There is one aspect of the painting process that truly excites me. It is one, if not the most honest aspects: Making marks that remind you the painting is a painting. Leaving brush strokes and globs of paint with shifty edges from subject to background is my intention, but not contrived. It is a bit of controlled chaos. There is an element of spontaneity where we revel in the abstraction. All painting is abstraction, right?
Many people have asked if I know what I am going to paint before I begin. If the vision is already completely in my head. I often have concepts and slight visions, but nothing set in stone. Basically the answer is no. I may know what animal or party favor I intend to include, but that’s usually it. I honestly rarely sketch for a painting unless it’s for a commission or if I need to brush up on anatomy of an animal I haven’t painted in a while. Nine times out of 10 it’s very much like watching a new movie to me. “I want to go in fresh” as they say. Incidentally, I don’t enjoy movie trailers and I honestly never have. I want to experience the journey, not entirely sure of where we will end up.
I accept and embrace the chaos. The ups and downs. Sometimes a painting kicks my ever-lovin’ butt. I have to sit on it for weeks. Months. Years. Paint over it (see last email 🙂 Start over. All of those layers have a purpose and history. You are witnessing time as you gaze over the bumps and valleys of the strokes. All of that time staring at the painting in the studio is part of the painting. Sitting. Thinking. What to leave in. What to leave out. I am not thinking about getting it perfect (whatever that means) but how I would like it to be. Life isn’t perfect. And it shouldn’t be. It can be raw and unpredictable. This is where the out-of-control excitement lies. And so, I was inspired to write a little ditty for you in celebration of all art and life’s imperfections:
Give me your scratches, your scars, your scruffs.
Your abnormal, asymmetry, and awkwardness.
I long to see your brush strokes, splatters, and your spills.
The drips, the drops, and the droops.
Let’s watch the paint peel, the wood splinter, and the metal rust.
I am here for your bumps, bruises, and scrapes.
I want to watch your film grain, video static, your pixelation.
My ears listen for your tape hiss, your record scratches, your distorted feedback, your levels in the red.
I read a second helping of type-os, lisps, and stutters.
Embrace the ugly, the uncomfortable, and the untamed.
Let the scars tell the story,
Will
