ARTISTIC FRUSTRATION: VISUAL ART VS OTHER ART FORMS

It's an observation I've often made that was reinforced in the painting class I took last month at the Ottawa School of Art: that visual artists experience frustration if they have to backtrack and re-do parts of an art piece during its creation. 

Each artist in the class at some point didn't like what they had painted. We sometimes got stuck. We didn't always know how to move forward or how to fix what we had painted. We were irked when we liked something, took a step we thought was right, then realized we had wrecked what was good. Visual artists and fibre artists for the most part highly dislike having to "re-do" parts of a picture they thought were done. Oh yes we should be looking at these as learning opportunities, but it's still an exercise in frustration.

Our instructor reminded us throughout the week that painting is a process, it's about playing, adding layers, about the work evolving. She said anything can be fixed if we don't like it or it doesn't work. We just need to step back, re-assess, determine what colours, shapes, etc. are needed, then decide on the next step. Then the step after that. We are not perfect and we only improve with practice. If we change one section, it affects other sections. Keep going. Take a break when needed. Sit with it for a bit. Consider that we may not have had a strong enough vision when starting to create, or that the picture needed to reveal what it wants to be. Not to focus on the end result but to enjoy the process. Don't get discouraged. All great messages.

Yet still frustrating. 

I've seen many painters give up when something isn't working, the frustration of knitters when they realize they've made a wrong stitch and need to go back a row or sometimes more to fix the error, sewers when a piece doesn't fit or the machine is giving them trouble. A weaver friend felt she had ruined an entire piece of fabric she was making on her loom when she discovered an error in the pattern. She could not find a way to salvage it or make something else from the weaving and dreaded having to start over after spending all that time on it. It felt like a waste.

Perhaps we feel the frustration because we are left with something tangible on which we've spent time and money, and because that unfinished piece sits in front of us every day. We can save multiple versions of writing on a computer. We can 'undo' changes to a digital photo. We can move on from a piano practice when we can't see or hear it. But a painted canvas or knitted piece is harder to hide from view, we can't save an earlier version. 

And yet artists of other art forms seem to understand that changes and corrections and edits are part of the process. At least I think they do. Writers go through several edits before they are satisfied. They expect this and seem prepared to work through the changes. Yes, they know their first draft won't be perfect, that it will need a re-write, enhancing, then polishing. That first draft is more like a mind dump, then it can be reorganized, rewritten, polished, words changed up for others, polished some more.

Why can't visual artists think like that, whatever our medium? We may have a vision in mind, but often our vision will evolve. Usually into something better if we keep working at it, but it's hard to see that while we are in the process of creating.

Writing and painting and other art forms require learning of techniques, practice, allowing the creativity to flow, planning, and understanding the principles and elements that go into creation. But somewhere along the creative process, backtracking and re-doing and correcting seem like too much of a burden for us visual artists.

Yet, it's like tuning an instrument. We need to play with the colours, decide on the composition, understand the elements of good design. We may start boldly but as the piece evolves we can get drawn too deeply into details and begin to overthink the work.

There were times in the class I was taking that I didn't think my pieces were going to work out. Take the garden painting, for example. I started with a photo. I wanted to add my own vision by using more colours, interest, adding some mixed media pieces. Part way through I wasn't sure it would have a cohesive look. I'm very glad the instructor was there to give feedback on composition, colour selections, paint layers, tones and contrast, where it needed a pop of colour, etc. I got there, step by step. I haven't been painting much the last few years, focusing instead of fibre art. So practice is what I need, just like a dancer or a musician who will practice for hours before the recital.

It's not perfect, but it has much more colour than the photo, it's vivacious, fun and catches the eye. And that's what I wanted. Some sections have several layers of paint. It was easy to make corrections

Related posts:
Does Practice make Perfect?
Lessons Learned when our Art doesn't turn out
Getting Past the Hump in a Creative Practice

SOMETIMES MAKING ART IS AS EASY AS FALLING OFF A LOG, OTHER TIMES GETTING BACK UP IS THE CHALLENGE

I purchased some old piano player paper a few months ago, seeing the potential to use some in in my fibre art. I didn't know just how I would use it, but the opportunity was there and the price was right. I was certain an idea would materialize at some point. I'm not sure how old the roll I bought is, although a copyright date of 1919 was given for the music itself, a waltz - Hand in Hand Again - and there were another 20 or 25 rolls available to buy.

Then in July when I was out with my outdoor sketch & painting group, I happened across a fallen birch tree with some marvelous patterns in the bark. I took photos, knowing I could make a picture in fibre art from this.

The piano player paper then came to mind, with its perforations that look similar to the horizontal line marks in birch bark.

I did a bit of experimenting to add colour to the paper, settling on bleeding tissue paper to add shades of reds and charcoals (it's a specially made tissue that bleeds its colour when wet). The white tissue didn't work as well, so instead I added torns bits of gampi paper, a very fibrous, whitish, translucent Japanese paper. I then mounted the piano player onto heavy brown paper bag to add some stability as the paper is fragile. Plus the brown of the paper bag can be seen through the perforations, just like the darker lines on the bark.

The next step was to add lots of stitching, following all the various marks in the bark. And then it was done. And I'm very happy with what seemed like an effortless piece of fibre art.

During the process a friend mentioned that it also had the makings of a map. She's right, and so I decided I would use the piano player paper once again but make a map this time.

😒 😣
The piece is coming along, but the effect of the holes in the paper has been lost. Perhaps I chose the wrong map, perhaps it's an aerial view, even if fictitious, that I need. I think where I went wrong was not to do more testing and experimenting, like I had done with the earlier one, along with my choice of paint rather than bleeding tissue. I was over confident this piece too would be as easy as falling off a log. I may finish it, but I think it's time to start, or experiment on, to make a new one.

6 WAYS TO DETERMINE IF YOUR ARTWORK IS FINISHED

Sometimes we overwork our art. Sometimes we under-work them. It's easy to get caught up in working too close to the piece but we need to step back once in a while to see the big picture. Once you think you have finished a piece, here are 6 ways to help determine if your piece of art is actually complete - or if it needs more work.

1. Turn it upside down, then stand across the room to view the piece and look at it from different perspectives. By altering the right side up view, we start to see gaps or disconnects where the piece is not quite finished, where a colour needs to be fixed etc. It's like looking through someone else's eyes.
2. Hold the art up to a mirror  - try right side up, upside down, sideways. By looking at the mirror image, as in #1 above, we gain a new perspective and can see if and where fixes are needed.
3. Walk away for a few days, then look at the art through fresh eyes, like seeing it for he first time, and as another viewer sees it. Some suggest to hang it up and live with the picture for a week or more. You will be drawn to parts that need to be fixed.
4. Ask a friend - There's nothing better than getting a second opinion. Just make sure it's someone who will be honest in a positive way, and not be afraid to critique and possibly hurt your feelings. "I love it!" is wonderful to hear but not always helpful.
5. You realize you're bored with the piece - It may be unfinished, but perhaps you have gotten out of it what you needed to learn. Decide if you want or need to finish it. If not, move on.
6. Trust your intuition - As you get more experienced in art-making, you'll start to sense if it's finished or if something still needs to be fixed. Then turn to the suggestions above to figure out what needs to be done.