Pantomime
I have missed it for years.
Early on I knew it well, but I thought that I had left it behind. Little did I know that it had only moved to my periphery, then, without my noticing, around to the back, close to my spine, out of sight. I was being careful, thoughtful even, I’d say to myself. I was trying to work out the problems beforehand, being contemplative, natural, aligning myself with purpose. The lie (masquerade) had become my breath. It was as close as the air between my shirt and my skin, as unnoticed as my shadow, a pantomime.
As I was working one day I noticed something out of the corner of my mind’s eye, but noticing nothing more I continued with my worries. A few days passed with the usual slow progress until I saw it clearly.
Have you ever been walking in the woods and experienced the shock or thrill that you were being watched by an animal? It knew you were there so it stayed really still, hoping you would pass over it, hoping to go unnoticed. Electricity flashes through you and you pause, statuesque, eyes wide. Know what I mean? That was me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
It had made a mistake. I had made a decision and it was slow to react. With its delay it had become separated from my shadow. In my action (unexpected?) I had turned too quickly and that put it back into my field of vision, and I had it. Once I locked eyes with it, the real game was on. I became something of a hunter. I locked on it. It moved slowly then darted. Having now seen what I was really facing, I set about preparing to kill it.
I am not a violent person, but Fear deserves to die. I want to see Fear’s head on a pike, birds picking at its eyes. I have tried to deal with excuses for 2 Februarys and have made much progress (attack them like they killed my dog), but fear snuck up on me. Fear took my intentions of a slow, thoughtful, and meditative approach and put them on like a coat. It wore my thoughts like camouflage. I am so tired of fear. I am done with it.
Have you ever known what to do early on in a painting but proceeded to paint as if the design will just fix itself if you keep going? Fear.
Have you ever painted around a beloved part of a painting only to lose the whole thing because of the one part? Fear.
Have you ever picked up a brush that you know wouldn’t make the mark and proceed to use it anyway? Fear.
Have you ever avoided buying better panels because they are “expensive” even though they allow you total control? Fear.
Do you use material “limitations” as crutches? Fear.
Have you ever thought that Rilke was a jerk for his “not poet enough” comment? (Might just be me). Fear.
Have you ever thought that maybe Rilke was right about his “not poet enough” comment?
Have you ever spent your time wishing you could paint while giving yourself an imaginary chore list? Fear.
Have you ever spent 75% of the day on social media looking at work that is better than yours? Fear.
Have you ever avoided painting because you just looked through Schmid’s “The Landscapes” and felt crushed? Fear.
Have you ever gotten home from work and said, “I only have 45 minutes before bed, and I need at least 2 hours, so I’d better not begin this session…” Fear.
Have you ever brushed over an area 15 times just to avoid looking at the hard part? Fear.
Under every breath.
So I come to the real purpose of this post.
There are weighy matters in our lives here. Heath issues, job and housing concerns, deadlines and personal goals combine to form the shape of each day and week. Painting takes a back seat. When I do paint, it is often for a deadline. I find that trying to get into this or that show is a good way to get work done - not a lot of work, mind you, just … work.
Due to my newfound love of hunting, I have bought new tools (at the nudging of an esteemed professional painter - I am so lucky) and have - without hesitation - set about making marks. I thought I was on track to do this anyway, but as I have pointed out, fear was splicing its own voice into, dubbing over, my own, so I was off the mark, and had diverged from a decent path - or at least my own path. Fear will take you down a well-trodden way to a predictable end. It will be nice. People will like it. It will not matter.
To that end and as a welcome consequence of hunting the pestilence, another far older and yet younger voice is being heard in the forest. “Don’t let it stand. Act now. Roll over it. Scrape across it. Thicker paint. What are you if you cannot remake it? Do you mean to make a copy? ARE YOU AFRAID?”
In painting, as soon as something is precious, you have handed the reigns over. You are no longer the director, conductor, leader, master. You are a servant.
There is a direction of travel where being a servant in this regard is fine and good. If you show up to simply respond to the marks, to be informed by edge, layers, saturation, softness - any mark characteristic - then it is acceptable and good to serve the surface.
Other than that, I should conduct, arrange, build up and destroy. I should do whatever is necessary to retain the title of “Maker.” I do not love my work if I allow it to contradict my purpose (for more on what I have said about purpose, click here). The few other people who see my efforts will not sense life in them if I have allowed fear to grow in the garden. What is there to fear? Collectors? Galleries? Peers? The only “fear” that should motivate me is the thought of coming to my death having been afraid to speak honestly.
So, having seen how Fear hijacked my intentions, I see 2 things reiterated. Both are attitudes of a servant. I see one to serve the inner man (purpose) and one to serve the surface. To hold the first is a noble pursuit that serves our insides (and possibly others’) - presently as a discipline and later as a gift to posterity. To hold the second is satisfying here and now for makers and collectors alike. If these two attitudes are practiced long enough, I may one day earn the title of “Artist.” If not, I will comfortably walk down a well-made path that leads to a predictably fine spot from which to watch my possibilities flap with the last sail over the horizon.
