Monday, July 6, 2015

Back to Basic


For any blogger or writer, especially those of us who aren't exactly professionals, finding your voice is tough. As I'm sure most of you have noticed I did not make one post on the blog in nearly a year.  I have been blogging on The Wastepapers since 2009 (6 years!), and have nearly lost my urge to do it anymore. Since, blogging has become a growing way for Millennials to make a profitable living so many people have thrown themselves into building businesses and using blogs as their own means professional self-publication, I feel like the creative spirit of blogging that drew so many artists and writers to the medium is dying. That isn't a criticism of those who do make their living off blogging. There is nothing wrong with making money off your blog, there is nothing wrong with using it to promote your brand; in fact, it is phenomenal if you actually can make a living that way. 

Deep in my gut, I feel that I do have that entrepreneurial spirit when it comes to branding and making art. Hell, I have to eat and my skills as an artist have helped me pay my rent. However, I'm done using my blog to do it. As an avid journaller and someone who wants to eventually publish my own books someday, writing is a form of self-expression and way for me to put my life back together. I don't talk about my personal life too much on my blog, but the last three years have been hard. I've changed careers, at times I've been broke to the point where I couldn't afford to run my air conditioner in the middle of July, and in this one year alone I have been in three separate graduate school programs, in three separate departments. Writing and a great therapist have helped me push through it all.

To me for so long art has been business, but writing is mine. In a few weeks I am finally moving away from Mississippi and going back to Athens, Georgia, to get my second masters degree in social work. As I make these changes and embark on yet another adventure, writing will continue to be my pocket therapist to help me adjust and make sense of it all. I want to use my blog to share what I learn a long the way. Maybe my own screw ups and "Ah-ha!" moments will help other creative minds who, also haven't gotten it all figured out yet either know that's its fine that they don't.

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Heartlines

The Little Room Detail, Walter Anderson
"It's been my experience that people who have no experience or training are sometimes the best artists."- James Meade

Those are the words of my college painting and drawing instructor. He makes a valid point. School is about learning the formal aspects of art. Learn the formal aspects as well as you can so you don't even think about the formalities and just paint. Or as Meade put it, "transcribing the human soul".
I don't know as much about the formalities as I should or would like. Letting me speak through visual is difficult. I am fascinated by other people's journals and sketchbooks. They all have inherent qualities of the artist. For some reason, I've never felt like my sketches, paintings and drawings are a true representation of my soul. When I look back at my school sketchbooks, I notice a stiff, brittle drawings. The line quality is devoid of any real feeling.


Before college I painted and drew a lot. I have taken classes since I was 10 years old. I was very rigid in trying to make my drawings as realistic as possible. Almost all of my art projects were copied from photographs and magazines. Even though I tried to capture extreme realism. I hated copying from other sources. I wanted to make it up out of my head. My teachers had other ideas.


This all changed when I met Meade in figure drawing class. His philosophy was, if you are trying to copy something line by line take a picture of it and save your energy. I was thrilled. I could finally stop torturing myself, or so I thought. In class I tried so hard to make good art. I did well in my classes, but I did not realize how expressive my art could be until I worked in an art form I knew nothing about.

Until about four years about I had never worked in clay. As part of being an art education major I had to take two of all the major studio disciplines- two drawing, two painting, two sculpture, and two ceramics. My first year in school I took a ceramics class. I wasn't exactly happy about it. I firmly believed that I was a 2D artist. I was a painter and draftsperson, not a sculptor.
After about a week of classes this attitude changed. I was in love with clay. There were expressive qualities at my disposal I never had in the 2D world of drawing and painting. The push-pull, tactile quality of clay was unique because I could hold my creations in my hands. Nothing separated my touch from the work. I could literally control every part of it.


What was different between clay and my self-declared media is that I was new to it. I was free to experiment and had too because I had no idea what worked. By my second ceramics class that summer I had no fear. I tried every technique I could think of and I didn't care if something didn't work. Some pieces I made were very successful and others that crumbled in the kiln. For the first time I could show myself in what I made. I could finally tell stories and not be literal about it.

That is what I want from my paintings and drawings. I want to unlearn the need to be perfect. I want to make the messes and get ugly this summer. If something doesn't work out, who cares? I can always cut it up and make something that does. Meade told me one time that if I set my heart on every line I make I'll never make it. Now, I'm set to put my heart in the lines. 
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