DETAILS AND THE BIG PICTURE

It is in the details where I find information about what is important to me. As I make my work I notice the areas that really draw me in, usually taking a photo to crop that section from the bigger painting. I know that this selective composing is information about what I am seeking in my work. I’m paying attention to what I am noticing and asking myself what is occurring here and how I can take that further into the overall painting. I’m studying relationships and interactions – deep looking.

One of the opportunities this presents for me, which in the past actually became a challenge, is to notice these details and not become attached to them. While they provide useful information for me, and are a source of inspiration and a connection to my vision for my work, they may not remain in the piece I am in process with, simply because they no longer contribute to the whole of that piece.

I really noticed the benefit of capturing these details when I was doing my 30 Day Sketchbook Challenge in the spring of 2020. As I photographed the work each day to share with the community of artists that were joining me in this challenge, I would also take several detail shots to include. I noticed that I was often more engaged with these found compositions than with the page as a whole. So I began to ask myself questions about what I was responding to and why. The next day’s work would be informed by that investigation and I would get closer to what I was discovering through this deeper inquiry I was making – building on what has come before through observation and assimilation.

In art-making we are often in pursuit of something – a vision, a feeling, an evocation of something intangible. This is particularly true in abstraction, where the subject matter is not drawn from the external world in the way it might if we were working representationally. As my mentor, artist Bill Porteous often says, “If representational painting is explicit description, then abstraction is implicit suggestion.” In abstraction our subject matter is not directly related to a person, place or thing, but rather an internalized awareness of these externals, reinterpreted into form, colour, line – all evoking meaning for us as we choose our own way of expressing this nebulous space. Is it any wonder we find it challenging to know a path forward with our work, or how to determine it is finished?

What helps us to find the solid ground to meet this place? What can we offer ourselves as artists that can support the deep dive we often take as we bring forward our internalized vision for our work?

For many of us, myself included, the vastness of this place and the endless possibilities and choices that we face can cause creative anxiety. And when we want it so much – to make work that feels truthful, connected, and personal – we invest a lot in every action we take towards that desire. When we inevitably fail to meet ourselves there, simply because failure is an important part of the process of getting there, we begin to close down that process with frustration, fear, disappointment, and self-criticism. We want it so much that we unintentionally let the “want” grow bigger than the process we need to be present for. Then all we have is the want itself, which leaves us unfulfilled and dissatisfied with our results.

Being attached to the process instead of the outcomes allows us to really mine this place for all its worth. We find gold when we are able to let go of the “want” and just be present for the discoveries. When making our art we have to be passionate about the process, so much so that if the final result of our efforts is a complete and utter failure, we have still given ourselves tremendous value through that engagement.

We look for the details of what we notice and what feels more right than something else. We add this to our inventory – our collection of elements that make up our work. Our artistic vocabulary grows, clarifies, and directs us towards more wholeness in our work. Rather than parts we love attempting to join together to form an image, we ruthlessly rework areas to bring all of the parts together to form something whole and complete – something that is greater than the sum of its parts and something completely new.

It is through this act of paying attention – noticing what we are noticing – that we find ourselves. And it is when we bring ourselves fully to our art-making, without concern if what we are bringing is worthy, that we access our unique expression. The details we are drawn to are like breadcrumbs leading us to our clarity and the work we are meant to do. This deep looking is slow, methodical, and requires our presence. We need to be willing to sit with unanswered questions, unsatisfying results, and puzzles that are not yet solvable for us. We need to remain with ourselves and the process to find the gold. 

By paying close attention to what we are compelled by, both in our work and in our lives, we give voice to our sensibilities. And when we accept our sensibilities as whole, complete and worthy we are accepting ourselves. This is the best place to make our art from.

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