Showing up. Being seen.
The closer I get to the opening of my upcoming gallery show on June 1st, the more vulnerable I feel. I'm learning a lot as I move through this process, and soon, I'll be putting the whole thing out there for all to see. That’s what’s got me feeling vulnerable.
The process of creating a body of work for a show goes passes through several phases - and the first few happen within the quiet cocoon of my studio.
First is the early phase of exploration, which is like wandering along the edges of a familiar path and find that a whole new path lies ahead, inviting me to see where it leads. In this phase, I'm in my studio trying out new colors and playing with arrangements of shapes to see what engages my curiosity. Little by little, through experimenting and following my intuition, I find certain colors and certain interactions of forms that interest me - this usually leads to the first 3-4 paintings I'll make for a collection.
The next phase begins as those first few paintings provide me with ideas to expand on. I'll build on those ideas by starting new paintings that repeat or respond to a detail from one of the starter pieces. It might be a certain shape made bigger or smaller, or made in a different color; or it might be a fresh design using color combinations discovered in those starter pieces. At this stage I'm definitely working from a more defined set of parameters - keeping to the same palette and repeating interesting motifs - but I’m still open to exploration. It’s as if I've found the trail I want to follow, and now I'm getting familiar with the terrain. This stage might account for 4 or 5 more paintings in varying dimensions.
The next phase is akin to mapping the trail so someone else can follow - it’s the stage where I refine the existing pieces to unify the ideas that have come forward as I experimented. I’m making sure the motifs are evident, and the palette is cohesive. I try to notice if there are any “gaps” in the narrative, where I need to make any additional paintings to connect some with others. I’m making sure that a viewer of these paintings can find the trail and follow me through the collection of work, and see the same connections and interactions that I do. There might be one or two new paintings at this stage.
Once these steps are done, it’s time to start sharing the work with others, and preparing myself to talk about it, to become a guide through the landscape I’ve created. Time to hang the work on the walls, write the artist talk, and commit the whole thing to public view. This is where I start to feel vulnerable: is it good? Is it interesting? Does it resonate with others and ignite their curiosity? How can explain my process and concepts to others, clearly and simply? Brené Brown says “Courage begins with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”
I’ve been listening to the audiobook version of artist Anne Truitt’s journals. A mother of three children, and a single mother by the time they were teenagers, Truitt was also a dedicated artist managing all the complications of domestic and professional life. In the early 1970s she began a series of paintings called the Arundel paintings - all of which were variations of a large white surface with delicate graphite lines and/or subtle stripes of a whiter white. She was very keen on them, and they exhibited in 1975 at the Baltimore Museum of Art. They were widely panned. One irritated museum visitor sent the curator a three page letter of complaint: the first page said he would like to share his thoughts about Anne Truitt’s Arundel paintings. The second page was a blank white page. The third page was his sign off. Another critic called for the museum to have its public funding revoked for having exhibited this series. The harsh reaction cut Truitt to the quick, and yet she continued to add pieces to this series until 1999, creating seven in total. I aspire to her courage and vulnerabity, whether or not I ever reach the level of her talent.
I feel sure my first show, The Shape of Becoming, opening June 1 at Willow Street Gallery, won’t expose me to widespread public distaste, so I don’t need to fear that. What I hope for is that friends, collectors, colleagues, and maybe a few strangers can find me, can see the new work, can connect through it to some thread of truth within themselves, can follow me on the journey I took in creating it. And just maybe, someone will want to take one home to share their own journey.