Seeing the world through anxiety
/I hope you're keeping positive and well in, [what seems to be the adopted phrase], "these uncertain times" or [my preferred euphemism] "what with one thing and another".
If you've been following my art journey for a while, you'll know that my main quest is to achieve genuine expression, which means that I successfully paint what I feel, not merely what I see.
During my residency in Australia last year, I spent a concentrated amount of time exploring the question of how to use my art to communicate what experiencing the world through anxiety feels like. I also wanted to think about what role my art plays in society, in order to counter the idea that expressionist art is “self focused” and I wanted to ensure a balance in my thinking. Interestingly, the notion of "isolation" became a frequent sticking point.
As a self-confessed recluse, I'm conscious that, in spite of the fact that I've created this way of life for myself, my isolation is not good for me and I've been exploring ways to find community. I’m uncomfortable with social media for mental health reasons and I’ve found withdrawing from most online activity has been beneficial on this front, yet has left me feeling more isolated. I feel I've yet to discover a platform where I can truly be vulnerable.
As a result, I’ve lost touch with most of my friends, I maybe see one or two of them a couple of times a year.
[If you’re one of my friends who I used to see regularly, I’m so sorry; I’m rubbish; I can tell you that I’ve planned to contact you many times, but have talked myself out of it because I’ve convinced myself you’re too busy and wouldn’t be interested anyway.]
In facing this question "How can expressing my true feelings find a role in a community that I’m not a part of?” I found myself in very muddy waters both emotionally and creatively.
I recently rediscovered a blog post I started at the end of my residency in Australia dated November 8th. It’s a half written draft, unposted. It reads:
“This has been a struggle. I have fought and fought. We associate creativity and art with childlike endeavours, so we assume that creating stuff is fun. So when it turns out to be hard, we assume we’re doing it wrong. In actual fact, true creativity is supposed to involve struggle; if it’s easy then it’s not true creativity; the chances are what you’re attempting has been done before.
Andy J Miller, host of the excellent Creative Peptalk Podcast, describes creativity as making connections between two “unobvious” things. He says “creativity is the bravery of attempting things that might not work. Being an artist is bravely doing that risky behaviour in front of an audience - in public. You don’t know if the unobvious connections are going to work until you do it.”
Although I can remember my frustration at the time of not achieving my given task, I’m actually quite pleased that I found a positive spin on my struggle. Maybe I’m growing.
Trying to connect isolation and community felt impossible… until, now… what with one thing and another.
It previously concerned me that my work depicted unpopulated streets and said more about memory than direct observation, as I never worked on location, only in my studio. I wondered how my work, expressing these emotions and anxieties would find its audience.
However, now, my empty streets are hauntingly reflective of our times. The agoraphobic/socialphobe in me is being endorsed. “Don’t go out unless absolutely necessary. Don’t see friends or family. If friends invite you out, say no.” These are not the voices in the my own head, but the words of UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson. There’s a constant message to “Stay at Home” in the corner of my TV screen. It’s like a very surreal dream.
You may share some of these feelings too. Most of us in lockdown are experiencing the world in the same way: with uncertainty, anxiety and longing to be free of these walls so we can enjoy the world again. We’re experiencing a kind of prison with many options taken away from us.
I’m hearing other people talk about feelings of anxiety when they endeavour to leave the house. It feels unnatural and a little terrifying suddenly. We find ourselves asking “do I really need to go out?”
This is what social phobia feels like too, but the restrictions are self imposed - or, rather, “illness imposed”.
During my art residency last year, I had the privilege of seeing a rare exhibition of works by artist Jean-Michel Basquiat. I was deeply inspired to see these powerful paintings up close! They offer a glimpse into the mind of the artist at the point of expression, with each canvas covered in handwritten notes, personal doodles and social commentary.
It is works like these and those of Robert Rauschenberg that inspire prompt intuitive mark-making in me; they confront my negative perfectionist self-talk and give me permission to “let-loose” and create.
On a similar note, I saw a documentary recently about Jim Carey’s role in the biographical film Man on the Moon where he plays performance artist Andy Kaufman. Carey recalls the first time he saw Kauffman perform on Saturday Night Live in the mid 70s. Kaufman, in case you’re unfamiliar with him, was a law unto himself; the way he talked, walked and expressed himself both on and off camera was unlike anybody else. It made a huge impression on the young Carey who said to himself, “This [performance] is different. This doesn’t care what anything else is doing.”
I love that observation from Carey! It reminds me of the negative effects of social media with the harmful constant comparison with others. Yet, in this reflection Carey is describing the boldness of true freedom of expression! What a beautifully brave thing it is!
[The horror and uncertainty of Covid-19 aside and I must express that I’m grateful that my loved ones are safe and well] These times of isolation, are not only allowing the environment to take the deepest breath she’s taken in a long while, but is also allowing me to do the same. As I see my inner most anxieties reflected in the community and world around me, I’m not concerning myself with how my work measures up against someone else’s, but instead can focus on the shared experience. I can believe that someone else will connect with my work through the expression of anxiety and longing.
I don't usually share works in progress with you, but as "we're all in this together" etc, I figured you might appreciate watching these pieces develop. A full gallery of these new works will be added soon.
first layers: oil paint transfer drawing and ink on canvas (24x36 inches)
This canvas (24x36 inches) is the beginning of a painting depicting a San Francisco view. It is a view I’ve painted before; a view that conjures up memories of a turbulent trip to America, post Brexit vote and pre-Trump election. I carried a notebook with me during that trip and made on-location doodles, one sentence mindful diaries and lyrics from whatever song was stuck in my head. I remember struggling with tiredness and anxiety, yet overwhelmed in moments when I fully appreciated where I stood.
The first layer of marks are made with liquid acrylic, smears and splatters of colour spread with a damp cloth or bare hands. Oil paint transfer drawings (monoprint) have then been added, a stream of consciousness, words, lyrics and mark-making.
A second layer of transfer drawing depicts the shapes of the world around me. Next I will begin to add more foreground colour.
When I look upon these first marks, I feel a satisfaction I haven’t felt in a long while. It’s the recognition of my own emotions looking back at me from the canvas. I connect with the notion that, sometimes, even when I’m in a beautiful place - I experience my anxiety more than I do the scene I’m standing in. The noise in my head is louder than the beauty of the real world and I only seize glimpses of it.
However, there are flashes when I catch a breath and meet the moment; the colour of nature, the achievements and stories of others found in the streets and magnificent architecture. For a moment I’m part of it all and making my own mark with these artworks.
I wonder if many of us feel a little outside of it all in these days. Our essential role is to stay at home. Our worlds are small and quiet. Maybe a little lonely and isolating. Do you know what I mean?