Nurture — Day 16
Day 16 Prompt: “Share a story about a piece of art that took a long time to create. What challenges did you face along the way, and how did you stay motivated to finish?”
“Public Face of my Journey” : 2000s
I clearly remember when the kernel of this piece began fertilizing in my noggin. I had just entered, what was to become, my final year of study at the University of New Brunswick. By then I had already exceeded the limits of the studio courses offered at that campus—because of my previous studies at the University of Toronto. As a result, all of the art that I created (limited as it was) came from a space of self-direction; I had no Instructors to guide me in my process. My intention with this piece was to create a tangible record of Life’s many twists and turns on my inner landscape.
Not having an Instructor to guide me, course modules, or any specific agenda was a mixed blessing. On one hand, I had the complete freedom to create what and how I desired. On the other hand, I had absolutely no professional or academic support / feedback throughout my process or on the final piece. Any artist will tell you that feedback is integral to our process; not having that meant that my primary “objective voice” was my Inner Critic. I hadn’t yet developed my “objective lenses” so I found the process surrounding this piece to be fraught with doubt, never feeling that I was communicating what I wanted to, and initially feeling very disconnected from the final piece.
Thankfully, some 20 years later, I can look on it with a fresh, more practiced eye, and compare what I intended to what I produced.
“Public Face…” was the first time that I tried to combine the narrative structures of two (or more) art mediums; more specifically, I intended to use landscape as a metaphor that was overlaid on a sculpture based portrait. I can, now, look back on it and see the beginnings of what would become my current practice of using landscape as a direct metaphor for inner journeys. I can observe this now and see where I got muddled in the various details of those three (often) competing narrative structures. I can clearly see where I would have benefited from a more defined gameplan:
I wanted the final piece to have the same “spirit” as a Mardi Gras mask, yet, Mardi Gras tends to be associated with celebration and the story I was trying to tell was anything but celebratory.
The principles of fore-, middle-, and back-ground don’t translate well onto a portrait, much less a 3D mask that has its own planes.
The facial planes become a muddled mess that actually repel the viewer, rather than encouraging them to investigate any minor vistas that should be there to discover.
The eyes are closed, which directly interferes with our inherent belief that “eyes are the windows of the soul”.
The braided “headpiece” looks very much an after-thought even though I intended for it to flow naturally from the forehead—which only exacerbates the chaotic nature of the piece as a whole.
There is no place for the viewer’s eye to rest and investigate.
None of these observations reflect what I intended when I began “Public Face…”. I, very much, wanted the viewer to see those struggles I had experienced, that had shaped who I was, yet present them in a way that didn’t frighten the viewer. I wanted to communicate the specific struggles of having invisible disabilities, the conflict inherent in being an “acceptable” (to society) version of a gay man prior to the rise of Gen-Z acceptance, and how the scars of a “difficult childhood” remain regardless of how they manifest. While it frustrates me that I wasn’t able to communicate what I wanted with this piece, I am grateful that it allowed me an opportunity to see what didn’t work in my process.
The first thing that didn’t work was the way in which I approached art creation at the time. I would 1) be “inspired” to create something, 2) immediately set myself a timeline for finishing it, and 3) get right into creating it…without any thoughts spent on planning, sketching, outlining, brainstorming, or setting some kind of schedule. You see, all of these concepts seemed to much like work to me, at the time, so I tended to view them as hinderances to the creative process. Is it any wonder that my motivation to complete anything was inversely related to the time already invested—high motivation at the beginning, low at the end? Is it any wonder that my energy levels would decrease, and my frustration would increase, the longer I spent on any project? Like many artists—at all stages of their journey—I tended to view any skills I used primarily in my work-life to be separate and distinct from my creation skills. Looking back on that mindset now, I can see how lopsided it was. We, as creatives, tend to view our creative skills as enhancements to anything work-related, yet we have to learn that the reverse can also be true. After years of fighting against this, I’ve finally managed to recognize the need for having a reproduceable “structure” to how I create—a gameplan, if you will. I’ve trained myself, very slowly and with much objection from my past self, to use brainstorming as a trigger indicating that what follows will lead to a formal piece; this separates creative-play for it’s own sake from intentional art, where creative-play becomes “playing” within the confines of what I’d like the formal piece to be.
I still, very much, want to be surprised when I’m finished a piece, but, I no longer want the jarring sensation of not knowing what will happen and “letting my art speak for itself”. I’ve learned that (for me) I need to give a clear voice to my art—more correctly, I need to give my art the space and boundaries that it communicates in. I’ve realize that my art speaks best when I’ve given it a proper stage to perform on. My art is almost always about Communication (moreso with the creation of #ZenzunniBardoPath). I’ve realized that structure is essential to useful communication.
As I sit here, two decades removed from that whirlwind of artistic freedom and self-doubt, I can't help but marvel at the journey. The absence of formal guidance back in my university days was both a curse and a blessing—a crucible that forced me to engage deeply with my Inner Critic long before I had the tools to negotiate with it. Today, my approach to art is different, not just technically but emotionally. I've garnered the 'objective lenses' that were missing back then, and that growth is a testament to the winding, unpredictable paths we walk in our artistic lives. “Public Face…”, born from the unguided passions of my younger self, serves as both a mirror and a window: a look back at what was and a glimpse into what's to come. So as we pivot from this reflection, let's keep asking: how does the art of our past inform the creations of our future?
Until next time, let's keep that dialogue open, evolving, and forever questioning.
As always, be well Gentle Reader,
