Ramblings from a Sketchbook
After posting blog entries with the "finished" product, I thought it was a good opportunity to go back in time. I am not a fan of process as I have mentioned on many occasions. Rarely, do I lose myself in the actual task at hand. Yes, that's right. My art is a task, and I am a reluctant taskmaster. In other words... fearful of the final outcome of my hand and heart.
When I thought about the actual pleasure derived from decades of producing art, I reverted to looking through my many sketchbooks. A tribute to the real freedom and outpouring of the artistic construct -without hesitation. Without thought of opinion, judgement and critique of anyone other than myself (and sometimes my art teacher).
Shockingly good, I thought after turning pages. The earlier the sketch, the more I liked the piece. Does that mean that the less trepidation I was feeling about laying down an image, the better the work? All the knowledge I have gained has coloured (excuse me) my ability to really paint or pot with reckless abandon. Is that a good thing? Who knows. Early work is rarely superior to a mature eye and hand. But tell me. Are not these sketches powerful, emotive and meaningful?
But it's too late. You can't go home. Or back to your initial instinct in art. My head is filled with unabashed fodder- educated and cemented in years of lectures and published how to's. The drive to be free is still there but tempered somewhat. Art education is critical- I always say that deconstruction can only be achieved when the parameters of formality of technique are firmly in place.
Happily, my sketchbooks make me feel successful, talented and confident- momentarily,but I can always go there with these overstuffed, private and dog-eared journals of my travels in art.