The Need to Create

Like many others, over the past year I have devoured reading. Along with my usual choice of artist biographies and essays on creativity, I’ve dabbled in historical novels, poetry and along the way discovered a deep appreciation for George Orwell. It started with my first ever reading of “Nineteen Eighty Four” - a novel that each successive generation can believe it was written about them. With an interest in British colonialism, I went on to read “Burmese Days” and most recently, I read his story about a man fighting to keep his creativity in “Keep the Aspidistra Flying”.

The films I watched, too, echoed my reading. An often rewatched favourite, “The Truman Show”, is an interesting companion piece to Nineteen Eighty Four as a story about a man escaping a prison - but with a more life-affirming ending.

“A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood” tells the story of the forever positive children’s television presenter and activist Mr Rogers with the most memorable moment for me being how he expressed his anger at the world through private untuneful thumps on piano keys.

However, the most profound reflection came to me through the fictional Eurovision Song Contest movie “The Story of Fire Saga”, where the lead singer of a cheesy pop act is asked the question, “If your music could speak for you, what would it say?” Whoa! Let me pause the movie and think about that for a minute!

If my art could speak for me, what would it say?

It is an emotional and psychological turning point for the character in the film as she goes on to write her most beautiful and meaningful song. She discovers the power of genuine expression.

When I became a full-time artist, I didn’t see myself ever selling - or wanting to sell - my paintings through galleries; that was for the real artists; the serious artists; the artists of original thought and masters of craft. I would never be one of them. I’d visit galleries or art fairs comparing my work to those on display and measure the cavernous gap that lay between the two. Some might call this impostor syndrome, a phenomenon that plagues those who don’t feel they deserve to be in their chosen field of work or study usually due to a lack of experience or perceived skill. This may be partly true in my case, however, I’ve heard enough stories about people who’ve never had an art lesson but who create wonderfully successful work, to know that success in the art world is often more about heart and intention than knowledge.

Those artists who find success seemingly without planning one, have created from a place of honesty without self-consciousness. They had something to say and found a medium through which to say it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

My hesitancy in daring to back myself as an artist came from the gut feeling that I’d not found my voice yet.

We might think of voice as being primarily a verbal thing, yet in the creative world, it’s all encompassing; it’s everything concerning what we’re communicating. Your art speaks for you; what is it saying?

This insightful question from a cheesy movie caused me to think more broadly about my communication skills in general and how it has played a role and impacted, not only me, but those around me.

Most of us find talking is the most natural form of communication. We form connections like this through community and conversation. I have, however, for much of my life, felt mute.

There have been periods where I’ve blossomed as an active member of a community, where dialogue and speaking have been crucially important. Namely in my job as a radio presenter in Zambia, [though I did stand in a room on my own when I spoke to 100,000 people for three hours a day]. I also excelled in the screenwriting/filmmaker community and also as a member of a church.

However, these periods have had a limited life span and have been unsustainable long term. I would find myself attracted to these communities and fully immerse myself only to become overwhelmed by extreme tiredness which would dissolve into depression, which would lead to inevitable withdrawal. It was a cycle that I came to recognise as my fight against my introversion.

Introversion isn’t about shyness; it’s about where/how we recover our energy. We all grow tired and weary; our proverbial batteries seem to run down. Some of us gain our energy back by spending time with other people (extroverts); some of us feel recharged after spending time alone (introverts). This simple fact was a revelation to me! It all made sense! I would grow so tired because I was trying to live the life of an extrovert without caring for the introvert I really was.

I noticed that I would feel worn out after social events or prolonged periods of social interaction. I managed this by giving myself a few days “recovery time”.

This helped, but didn’t address my other problem: social anxiety.

I have no firm idea how my social anxiety started. I know that I was considered shy as a child and not a “joiner-inner” of clubs or teams, but that could have been misunderstood introversion. I do recall being mildly bullied even from primary school age. This escalated into High School where I was too afraid to draw attention to myself by participating in lessons out of fear of being openly ridiculed by some idiots in my class. These idiots would shout obscenities disguised by a cough or spit at my spiky hair (that seemed to amuse them).

These daily incidents as an adolescent likely explain the reason why ever since I grow uncomfortably hot before I feel the need to speak in any group situation; why I become overwhelmed by the belief that when I do speak, no sound will actually come out; and if I do manage to speak, it will be either ignored or ridiculed.

Something else stands out about my growing-up years: I received positive attention - even from the bullies - through my art and creativity.

I may have been considered an easy target with my Kim Wilde hair and home-made threads, but no-one would disagree I had skills.

I believe creative expression, became for me, not about making pretty pictures; but about my human need to relate to others and feel belonging. The things I created spoke louder and clearer than any words I could possibly utter.

The Abstract Expressionist art movement of the mid-twentieth century, were the first group of artists to focus their work around this need. During the Second World War, many great artists, thinkers and poets fled nazi Germany. Many found themselves on ships chartered by American art collector Peggy Guggenheim who in the process of “rescuing” European artworks from nazi destruction, rescued many of the persecuted artists too. As they all gathered in the same few blocks of New York’s Greenwich Village with the same nightmares and loss of trust in humanity, they turned inward. For the artists - influenced heavily by the poets - the process of painting became paramount - how the paint has been applied - the gesture tells a story of the inner world. The New York School of Abstract Expressionism was born.

We would all recognise a Jackson Pollock “drip” painting, but have you ever watched the only filmed footage of Jackson making one of these paintings? [It’s on Youtube if you care to search for it]. He moves around the canvas which is laid flat on the ground like he is dancing. Each shot of paint an extension from his hand - a record of his movement. When you examine a Pollock with this in mind, the painting becomes extraordinary.

British artist and teacher Roy Oxlade said of early twentieth-century artist Henri Matisse that he “assumes that drawing for the artist is concerned with expression; losing oneself in the action of drawing”. He goes on to describe line as the most economical and direct outcome of the interplay between hand, eye and mind. You could call the drawing an impetuous dance! Artist Paul Klee refers to drawing as “taking a line for a walk”.

That is expression! It’s not about technical skill in being able to replicate an object correctly on paper or canvas. Everyone starting out in making art wants to draw like Leonardo da Vinci - but that’s just draftsmanship. It’s an important skill to learn if you want to be an artist, however, it is not expression. Picasso put it so wonderfully when he said “I spent my whole life learning to draw like a child”.

It is the difference between basic writing and poetry.

We all learn in school how to write; how to express what we mean in words; how to construct a sentence and convey a scene or instruction. But to be a poet is to take what’s on the surface; the straightforward and mundane and to peer beneath what is merely seen and give meaning to it all.

Poetry is unmasking; a revelation; it is exposing. It is not done by the self-conscious.

This is what Picasso was referring to and hides the reason why so many of us find modern art and expressionism so difficult to understand. We see a freedom of children through our jealousy of Da Vinci. The two things seem incongruous, yet every artist eventually strives to hit that sweet spot. Over the course of their career, an artist’s work will often grow more into abstraction as they develop their own creative voice.

We yearn to speak in the language of gestures; of colour and marks on the canvas with the freedom of a child as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

To expose our inner lives, to be vulnerable and be accepted.

We keep striving, in spite of a lack of appreciation because it is our primary form of communication.

We hope that you can hear, are listening and understand.

When I share my artwork, I don’t want you to see a pretty picture. I need you to hear the start of our conversation.

Barely There series of paintings and hand-made prints 2021.