detail from Earth Star, mixed media collage
As soon as one group of paintings are done I start wondering what’s next. Lately I find myself wishing for more earth, more grit into my work.
This is an idea that comes from analysis, critique (by myself and others), and an intuition that my paintings need to have their feet more firmly planted in the mud. (That’s probably true for me as well!)
The gathering phase
Before I begin to paint I explore an idea, in this case earth and grit. I’ve started writing about it—about being grounded, about mud and leaf litter and roots. I take photos, I read things on the organisms in mud. It’s a visually focused type of research.
It isn’t comprehensive or thorough. I let myself wander, ramble, disappear down rabbit holes. I have faith that I’ll find what I need. I’ve looked at art too—my own and others. In my work, I’ve been looking at collages and noting how dark monoprints ground those compositions.
I keep returning to roots, my favourite childhood doodle. At the recent Images Studio Tour I bought a monoprint by fellow artist Pauline Bradshaw. Her print of a worn textile with an unravelled edge sits next to the Mississippi cartographic map in my studio. I won’t imitate anything in these 2 works, but they remind me of the type of line I love—one that wanders and intertwines.
I sketch too, sometimes onsite, sometimes from memory. These sketches tend to be more representational than my paintings. In a sketchbook or paper offcuts lying around the studio I’ll capture quick mixed media impressions. If I create something that’s evocative or has a feeling I’m looking for, I put it up on the wall.
Last week I noticed a richly coloured seam of earth back in the woods. I went back with a shovel and dug down and brought some back to the studio. Might make an interesting paint. I’ve been researching how to make different paints and soft pastels from found pigment. Turns out it’s not hard. And earth pigments are the most archival. All those beautiful ochres and umbers are earth pigments.
Writing is crucial to me as well. With a heavy fountain pen in my hand and smooth creamy paper in front of me I let my mind wander. I write down thoughts, feelings, ideas—without editing, without judgement. It’s another kind of digging to see what’s in there. Every now and then there’s some wisdom, or just a turn of phrase that captures something.
Dreaming about mud
Recently I started dreaming about mud—and all the things I might be able to do with it. I saw myself printing with mud and wondering if I could paint with mud.
I don’t know if I will actually use mud. Maybe I’ll just bring collage into my paintings or dark earth tones? The most important thing is that I started dreaming about mud. That means the gathering phase is working. I’ve immersed myself in ideas about earthiness and it’s reached my subconscious. I can begin.
Leave it all behind
I’ll scatter some photos, quotes, sketches around the studio to remind me—but once I begin painting I leave all that research behind. I might review a key piece of writing, or study a photo I’ve pinned up. But otherwise, I leave the gathering phase behind.
I trust that the gathering has done its work. All of my parts have taken on this idea. It’s not just something my head came up with. I’ve dug. I’ve looked and studied. I’ve pondered. I’ve dreamt. It’s in me.
Now I can paint.
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