Beginning a New Work
In one of my favorite passages from The Sublime and the Avant Garde, Jean-François Lyotard writes:
“…the possibility of nothing happening, of words, of colours, forms or sounds not coming: of the sentence being the last, of bread not coming daily. This is the misery that the painter faces with a plastic surface, of the musician with the acoustic surface, the misery the thinker faces with a desert of thought, and so on. Not only faced with the empty canvas or the empty page, at the ‘beginning’ of the work, but every time something has to be waited for, and thus forms a question at every point of questioning, at every ‘and what now?’”
As artists we all feel that anxiety of the empty canvas, that moment of “nothing” while the canvas stands blank, new, and empty of thought. Lyotard later describes moments like that as a complex blend of the opposing feelings of apprehension, suspense, and fearful waiting, mingled with excitement, delight, and energy of anticipation.
When I begin a painting, I need to cover the canvas with color quickly, and then when I have rid myself of the fear of the blank canvas, I can begin in earnest.
Layering and blending colors are important parts of my process. I often do as many as ten layers of underpaintings. Transparency of color, design and pattern on top and underneath are the heart of my work. I want to allow the eye to travel around and through the layers, to contemplate, to explore, and hopefully to question and imagine. Although some of the forms I paint are derived from water, or seeds, or clouds, or constellations, my goal is not to recreate these things like a plein air painter. Instead, I want to paint a different kind of depth, and to describe sensations and ideas.
Sensations of depth and transcendence often develop for me through the experience of creating works that are on a larger-than-life scale. The studio fades away from my consciousness as I am drawn into the process of painting works that extend beyond the physical reach of my arms. These large paintings require me to climb up on step stools, or walk from end to end of the canvas. At those times, I become fully absorbed in the tactility of the paint and surface. My body, mind, and imagination leave all else behind, and become fully immersed in the raw and sensual process of painting.
Time slips away and the blank canvas is no more.
