Imaginary maps of the night

work in progress...

I've been painting a bit more regularly again and this is a relief. Wednesday I felt a bit lost and clueless when I started working in my studio. I knew I had a kernel of an idea, but I just could not seem to make it come to the surface. I had new paper and gesso and a new album to listen to and I wanted to work. I wanted to paint and create something badly. It had reached the point where the desire/need to create was really under my skin, just itching away. If you are an artist, you know the feeling, everything is just bubbling up and everything has this urgency and perhaps you might explode if you don't get it out. For me this happens right before inspiration strikes, weeks of inactivity create an intense pressure and if I don't release it, look out world!

I hatched a concept about a week ago, and as mentioned above I started out with some good, new paper. I had an idea for a series of larger works but as soon as I started painting, I knew that the paper was too small and too precious. This was not the paper for exploding, it was too regulated and proper. Luckily I explained my paper dilemma to my dear studio mate Jennifer L. Fay and she gave me a lovely stash of paper, some nice and some not so nice. I took the papers back to my studio, and quickly pulled the fancy stuff off my wall and replaced it with this newly gifted not so nice paper and suddenly, things started to happen!

I put the debut album by The Soft Moon on my headphones at full blast and I managed to disappear for a while, it was heaven.

Words started coming to my brain quickly- a complete flurry, as in the past I had to quickly scratch them down on the wall. Flashes of concepts, ideas for titles, poems, phrases, all just rising to the surface. When the words come, I know I am on the right track. I know I am listening to the right music, and I am using the right materials. It is a bit like being in a trance, tears will come to my eyes, my hands will shake, I bounce up and down on my toes, and I can't write the words down fast enough or get the paint on the paper as quickly as it demands. Things get knocked over, drips run down the wall, the floor is stained new colors and I throw rags and pencils across the room. In the studio there is a frenetic pace and energy, my brain is running at full tilt, as more words, more ideas flow, quick, quick, quick!

Stories like theatre, dreams, and thinly veiled memories explode to the surface. I think about how much I can say with out giving it all away; what to give and what to hold back. There is a type of pained freedom as I control this.

So, now that I have given you this hyper snap shot of my brain during the creative process, I imagine you are wondering just what the hell I am going on about...

I have decided these new works are an interim series. They are related to the manual for living, but due to the size and paper these pieces have more of a weathered map quality and feel more like a blueprints from a dream rather than any sort of manual. These pieces are comprised of white gesso, walnut oil mixed with charcoal, faint blue and orange washes over the cracked and textured surface. These documents tell a story, one that is loose and dreamy and very much open for interpretation. These papers may tell of a new reality, one that is in the process of becoming true. This papers may also point to a finely crafted myth, and there are no guarantees.

I have some creative ideas for displaying these works in the back vault gallery at The Fayetteville Underground, and my short term goal is to create ten to twenty of these maps/blueprints by February's First Thursday. I am also excited because these works will be affordable, probably priced around $100 for a fairly good sized piece of original art. I am guessing they are around 24x30" in size. (I will measure the paper today at the studio and update this later). I am excited about creating an original body of work that is more accessible to a larger audience.

I am eager to work in the studio today, to paint and tell more stories. These works are spacious and dark, filled with distance, guarded optimism, and longing. These are the imaginary maps of the night and the blueprints with no guarantees and I can't wait to share them with you...

Stories we tell and the games we play

Oh the games we play, with ourselves, each other and with our art. Some of these games can be beneficial and help us to move forward, while others seem to keep us stuck in place.

How many times have you had a new idea for your art and become excited only to then systematically dismantle it, coming up with a laundry list of reasons why your idea couldn't or shouldn't work? All the sudden, your idea is not worth your time or energy or isn't suited to your audience. All the doubts start coming to the forefront of your mind, and you decide to leave well enough alone. Maybe you want to explore a new medium or style but decide it is too risky. Maybe you were thinking of selling your work online, but you then convince yourself that it isn't the proper venue, or you worry about what the galleries will think. How many stories do you make up in your head that you are starting to believe? How many times do you shoot yourself and your work down so you can safely stay with the pack? We all know the story that misery loves company and that it is lonely at the top, so we decide to stay put.

These are just some questions to be aware of. What is one story you are telling yourself about your work that you could examine or challenge?

There are the games we play, that work. The games that challenge, motivate and cajole you into action. Currently I am playing a 28 day game of "one stroke." I wanted to get back into a consistent routine and schedule after not having one during the summer months. For the next 28 days, I will put down at least one stroke of paint either on a paper or canvas painting. That is all I have to do to be a success. My usual motto is "everyday I paint is a victory." For the next 28 days, all I have to do is put down one stroke to be victorious. I know it doesn't sound like much. What can one stroke of paint do? Only one stroke relieves the time pressure of any marathon painting session, it tells me that no finished work needs to emerge. The process and routine is of equal importance to the finished painting. One stroke seems easily manageable, and after one stroke is down, usually another follows and then time starts to pass and paintings are now being created and I have set myself up for this relaxed victory.

What stories can you confirm or deny so that you can rise above? What games can you play to make yourself victorious?

It's your move...

Pictured Above:
The Games We Play,
20x16"
Mixed Media on Canvas
Megan Chapman
2008 Copyright
Patron's private collection

PS. There are new affordable paper paintings over at my Esty shop: Art Maven. Enjoy!