Disclaimer: The following is just speculation on my part; I don't have enough experience to say that this is exactly how it is. I used to write these little feverish notes in my phone whenever I got an insight, but this seems like a better way to document them. I write so I that I don't forget, so that I can revisit them, but chiefly so that I can investigate and understand better.
The images I have used in this post are all Milton Avery's paintings.
This was (a) to stop me from going crazy choosing from the endless good stuff out there (b) since his work is so devoid of needless elements - every stroke is so valuable, so meaningful and so strongly INTENDED - that his paintings display a clear case of that energy and inspiration I will talk about ahead.
The REAL THING that makes a painting arresting to look at, always comes from within the artist. If that connection to the primal/universal source is absent while painting, it shows in the artwork. This is why I feel AI can create great work for commercial projects, but to appeal to the heart? Ah mon ami, you need a connection to the divine for that. That is where all the magic comes from.
If it has been created from the realm of thought, it can be beautiful. But it will appear measured; lacking a certain vitality. That is because thought is a surface level phenomenon. It is recycled, it is stale, it is 'of this world'. Nothing coming out of it can truly shock the senses. (All music that has ever given you goosebumps has originated from the core of that artist.)
But that shimmering thread of intuition and energy that springs forth from within- it gilds your work with the magic of the beyond, even if what you've painted are two pears.
And that energy of the source is impossible to imitate, for by its very nature it is spontaneous desire. One cannot imitate spontaneity nor desire.
So I suppose the only way to bring it in your art is to be in touch with it always while creating. Sometimes that connection is lost. Fatigue, boredom, lack of inspiration. All necessary reasons to move away from the work and relax. Go fill your well so that the divine may shine in you again as inspiration.
*
Is the process to be then entirely without thought? Not entirely... but what is to be used is intuitive thought, not deliberate thought.
I read somewhere that intuition is when you have not mentally followed all the steps leading to the conclusion, but arrive at an instantaneous conclusion, the brain/mind/heart having computed all the steps already in the hyper-accurate and fast inner computer... sort of a Deep Thought from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
This inner computer derives data from all the conditioning you've had since birth. Society, culture, your own personality and inclinations, your deepest desires and fears, your natural environment- all these are the inputs. And what emerges is a unique blend made out of all the experiences that this singular person has had. So yes, there is a method to the process; it is not arbitrary. In fact it is extremely refined. Just that it is not entirely conscious.
You are presented with these results by your brain/mind/heart all the time, in the form of intermittent flashes- what we call inspiration, ideas, vision. It is the answer to the ultimate question- What is my authentic style?
Well, what flashes in front of your eyes?
*
Now to execution.
What seems important is to be able to accurately sense ones intuition. For visual artists, it appears in the form of vague mental imagery. You can see it in moments you feel inspired. What is inspiration, but a sudden visualisation of possibilities. Where does the sudden vision come from? I get a strong desire to paint a red painting; where has it come from?
The source. Honour that source, and let intuition bring forth what it wants to.
Do note that this can often go very wrong at first, when you start painting without accurately following your intuition.
* Sometimes you might listen to your surface thought, thinking it is intuition. And in that case, you might make underwhelming art (somehow lacking harmony, life, joy).
* Sometimes you might shut down your conscious thought, but not be connected to intuition either. Intuition is the perfect guide, conscious thought is a blind guide but at least a guide. And thinking you are working from intuition when you're actually not, while also not using conscious thought- you are now entirely unmoored. This results in some astoundingly bad work which may very well make you lose total faith in your abilities. Ask me how I know.
So what has to be practiced is how to spot intuition? Your own feedback loop of what sort of brain activity leads to what sort of painting, will eventually lead you to a more accurate recognition of the voice of intuition. You will self-correct as you keep practicing, like a little AI :P
This apart, the most direct marker of the presence of inspiration is a distinct energy surge you feel within you, manifesting as a 'desire' to create. You can recognise when you have a strong desire v/s when you're just going through the motions. This strong desire is key in whether your painting 'succeeds' or not. I personally find this desire evident in Milton Avery's paintings. This desire is what endows any painting with vitality. But the desire and vitality has to appear in the artist first. There can be no two ways about it.
A colour appears to you. Some shapes, sometimes a vibe. Honour it. At least see what wants to come forth.
Try it a few times, out of curiosity if nothing else; what have you got to lose?
And where do I stand in all this? I am at a stage where I have experienced it a handful of times without fully knowing what was happening. With awareness, it has happened once, a few days ago. I saw a remarkable difference in how I was painting without energy at first, and then suddenly with a burst of freshness emerging from within me.
What caused it to happen mid-painting?
I was painting lifelessly for a while, trying to carefully arrange things and failing constantly. Then I finally got fed up. I decided this painting was just not cutting it, and completely gave up on it.
And in doing so, I deprived it of its power over me; it freed me up.
Now this was a no-stakes game, and I felt that familiar surge of energy I spoke earlier about.
I took a brush and mixed the colours in front of me (not even the ones I might have consciously chosen) and painted over the bad parts in a sort of frenzy. And voila, what appeared was beautiful! (The colour combination wasn't one I had in mind at all, but that's a topic for another letter- how serendipitous accidents are a big part of art-making in physical media. One of the reasons I moved over from digital.)
It's a crazy puzzle, this art making, but what an incredibly deep and rich experience, both within and without.
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In May-June of this year (this is written in 2021), I went through a phase where I hated everything I painted. My style was in turmoil again and every piece seemed blah.
From the kind people of the internet, I came across a tip of doing quick sketchbook paintings when stuck in your art. These should usually be from reference, so that the mind is freed up from thinking of what to draw, and can focus fully on how to do it.
It's also recommended to switch to a new medium to freshen things up, so I found myself in the world of pencil colours and oil pastels- a change from my usual wet media, oil paint brushes (this is all on the iPad though).
For reference, I chose my favourite visual feast of a movie Trikal by Shyam Benegal (1985). People often go outdoors to draw from life, but I love the comfort of my home, and besides, have you SEEN the movie? It's a delight for any Goaphile and history buff.
The following are some quick sketches akin to groping about in the dark to figure out where the path lies; eventually you find yourself going in a certain direction.
By the last sketch here, I was suddenly sure of how I wanted to paint next and quickly abandoned the project. (I'm all for abandoning things the moment they're not working out for you. This is been a vastly helpful and slightly problematic outlook.)
Over time I have come to realise that these phases occur ever so often, just when you think you've figured out how to paint. But now I welcome the uncertainty instead of worrying about it because I definitely wouldn't want to paint the same thing till I die- that is just dead repetition.
We are on an adventure of discovery. It's a human malady!
***
It's 2 am. These words floated in my mind as I was imagining the kind of world I would like to create with my art. Beauty, joy, a wonderment about life, relaxation, and questions about this marvel we find ourselves in. These themes seem to repeatedly surface in my work, to the point where I have to acknowledge that they're part of a larger fabric and not wave them off as mere happenstances. Maybe a small part of the reason for me not taking them seriously was that they are not considered serious subjects? Took a while to shake off that conditioning.
Beauty is often criminally underrated in the must-haves of life. On far too many occasions, considered a surface veneer. As if beauty doesn't weave its web far deeper into the human heart and make love palaces there.
And rest and relaxation are too quotidian, too ordinary to address. As if it is not the most precious thing- to savour life!
That Goa leaves a flavour behind in my art, I am fortunate about. My fascination for this place- both its landscape and its culture made me feel like an imposter at first. I wasn't from here after all, and I felt like I didn't have the right to state my love for it. Stranger still was that my fascination had started before I had stepped foot here. (Not so unusual, as I realise later. There are after all so many Egypt obsessors, Indophiles, Japan afficionados and such)
There is something about its vibe that matches my own inner landscape; The wet and the wild sings to me; I would be miserable in a dry & sombre place. The 'mystique' is lacking, mon ami...
But such is the case with anything one loves, really. Our likes are just outer manifestations of something already inside us. How fortunate then, that our work as artists is to chase these likes, and in the process stumble upon ourselves!
And so it is that artists find themselves in the uniquely exciting position to delve into their hearts, pick out gems, and display them with care- like a bird in a mating ritual. This is serious life stuff.
]]>I did some research on writing a blog, and all the tips insisted on an introduction as the first post. The "stand up and say a few things about yourself" is legit the stuff of nightmares for me and I’d rather eat my own arm. But thank the lord it is from behind a screen now, so here goes:
Purpose of the blog:
The blogging tips also insisted on outlining a direction for the blog in the first post.
Honestly? It's going to be a surprise for me too.
The main reasons it occurred to me to write a blog were: a) I enjoy writing, and
b) I heard somewhere how interesting and beneficial it can be to keep a blog, as a journal of sorts to accompany you on your art journey. To note down things you are drawn towards, to vent about the ones you think are problematic.
To basically just discuss art & aesthetics, the meaning of beauty, observations on life, and such faffy affairs with other afficionados. Welcome!
In conclusion (another tip from the blog lords):
This will likely be a compilation of spontaneous essays about the art life, but with slightly more honesty and less embarrassment than what you feel posting on Instagram. An open diary, if you may.
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