A Language of Abstraction
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I love abstract art.
I love how it makes me feel when I look at it.
I love how my response to a particular piece can change every time I see it; as if it’s changed in meaning or grown with me as I’ve changed. It feels like an evolving conversation.
Moreover, I love how it feels when I create abstract art.
When I began struggling with my previous job as a screenwriter, I turned to painting as a form of prayer. It was an extremely powerful process that involved being brutally honest, vulnerable, a release of emotions and then, listening. What was the work saying back to me? What have I subconsciously buried in the work that now wants to be brought to the surface?
During those years, I learnt, not only how cathartic creating can be in the moment, but can also have an unexpected long-lasting power as though a living thing.
The Problem
That said then, why hasn’t my work been abstract from the beginning?
I became a full-time artist during a time of personal crisis in both faith and confidence. In truth, I didn’t have the fuel in the tank to launch straight into Abstract work. I was dealing with daily questions of “why are you quitting your dream of being a screenwriter?” and the intense feelings of failure held in the answers to that question.
Not only could I not have faced the confidence-killing question every abstract painting is punched with: “but…what is it exactly?” I, also, don’t believe I wanted to confront the vulnerability and honesty that my abstract process brings to the surface.
I wanted and needed my work to allow me to forget myself for a while.
It worked. Through single-line doodling I not only reconnected with the world, keeping my hands and mind busy, but also with my confidence.
Over the course of the last few years, I’ve come to understand what making art means to me and what I want to do with that. In fact, I feel quite excited and confident about it.
Hallelujah, I think I’ve found my artistic voice!
The Next Problem
I know many abstract artists who paint intuitively, either due to experience or it’s simply their preferred process.
For example, I have always loved the work of Robert Rauschenberg. He emerged on the art scene as a contemporary to my other faves the Abstract Expressionists. However, Rauschenberg did not identify as part of the group. In fact, he was their antithesis.
His Abstract Expressionist peers insisted on a meaning to everything and would analyse to distraction every inch of Rauchenberg’s works. I find it quite comical that, in truth, Rauschenberg would simply go into the New York streets and make art out of whatever he found there. No hidden meaning, no deeper secret. He simply used what cardboard, ticket stubs, stuffed goat head he had to hand to make a pleasing image or sculpture. He loved driving his peers crazy with his insistence that his work meant nothing.
I’ve tried to work like this, but I can’t. It isn’t in me. It isn’t enough for me. I respect Rauschenberg deeply; he gives me permission to do my thing my way, but I’m more inline with the Abstract Expressionists.
I need to know what I’m saying. I even like the idea of saying something secretly. As a screenwriter I loved subtext and although I may not have always been successful, I enjoyed the creation of those layers, metaphors and cyphers that revealed the inner worlds of my characters.
Now, my work must reveal my inner world.
It’s easy to become overwhelmed by this task of unlimited possibilities, staring down a series of blank canvases demanding a speech - each canvas a daunting stage.
OK I’m sounding over-dramatic, but it gives you an idea of the measure of creative anxiety. I think that’s why I’ve become so slow in making progress with my move towards abstraction.
As I approach these new canvases, rather than imagining I’m giving a keynote speech at the King’s Coronation, I need to imagine a quiet conversation between just you and me.
When my artworks were prayers, I learnt to express my emotions through process. Like the gestural work of the Abstract Expressionists, I believe making art is a physical thing. Our bodies get involved as we apply paint and make marks; the artwork becomes an extension - or evidence - of what we were feeling during the act of creation.
A whispered mark will be more delicate than a splattered stamp of frustration!
I need to dedicate a focused amount of time to exploring these expressions and define my painting language, especially if I want to paint intuitively, I need to become fluent.
I’m certain that the majority of people who look at my work will not have read these blogs, so it will be our little secret.
The Project
In the past I’ve made some big breakthroughs when I’ve worked fast! I’ve done 30 day doodle and painting challenges and although they are hard work, they always push my work forward.
My project over the course of the next month will be to explore ten elements that I’ve identified as crucial to my artwork. I’ll work with various media experimenting with processes to expand my vocabulary.
The ten explorations are:
1. Shapes
2. Texture
3. Gesture
4. Contrasts
5. Tone
6. Colour
7. Composition
8. Lettering
9. Layering
10. PRACTICE and repeat the process, tweaking, adjusting
There will be some natural overlap in these areas, but they should build to cover most of the disciplines I use in every piece.
I have already, in the past couple of years, made some artistic decisions that I’m happy with. The major one being the use of an experimental ground (the product I’m painting on).
In 2020 I made a series of typewriter prints called "Barely There". This was the most exposing project I had done to date. It expressed my inner need to create as my way to communicate with the world and the conflict I feel between my ever growing tendency toward isolation and my human need for community. Often my artwork is my only means of reaching out.
The phrase barely there felt hugely significant as I explored my lack of connection with others and the anxiety I often feel being with others. The feelings of being invisible and yet conspicuous at the same time is a complex one to navigate. Although I used words in this series too, I chose a colour palette that was light and without much contrast. I explored ways of translating this to the canvas, but nothing felt right. Until I noticed the silk screen propped up unused in the corner of my studio. (Screenprinting was something I planned to have a go at during lock-down). The screenprinting mesh is a beautiful, soft, transparent fabric. I could see straight through it! It was barely there! Why can’t I paint on that?
An early example of painting on transparent screenprinting mesh
Much of the past year has been spent developing this idea and it has now become a crucial part of my painting language. It appeals to me that I can work on either side of the stretched mesh during the process to achieve different results. I’ve even explored the idea that the reverse of the painting could be more interesting than the front. The introvert in me finds it quite amusing to think I could turn a painting towards the wall and say more that way.
The mesh offers me multiple possibilities that working on canvas doesn’t; there are also limitations. The delicate weight of the fabric means I can pick up any texture I lay it against, or work on its very smooth surface. I can use resist and the traditional screenprinting method of blocking the weave in order to create shapes and pattern. I can create transparent and opaque shapes. I’ll be exploring all of these techniques over the coming month.
I will be working with oil (both traditional and water-soluble), acrylic paints and mediums, various drawing media like pastel, pencil and marker pens and maybe some collage materials.
My previous explorations have narrowed this material list down to what works best on the mesh. For example, watercolour paint is ok, but doesn't adhere as well as oil or acrylic.
I’ll spend a few days exploring the technique, paying attention to how each one feels as I create and make notes on how they correlate to emotional expression.
If I have time, I’ll make a small artwork or example study using the techniques.
First up: shapes!