Making More Process

A lot of the work I've been doing lately has been hit or miss, not really with any aim to it, but I have tried to be creatively active.  And with the stresses of technology bailing on me, I'm finding that I have to start creating more to deal with pressure.  There's also been a few medical and psychiatric ups and downs over the past few weeks that have done their best to interfere.

That said, I wanted to share the process of creating a collage that may or may not be for sale.  Not sure yet what I want to do with it.

This particular piece is an update of something I did several years ago that was, quite frankly, bad. And yet I decided to show it in an exhibition featuring work that was 10x10 inches in size.  When I visited the show and saw that piece in the company of others, I wanted to take it right off the wall so that no one else would see it.  I didn't even go to the reception or tell anyone I knew when the reception would happen because I didn't want them to see how bad it was.

Of course I am my own worst critic.  But trust me - it was BAD.  And of course I took it apart as soon as I got it back in my hot little hands.

Of course some may think this one isn't so hot, but I like it.

And so we begin.

This canvas was originally a piece honoring my home city.  But I realized that it was a disaster, and destroyed it, and eventually decided to use this 11x14 canvas for something else.  I covered it with dark blue banana paper because there were remnants of the previous collage still affixed to the canvas.  And it sat for a bit because I didn't know what I wanted to do.  Then I picked it up and started affixing the papers you see in the photo.  I didn't like the look of the banana paper, you see.

I then took some clips from vintage Catholic newspapers that I'd found on Etsy and Ebay, and added those, plus strips of gold foil Dresden scrap.  

I put the little Catholic scapular piece in the lower right corner, not sure if it was going to stay there, then added more pieces, including an old rosary, a photo from my First Communion.

On the left you can see a closeup of the rosary - which I think is probably meant to be a child's rosary.  On the right is a Virgin Mary medal that I purchased from collagestuff.com.

And I also added a tiny little figurine of the Virgin Mary

And here's a closeup of that photo.  I am the third little girl and am looking at the camera held by my father, probably.  Behind me is my then best friend Laurie.  And of course the nun in old habit - this was 1967 and the order that taught in our school had not yet converted to a modern habit.

So, because the nun in the photo is in the old habit, I chose for my main character a Victorian etching of a nun.  I do like how she's looking down and has a enigmatic expression on her face.

Both this collage, and the one that I thought was really bad, are homages to my ever present struggle with Catholicism.  I still consider myself to be most comfortable worshipping as a Catholic, but like many others of my age group I do have issues with certain aspects of Church doctrine.

In any event, I meant the piece to be a quiet commentary on Catholicism, and it's personally meaningful to me.  Which is why I'm not sure I'll ever offer it for sale.

If you are a religious person, does your faith find its way into your work?

later

lin

Blank Canvases Scare Me

They make me so nervous!  I think many artists are the same way.  There's an intimidation factor to that stretch of white canvas (or paper for that matter).  We're afraid to besmirch that beautiful white space with something that we just know will be awful.

I've read many articles about making art that say that in order to get rid of that fear, just make a mark.  Any mark.  Doesn't matter what.  A streak of red paint, dots of blue, even pink splotches.  Anything, just to lose that fear.  

Because after all, you have to do something to cover up that mark, and why not glue paper to it.  Or paint with abandon, as I've read elsewhere.  I think we're too bound up in this mode of perfectionism, where we think everything we do has to be perfect.

I know I'm guilty of that.  Big time.  Worst, I think everything has to be finished quickly instead of letting the process take its course.

After all, as Altered Bee has said in her comments, the process is what's important.  The journey.

There's a quote from Alice in Wonderland that I quite like

“Alice came to a fork in the road. 'Which road do I take?' she asked.
'Where do you want to go?' responded the Cheshire Cat.
'I don't know,' Alice answered.
'Then,' said the Cat, 'it doesn't matter.”

I have this quote next to my collage worktable.  I probably should also stick it on the kitchen cabinet over my counter, so I'm forced to look at it all the time.  And keep it in mind.

When I was a student at Vermont College, in its low-residency Adult Degree Program, each semester involved one project around which your coursework would be based.  And you designed the coursework with the guidance of your semester supervisor.  Whom you chose, after, basically, interviewing the available staff.

One semester I decided that I really wanted to focus on German art history, particularly from the period between the wars.  So I chose the resident art professor, G. Roy Levin, now deceased.  One thing I discovered was that he required ALL of his students to do art.  Even those who never thought of themselves as artists, like me.  

That semester was a revelation.  Not only did I write a number of great papers and book reviews, but I learned how to do collage.  And one of the best parts of the program is that, when you do a creative semester, you have to do a process paper.  I wish I still had that paper, as well as one when I wrote the bulk of a novel for my final semester's project on Irish culture and history.  And that's because I remember the writing of the process paper to be incredibly revelatory.  I learned a great deal about myself.

So now I need to force myself to take that blank canvas or paper and put something on it.  I have to begin somewhere, after all.

So what is the creative process like for you?  Are you as scared of blank paper or canvas as I have been?

later,

lin