I’ve designed myself a ten step programme to move from Representational art into a personal language of Abstraction. To understand what I mean by that, be sure to read my blog A Language of Abstraction.

This is the final step, step ten: PRACTICE

It feels fitting that I’m publishing this blog on the first day of a new year, especially as there has been such a long break since I posted part nine in this series.

I initially wanted to call study ten "practice" in reference to my new art process: a practical set of steps I’ll take from inspiration to finished artwork. However, as I’ve spent the last twelve months fighting to discover that process, I came to realise that the most crucial part was in the starting!

The biggest hurdles can often be before any art medium is taken in hand, either because of fears or by other distractions. I frequently find that feelings of overwhelm lie behind procrastination. This was my main motivation for going through these ten steps: to break a huge task into bite-sized chunks. However, I have covered so much ground in these sessions that, again I feel the panic rising. I’m juggling a lot of information, with still so much more work to do!

It’s important for me now to keep looking back at the practical work I’ve done in these blogs and use them in my practice.

As a side note: At the start of this process, I referred to wanting to achieve fluency in my new language of abstraction, which may give the impression of spontaneity or improvisation. However, I’m coming to realise that I’m not an intuitive artist, in that I don’t paint well without an initial plan. Rather, I want to nurture a gestural flow to my actual painting process. For this to work for me, I need to create a set of steps that take me from mind (the intellectual thinking) to a flow in the body.

The Power of Practice on the Mind

I think too much.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to think deeply about things, especially as an artist.

However, there is a time to think and also a time to put those thoughts into practice.

I need to put time aside to consider, evaluate, dig deep, ponder and develop; but I also need to make space for my hand to take control; to let my body give those thoughts a test drive without judgement.

This is the part I’ve been struggling with.

I’ve had to discover effective ways to switch off my brain and allow my hand to work.

I've noticed this tension acutely lately. Usually, I like to listen to podcasts while I paint. It keeps my mind occupied and gives my hand a chance to lead. However, in recent months I’ve found myself becoming less productive, with the podcasts taking all my attention. This made me realise that, frustratingly, I may still have some thinking to do; I’m not ready to let my body take over just yet.

Or am I just afraid to?

As I write that question, I feel kind of silly. I mean, what is there to be afraid of?

At the beginning of this series, I wrote "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."

I re-live my hesitation as I read that sentence and am very familiar with that tension outside of the studio too.

I'm currently learning to play the piano, something I’ve wanted to do for most of my life but never fully committed to it. I’m an absolute beginner, with no previous music training. I’m enjoying learning all the basic stuff and celebrating the small wins. However, I notice my muscles tense and my whole body hesitate before I attempt something tricky, even though I know no-one else is listening.

As far as I’m aware, no-one can see me in my studio either. I don’t have to show anyone anything that I make. I have no demands on me (other than the ones I set), no financial pressure, no deadlines; I should be revelling in this creative freedom.

Yet, I'm not. I self-sabotage every day, creating, instead, an environment of distraction and dissenting voices. The studio should be my private, safe space, yet my feelings of self-consciousness aren’t easy to shake off even when I’m alone.

Artist Philip Guston refers to this as having "studio ghosts". His fellow artist and friend John Cage once said to him, "When you're in the studio painting, there are a lot of people in there with you - your teachers, friends, painters from history, critics... and one by one, if you're really painting, they walk out. And if you're really painting YOU walk out."

I was so excited the first time I read this quote! It not only tells me that I’m not alone in this problem, but Cage is referring to this process of allowing your body to take over from your mind. There is a skill to making the shift that, I suspect, takes practice and patience, but is essential and worth it.

So, how do I get there?

It starts with a routine.

A routine is so powerful for the mind. Many artists swear by a pre-studio ritual. This can be anything; a short, simple activity that tells your brain and body it’s time to get to work!

As a screenwriter I developed a ritual which worked beautifully for me. I would play a particular song (Step Out by José Gonzáles) and take the length of the song to fire up my computer, get a coffee, write a quick list of daily intentions and open up any files I needed. I would start work as soon as the song finished. It was a powerful part of the ritual. In fact, it was so successful that this song still triggers a nervous energy in me to start something!

However, the same song hasn’t worked for me in the art studio. I’ve tried playing it as I take the short walk from my house to my garden studio. It gets me that far, but as soon as I’m inside it all falls apart and I become too distracted and overwhelmed.

Maybe I need a different song.

Or maybe I should try another recommended method: a mantra.

According to Dr Eric Maisel in his book "The Power of Daily Practice", an effective mantra is "a short statement that helps to clear the mind of baggage and jumpstarts the making of things." Sounds perfect!

It has taken me a full year to come up with one that actually unlocks that mindset in me. I have it written in large letters posted above my work station. It is the first thing I see and read when I enter the studio. I like to include a short meditation of deep breathing and stillness and my mantra resets my mind.

But I’m not free yet. My mantra is good, but it’s not the elevator moment in the TV show "Severance" kind of good (if you understand that cultural reference).

I have found it helpful to then set my intention/s for the day or session and use the distraction to my advantage.

I've also made this moment exciting and even thrilling for myself by purchasing a beautiful new planner (hand-made by my favourite sketchbook company Pith) It’s a perfect choice as the day’s writing space is fairly small, enough to jot down a few simple sentences, for example what is the one thing I want to make progress in? What one problem do I want to solve? Do I need to design my colour palette? What is my inspiration or reference? What materials am I using?

The most effective question however is: what is holding me back? What is behind the twinge of resistance when I try to begin? When I answer that question, I’ve found what I need to fix and what I can set as my intension for that day.

I’ve also made it a regular practise to remove unresolved paintings from my view in the studio. When these are the first things I see in the morning, it sends my mind down a rabbit hole that doesn’t serve me well. There is certainly a time for reviewing and improving works in progress, but I don’t want them to steal my unscheduled attention.

The Power of Practice on the Hand.

When I hold in my mind a vision of myself as a confident artist, I see myself approaching a canvas and making bold sweeping marks without hesitation, covering the canvas quickly. Whether this is a realistic, reachable goal for me, I do not know, but I’m making conscious choices in terms of technique that don’t give room for my crippling self-judgement. Techniques that almost force me to work blindly; and therefore remove my [conscious} self from the process.

It is repetition that builds the muscle, both in the hand and the mind that will make these kind of marks possible.

I’m learning - in effect - to trick my inner critic into believing that I’m not actually responsible for the marks being made in the moment of creation. Sounds a bit weird, but it is a mixture of technique and practice {or repetition], that is encouraging an energetic and spontaneous approach. As I become more comfortable, I can see a consistency and all that other confident good stuff will soon follow.

It starts with a nervous intention: to draw a building or capture an experience in the moment (see previous blog: layering) and through the simple act of drawing or mark-making, a boldness emerges.

I believe that art should have the power to do just that: to move you from one state into another, not only as a viewer but also as an artist.

These paintings from some of my favourite contemporary artists inspire this same transformation in me but as a viewer. It’s not about wanting to create a similar image or copy their process, but to embody the feeling of their freedom of expression. It makes me believe that I can achieve that too.

Taylor White

Manu García Fernandez

Luc Pierre

Recent sketchbook page: abstractifying my hotel view (athens)

It just takes practice. Repetition. Consistency.

One of my biggest successes of last year was establishing a strong sketchbook practice. I’ve found a set of techniques that work for me in getting my idea out of my head and onto paper.

I’m currently making my way through a collection of (Pith) sketchbooks, drawing every day and seeing the progress I’m making, not only in terms of skills, but also in confidence. I still have a long way to go and know that the real work begins now.

But at least I’m ready to start!

Blog

I was an art student who became a screenwriter. Twenty years later, I abandon the page and return to the canvas as I attempt to tell stories through pictures.

Abstraction: The Practice (of starting)

The Power of Practice on the Mind

The Power of Practice on the Hand.