who chose the figure as their subject find an endless supply of stimuli, since what’s that old saying– wherever you go, there you are? We are surrounded by other human beings and even alone, there is still the figure that looks back at us in the mirror. Santa Cruz artist Linda Christensen explores the essence of the human form as it moves from moment to moment.
Whether caught in action or repose, Christensen’s figures still seem in transition, waiting to move or moving toward rest. It can be tough to find ourselves in those moments. We’re anticipating what is ahead, but still find ourselves needing to move within the now. By necessity, we focus on what is instead of what may be. And we find ourselves content with just being.
One of the joys of having worked in the fine art industry for a good long while has been the pleasure of watching the evolution of so many artists. I absolutely love looking back on an artist’s older work and seeing glimpses of what was to come! The journey of Nashville based artist Megan Cosby has been one of my favorites to watch and in her new work, I see her artistry growing and glowing.
Megan and I are from the same hometown, graduated from the same college, and we’ve both decided to find our way in new places. Starting over in a new place can be stressful and intimidating ( I should know, we do it all the time! ), but a change of scene can offer an adjustment in perspective that happens to be just what we needed. And it seems as if the neon glow of music city is shining through in Megan’s abstract paintings. Like a beautifully composed song, there is a balance of light and dark, depth and nuanced delicacy that shows that she isn’t just a painter but an interpreter of moments.
To see Megan Cosby‘s older work, you can check out her website and for her latest, check out the website of her representing gallery, Stellers Gallery.
I never thought I’d say it, but I think Instagram may be surpassing Pinterest as my new favorite social media tool. I do still lurve Pinterest, but am finding Instagram to be much more friendly, creatively and socially. And it’s become quite the source for finding artists, too! Case in point with today’s artist. I discovered watercolor artist Marta Spendowska on Instagram and have been marveling at her juxtapositions of soft strokes and bold color.
Social media, for the most part, isn’t much about delicacy. It’s more about who screams for attention the loudest. But once in a while, a whisper breaks through the noise, as in the case of Marta’s work.
