Learning the Art of Abstraction

When I close my eyes, I can see the art that I want to make.

Or, rather, I can feel it within me.

It is stirring inside, calling me to be bolder; promising me that to make that artwork will feel so very different to how I feel now when I work.

It is taunting the self-conscious artist I am today, urging her to step out of the shadows and to not give a stuff what anyone else thinks!

I first felt this stirring in October 2019 and I vowed to make moves everyday to become that artist and create the art I believe I’m meant to make.

It’s now 2023 and I have yet to launch my new work.

That’s not to say that I haven’t made some progress. Decisions have been made, but the past few years in my studio have been like climbing a tree of an unknown height.

When I think I’m making progress, I look up and still see a long way to go!

It’s so tempting to just quit and jump down from the tree while I can still see safe, solid ground, but that stirring inside exudes a strong belief that the view further up will be awesome and worth it.

So what does this bolder artwork look like? And what is taking me so long?!

It’s hard to answer the first question because honestly, I don’t really know yet. However, I do know what it is not. It is not a static, single view of a place (as I have created in the past). It is more a collection of places and viewpoints.

During my urban sketching sessions I noticed my attraction to certain shapes and spaces. A story emerges as I move through the space, collecting shapes and the potential image stirs within me.

I have tried to hold on to those flashes or visions and paint them back in the studio, but they are elusive and I have yet to fully capture one. It has become a frustrating hunt. It also feels as though it is not only the image that I’m chasing, but also the high that comes from clicking with the perfect creative process.

I’m often asked how I decide what I’m going to draw or paint. Or where does my inspiration come from?

This, to me, feels like the wrong question. It’s like being asked how you know what to talk about when you see your friends. It’s not an act, it’s a relationship; a conversation.

I don’t sit down in front of a blank canvas or page and ask "what shall I draw today?" Reducing drawing to a mere activity feels empty. It takes the power out of it. I’ve come to view my painting as a vital means of communication within my relationship with the world.

I always have something that I want to say and the problem, therefore, is figuring out how to successfully express it. This refers, not only to subject matter and other tools at my disposal as an artist, but also how it feels to use them. This is what I mean by clicking with the perfect creative process.

It could be likened to how a chef might feel when they see their exquisite food being savoured; how dancing a truly brilliant tango might feel, or that feeling you get when you’re in deep conversation with another person and you discover you share the same shameful thought.

It is a release. It is a relief. It is a feeling of finally being heard and accepted. It is partly down to the other person, but it is also about how freely and skilfully you communicated. A lot is happening in those moments. They don’t just happen; it requires something of both parties.

It requires openness and bravery to make abstract art. Consequently, there are numerous boundaries to conquer.

Creative anxiety is a real and debilitating problem. It is also a natural part of the creative process. I’ve written about this many times before; at its worst (or if gone untreated) it can mean the death of a creative career or if accepted as a normal part of the creative life, it can be surmountable and in fact, used as a positive signpost that you’re moving in the right direction.

Although I have [largely] got my debilitating creative anxiety under control, I often forget or fail to recognise the symptoms and waste more time than necessary procrastinating. I have come to recognise this as (what Dr Eric Maisel refers to as) a “showing anxiety”

This means that I delay finishing a piece of work in order to excuse and avoid showing it to anyone.

I think the anxiety is rooted in my belief that abstract art is widely looked down upon and undervalued. I am ever conscious of a voice in my head asking, in a disapproving tone, “but what is it exactly?”

I can feel myself tensing up with the readiness to defend the work. And tensing up is the opposite of what is required in creating anything!

Abstract art in particular requires a child-like approach. The master of this is Pablo Picasso who famously said “I spent four years learning to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child”. He is referring to removing the self-consciousness out of the creative act; that’s SO hard as an adult! We become so critical and judgmental; we compare our work and others’ work to what we consider to be technically perfect, yet technical perfection can be taught; what Picasso is talking about - the unselfconsciousness of children - is a rare thing indeed.

On reflection, I shouldn’t be so hard on myself for not achieving it yet.

I’ve always felt an affinity with the expressionist and abstract art movements. These artists challenged and redefined what our artist tools are.

I hold to their belief that these tools, these means of expression every artist learns to manipulate are a form of language. It goes beyond what we recognise, or what is seen in the world, and endeavours to expose the subtext; what is felt and understood about the world; what is the truth beneath the surface.

To move from representational art to abstraction is to learn shorthand.

In fact, it is to invent your own shorthand language.

It means to discover how to express lightness, darkness, calm, noise, strength, subtlety, anger, fear, indifference; the list goes on.

Building the vocabulary is one step; writing poetry is proof of mastery and fluency.

The truth of the matter is that Abstraction looks easy, but it’s actually kind of hard!

It’s not small talk. It’s poetic haiku. It is to deconstruct a scene, situation or experience to reveal a deeper understanding of it.

It is to edit, edit and edit some more. If there’s something I learnt from screenwriting it’s that every 100 page script has a 30 page script dying to get out. Don’t waste a single word. Every decision is considered and meaningful.

Of course, this places a lot of pressure on the work. Which is undoubtedly another reason why I feel so overwhelmed and unproductive.

I started this year with a private pledge to move with urgency, so in order to progress I feel I need some friendly professional pressure.

I am developing a plan to create a large scale abstract work that will be hung in my house. During the course of a month, I will discover my personal shorthand painting language and share my process and progress here on my blog and on social media through the development of ten smaller studies. I will also send out weekly summaries in my newsletter. (You can sign-up to receive it here)

I will cover the elements of abstract art that I see as being key for my work: shape, composition, tone, colour, texture, gesture, contrasts, lettering, layering and practice.

It all starts on May 1st 2023!