Yesterday I blogged about six small pieces I was working on that were awkward and wrong. I described that base layer is an invitation to play. What I didn’t say is, and I have nothing to lose.
Tonight I grabbed collage paper scraps, glue, acrylic paint and followed my instincts. Not thinking, only doing. Are these finished, or good yet? No. But they’re better, and I think I’m going to like the final results. Sometimes having nothing to lose is a bonus.
Sometimes I sit down at my desk and the art flows – the skies look stormy, the hills have the right amount of light, and the finished pieces feel cohesive. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights!
I masked the edges on half a dozen small pieces of heavy watercolour paper, grabbed watercolour paints & water soluble pencils, and my favourite brushes. And then … nothing. The marks didn’t feel right, the paint didn’t act like I wanted, the colours felt muddy. None of the pieces gave me any joy, so I stepped away.
Why does that happen? Sometimes it’s because I haven’t warmed up in some way, maybe with a few minutes in an art journal, so my actions are awkward. Other times I’ve got a definite outcome in mind and it’s stopping me working in my natural way. Occasionally it’s because I’ve been watching a lot of one artist on YouTube and, without meaning to, I’m trying to make their art, not my art.
Will these pieces go to waste? Heck no! I’ll work over the top of them, adding crayon and acrylic, and possible collage, because a base layer I don’t like is an invitation to play.
I have often said art heals. It’s good for me to create – it soothes my soul. Working regularly in my art journal lets me say in words, images and gestures all the things I can’t put into spoken words. I believe the act of creating is good for all of us, whether we’re creating art, making music, baking, gardening … there’s an outlet for anyone who will listen to their inner voice.
What I don’t often talk about is that art can also heal the viewer. Whether that’s the power of seeing art in a museum, having a piece of art that commemorates or celebrates something personal, or realising through a piece of art that you’re not alone.
Recently I sold three small works to a woman on the East Coast of New Zealand. They live in an area that was devastated in Cyclone Gabrielle. She commissioned me to make a bigger work referencing the hills they see daily, and the apple orchards in the area.
I’m not big on commissions so, instead, I created three works that fitted her general request. If one suited her needs, great! If not, I’d just sell them. That way, I don’t feel restricted to making work in a way that doesn’t fit with how I create. It’s a tactic I’ve used successfully before.
I showed her three pieces, and she asked me to make a small adjustment to one. Once I’d done that, she bought the work and I shipped it off. I got a message a couple of weeks ago that it was off to the framer. Tonight I got the Bluesky message shown below. Reading it made my eyes well up, and my heart feel full. My art helped her heal and that’s a magic thing to be part of.
A lot has happened in the last month. I’ve been doing more in the #100TinyTreasures series and find it fascinating seeing what shapes and marks consistently represent the hand of the artist. I’ve been working in my art journals, including the new Dina Wakley Media ledger journal – absolutely love it, but they’re sold out already.
Sadly, the next shipment might be post-tariffs so may not be affordable. I feel bad for artists like Dina Wakley, Tim Holtz and Dyan Reaveley who have built a loyal following, through sheer hard work over many years, and will have their business impacted by the current US situation.
I had sold three small paintings to one collector on the East Coast and she asked if I’d make something bigger. I don’t do commission work as such but was happy to make some larger works – the three green pieces below – and if one suited her, great! They are based on the land around where she lives, which includes apple orchards. We tweaked the piece on the far right by adding 3 red apple shapes to the left and she messaged me that “The painting arrived and it’s BEAUTIFUL. I absolutely love it.”
I’ve also been getting ready for this year’s Greymouth Art in the Park. Pen Kirk and I have a stand and will be selling matted works, and greeting cards. Normally we’d teach as well, but Pen has a demanding new job and I’m not doing so well.
A couple of weeks ago someone came through a stop sign and hit my car at speed. I had a couple of seconds to react after I saw him go, and got as far out of the way as I could. Very similar to when a drunk driver hit me in 2012. Despite this being at a stop sign in a 50km area, he was going fast enough that both cars are written off. State Insurance paid out promptly, and I have a lovely new 2015 Mitsubishi Outlander plug in hybrid.
I also have a sore shoulder and concussion, which has turned out to be more of a problem than first suspected. I’m resting a lot, and have been working only half days. I have trouble sleeping at night, and get headaches. Still, it could have been a whole lot worse.
I’ve been an inconsistent blogger lately. Life seems a bit fragmented and busy. It’s not bad, just different, for all kinds of reasons.
I’m still doing #100TinyTreasures and have been posting on Bluesky and Facebook, but not here, so it’s catch up time. An impact on any project that inspires consistent practice is, for me anyway, that it reinforces and solidifies the hand of the artist. What marks and shapes do I go back to time after time? What formats and focal areas speak most clearly to me?
At the weekend I taught a gelli printing class with four artists. They each had an identical pack of papers, access to the same paints, stencils and tools. At the end of two and a half hours there were four completely different sets of gelli prints. The hand of the artist always shows…
Cath Sheard Art 