A First Draft
The creative process: Sharing notes from the Studio Table
In the studio this week I worked on a mixed media collaged oil painting while trying to appreciate and understand the imagery that was forming in the process.
The artwork started with geometric shapes that began to collect rudimentary little windows. Then I suddenly collaged printed black and white leaves onto the piece.
The first thought that came to me was “A Love Letter Home” which I quickly jotted onto my studio table since I often lose the thoughts that fleetingly pass as I paint.
I realized I was inspired by a heart shape that had wedged itself between two worlds - one built of little houses and the other a big foliage-filled sky. The darker organic shapes gave a sadness to the glow of the lighter elements. Yet the beating heart in between felt like a buffer keeping the mysterious old forest elements at bay while the quiet homes pretended to live in safety.
A famous billboard suddenly came to mind from 1971 (during the Boeing bust), “Will the last person leaving SEATTLE - turn out the Lights?”1
I’m not quite sure what possessed that line of thought (though very familiar to me as someone who grew up in the Seattle area), but after I finished working on the piece for the day, I sat down to try to capture my unexpected impressions in writing.
(The text of the raw and unfiltered notes in the image is written below)
Studio Notes 9/29/2022
8x10 Painting - Love Letter Home
As the forest grows ever closer
Ready to consume me whole
let this letter be your warning
My heart is full yet
lives fearfully
Waiting for the darkness to fall.
Prepare for the journey
Fill the gallon jugs of water
Pack jars full of colorful bounty
Singing with their beauty
Until sorrow snatches the
words of strength and confidence
From the smoke filled air. Let my letter reach you
Before footprints are all that
are left behind
Fossils holding the hands of time
Step by step
Until the fire burns deep
And my heart explodes.My thoughts seemed to ramble through memories and media stories of forest fires, global warming, and pandemic juxtaposed against the love of family, nature, and home. And as they did, I simply wrote the words that came to mind in my studio journal.
I seemed to want to find humanity in the unfathomable. To seek comfort despite the destruction. Now, as I continue to look at the piece and consider whether it is finished, I am excited to also continue to rework the text it inspired to see if a poem takes shape and how that poem may influence the final painting.
“… art created from deep within the process has become the most meaningful to me.”
We make art for many reasons and in many ways - some of which may only be known to the maker. Sometimes the creative process is fast (like in my recent abstract paintings)…
and sometimes it’s painstakingly slow (like with my Uncharted Territory piece which I started almost exactly one year ago today and on which am still continuing to research, test, and work, piece by piece, as a part of my 2022 Swatch Project).
There is no right way to be creative, and I enjoy many ways of making - from knitting a sweater pattern by my favorite fiber artist to doodling in my notebook. Over these last few years, however, art created from deep within the process has become the most meaningful to me. It is when I discover a story unfolding in the midst of the colors, shapes, lines, and imagery forming their unique bonds that a piece truly comes alive for me. As I continue, the story may change and grow, requiring contemplation and even new skills to proceed. I feel bound by the need to let the art naturally take shape even when I have no idea where that may lead me or the art. There is urgency. But contradictorily, it is slow. When I widened my creative lens to include materials beyond my original painter’s scope, I opened a door to a more complete artistic experience - one which often leads me blindly, yet purposefully. And one I wish to share as honestly and openly as I am able. Hence, this rudimentary “first draft” of the painting and poem, tentatively titled “A Love Letter Home” (above).
“Yeast always takes time to rise.” ~ Emmett Wheatfall
After writing my studio journal notes, perhaps because I had just registered for the 2022 Oregon Poetry Association’s Annual Conference2, I found the words from poet Emmett Wheatfall (who I heard at the 2021 OPA Annual Conference, “Bearing Witness”) reverberating in my thoughts. From my conference notes, I recalled he talked of “Bearing” as taking ownership of what we write, and “Witness” as providing testimony for what we see, feel, hear, and imagine. I felt encouraged to not only keep working on my poetry but to think of my artwork in new ways. I was reminded of the importance of fully embracing and sitting with my art. And at the same time felt encouraged to share the ideas formed in its creation.
He also advised the new poet with these words of wisdom: “Never frame an unwritten poem. Do not mount it in a gallery for viewing. Yeast always takes time to rise. Hang it on a wall… let it settle there. [Then] invite the world to review it.”
As an artist, I am often lured by that initial excitement of a “finished” piece. I want to enthusiastically share it. I often try to remember Mr. Wheatfall’s poignant words and let the art rest for a moment, giving it a chance to rise to its full potential.
Along with the resting and waiting, however, I also believe there is room for another kind of conversation. I believe by being vulnerable and exposing the progression of creativity, inviting the world to review it as it seeks its final destination on the gallery wall, the art becomes a more honest reflection of the artist and the intent of the creation.
It promises to build a stronger, more resilient community in the midst of chaos and uncertainty.
At least that is what I hope.
Keep creating. Keep sharing.
Your voice matters.
~ Jennifer
https://www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/iconic-will-the-last-person-seattle-billboard-bubbles-up-again/
I highly recommend the OPA 2022 conference coming up very soon on October 8th.