One of my favorite chapters in my yet-to-be-finished book, How to Paint a House, is called, “The Deep Magic.” What compelled me to write it helped me to understand this new direction my art has taken. Writing my book is a wonderful road of self-discovery. It’s important to any of us to know why we choose to do something, what’s in it for us, what’s our motivating factor?
We may decide to travel the world, see new sights, and still come home feeling dissatisfied. I cannot quite recall the exact expression about realizing that the most important journey is the one inside us, that voyage of self-discovery, but you’re probably familiar with it. Learning to use artist’s tools opens the door for countless people to learn themselves. Along the way, they may even learn how to create works that sell and feed their families. It’s an eternal debate as to whether artists who paint to make a living are “selling out;” an intensely discussed argument into which I am not getting into right now!
As I’ve left my need for perfection of detail behind, it’s been a time of exploration, experimentation and close examination of the faint lines on the map in my head. Maybe my new painting motto could be, “In Search of the Deep Magic,” because that would be authentic. For some years, I’ve worked with the adage, “Seek Optical Magic,” but it’s gone beyond that. So elusive; but I have been able to feel it sometimes. I don’t even know if I really can—or want to—define it. I am fairly sure it transcends the use of paint to make people think some of it “looks just like him/her/it.” From personal experience, I believe the Deep Magic can even be the life force itself.
My painting has thus become more of an investigation and an interpretation. I’m seeking the circumstances that can replicate natural phenomena. The most beautiful things in the world, to me, are a result of natural forces and occurrences. Not pretty scenes and contrived compositions, but the consequences of processes that leave behind a natural beauty for us to enjoy. These processes may best be explained in the language of science, in terms developed over centuries of observation and writing. Science provides us with the vernacular to describe tectonic plates, geology, topography, erosion, osmosis, light, pressure, gravity, density of matter, particle weight and size, fluidity, shape of molecules, rheology, and so much more that I attempt to make use of in my microcosmic investigations.
Seven Life Lessons of Chaos was a life-changing book for me; I learned that though science is the best language to explain why things are, chaos theory helps us to understand phenomena that are beyond explanation. Chaos theory’s greatest gift to me was fractals, which are everywhere around us, perfectly, infinitely replicated; fractals make up the fabric of the universe. So when I watch a rivulet of water loaded with pigment find its path over the surface of my painting, I am observing the greatly reduced fractal process of a mighty river loaded with eroded topsoil. A network of gently guided rivulets perfectly resembles a tangle of roots in a red mangrove forest. Deep Magic.
My recent paintings become unique entities unto themselves rather than ephemeral digital scans that can then be reproduced with today’s technology on a myriad of surfaces. My paintings possess dimension and substance. We’ve come light years beyond the printing process comprised of a piece of paper pressed into a carved or engraved surface, haven’t we? Now images can be printed on motorcycle helmets, glass doors, and vinyl wraps for vehicles, to name only a few substrates I’ve seen. Although I realize that means artists can potentially make more money than ever before so that their families have a healthier lifestyle, it also means there’s been a vast depreciation of the essence, the soul, the character of this fragile and elusive entity or condition we call “Art.”
Artists have always made use of technology, even though our materials may not be too far removed from those of the cave dwellers. A piece of wood charred in a bonfire can still be used to draw. A few years ago, I despondently realized that the better the photographs I used as resources to paint an animal portrait, the better the result. Cell phones now produce astounding photographs that can be enlarged to massive sizes at a low cost, allowing anyone to proclaim themselves a photographer/artist. The number of photographs now in existence could not ever be counted. Even worse, though I adore Photoshop, its overuse propelled me to look very differently at my own art, to realize I was becoming far too dependent on it.
Pet portrait artists used to be few and far between, because it took real skill and mastery of art materials to capture an animal’s qualities to the owner’s delight. I experienced many gratifying moments when presenting a finished portrait to the pet’s family. But a few years ago, I realized that technology now allowed people to take an enlarged photo of a pet, enhance it with various types of software that made it look quite painterly, and print it out on canvas or paper as “an original pet portrait.” Worse yet, their customers did not seem to know the difference between that phony item and one of my pastel paintings, created with my primitive sticks of real pigment, applied in small strokes and blended with my fingers, a process which could take many hours depending upon the level of detail I sought.
It was also taking me longer and longer to finish a portrait, because, frankly, I was bored. And boredom is anathema to a lively, loving pet portrait. But the best pose for most dogs and horses is the three-quarter view. Posing each new subject that way made me feel as if I were just painting the same portrait over and over. I’d long thrived on the love between owner and animal companion, but eventually even that wasn’t enough. Add to that some intermittent but severe pains in my left (painting!) hand, which I’d feared might happen for many years, and it was time for me to seek a different direction for my art.
Writing my book has helped me to understand so much about this new route. First I’ve had to find the words to explain it to myself, which was a monumental feat, let me tell you! One reason for my book is to help others discover those feelings that are so magical but fragile, that can guide you to a more meaningful and productive life. It’s also extremely important to learn that this sort of self-discovery may take years, maybe decades, to come to fruition. I’m not saying that aspiring artists in their twenties are going to be deprived of these outcomes or breakthroughs, because many of my current experiments are rooted in my early years as an artist. I just wasn’t in the right place to properly tap into them the way I can now. I was certainly aware I was gifted and talented, and not just because many people told me so, but I was also frustrated by circumstance and naivete in that I was not able to fully express them.
From the beginning of my declaration that I was a professional artist, I sought to express my authenticity and uniqueness, but this search was basically suppressed by the demands of making a living from my art. My gift from God, I realized early on, was the ability to capture the resemblance of an animal using the medium of pastels. Certainly, it’s worth repeating that I was able to soak up a great deal of love in the process as an additional reward. And I am certainly not done with pastels, nor even portraiture, or any other possible type of painting, either.
It’s just right now, I am enjoying this journey and these investigations in search of the Deep Magic. I also hasten to add that I am not knocking the choices of any other artist. We are all on our own unique voyage and searching for the reasons to create in a meaningful way. May all of us reach safe harbor successfully!
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