Finally, the insistent call of the outside world drags us away and we close the studio door on that tangled grid-locked mess of paint, hope, and self-belief. As we square up to the dishwasher and the dusting that secret smile is now a nagging sense of dread. Am I good enough? Why can’t I figure this out? I’ve killed my precious ….
Now it’s time to carefully sign my name in the bottom right corner, lay down an isolation coat, a couple of coats of varnish and ….. drumroll please, GIVE IT A TITLE. The signing and finishing coats are simple, consider them done! But the title – ugh. My brain slumps in my head, solitary dying sparks fizzle – I’ve got nothing. Not a clue or even a microscopic gem of an idea. NOTHING!!
When I was 11 it was my legs, in my teens it was my freckles, my boobs – or lack of, my teeth, certain aspects of my parents, our religion and the family car. In my 20’s still the boob thing, lack of career direction and my inability to hook a decent man. My 30’s saw the concern about the man intensify.. In my 40’s it was a general lack of organisation, uncontrol of my two young children – (yes, I managed to find myself a man.) My 50’s has been all about my internal thermometer control and sleep – both far too erratic. What has all this got to do with Abstract Painting?
On reflection, this process of decision making and being stuck and stalled in indecision has given me renewed insight. I see this in many artists who ask my advice about their paintings. They are stuck, they have a hunch on what they should do, but they need affirmation that this is the right course of action and they lack the courage to act in case they ruin the work.
