I have been thinking about this for a very long time. In fact, so long that when a good friend of mine looked me in the eyes a couple days ago and said, you should do a blog. I thought, "FUCK! I have wanted to for so long that I should already!" And like my sister said, "Nobody has to ever read it." But then again, there is the allure of sharing and finding out what others are thinking. If they should be so inclined to want to share too. So, I set a password, and uploaded some of my favorite essays from the past few years. Already I know this is going to be tricky because i loaded them in reverse chronological order and will have to figure out how to reload it all so it makes 'sense'.
This is exactly what I was thinking!
I can't do anything without thinking over and over again about how it could be better and the feeling of it can be overwhelming. It could be better. It all could, really always be better. But is that really the point? It seems to me that the point really should be in enjoying the way things fall. I get so much joy from making my pours because I have to lose control and just let them happen. Ofcourse, I can't. I want to place the colors exactly one place and then right then, I decide it could look better in a different place. The best times are usually when I let the colors do what they want. But, the resistance can be really consuming. I'm a bit shaky thinking about it. Looking at a big black space and having a really bright straight-out-of-the-tube blue or orange or some other obnoxiously fun color and thinking, "I WANT TO COVER IT ALL IN PINK!!!" Because I do. I immediately want to see a wall of pink and I have a tub of it, right here. Right here.
Sublety is so darn sexy, though. I remember once an advisor took me to a gallery in San Francisco and put me in front of an Agnes Martin piece. It was a physical experience (as all experiences are, I know) but really. the pencil lines vibrated as you walked up to it. The light flickers off of the graphite with the angles of weave of the surface of the canvas. As you walk, the feeling of it is like watching tiny little ripples. Those thin, thin straight lines... So delicate, so quiet, but whispers are always loudest at parties, right? I know I stop doing whatever I am doing and listen to a whisper whenever I can. It's like a command, really. Hushhhhh...and I stop and listen. That's what Agnes Martin did for me.
But, I love tar, and glass, and sand, and bark, and hair and scraps of random stuff from everywhere. And I want to bury them in paint, cotton, yarn, text. The goal then is finding joy in living in that space between loving Agnes Martin and big tubs of acrylic paint, and owning it. Tinker, tinker, tinker. Wonder what it's going to be in the end.