Searching for New Paths

Just a week ago, I was interviewed by Rebecca Crowell for her podcast: The Messy Studio. It was a very casual interview, especially because her "recording studio" in New Mexico where I was visiting her, was a blanket fort on the floor beside her bed!

As I listened to the podcast last week when it was posted, I was reminded again how important the idea of play is in my own art practice. Click here to listen to the interview. Rebecca has observed that my work has a conceptual component and asked which comes first, the idea or the painting. I responded that it's always play that comes first, staying open to what wants to come through. No direction. No purpose. No worrying about whether anyone would like the work or not. Simply playing with materials.

I realize I've written about play several times over the years. It still fascinates me: that state of not-knowingness. Of being open to the fertile empty state of possibility.

There is a wonderful essay entitled "In the Space of Art" written by Mary Jane Jacob from the book "Buddha Mind in Contemporary Art". She writes, "In art as in Buddhism, creative potential resides in that nothing place, that nowhere of emptiness; an open space without attachment to outcome, with an aim to guide the process but the goal (the answer) kept at bay...for as long as usefully possible."

She goes on to say, "Practice is about trying, developing, cultivating, improving. Practice connotes repetition: to practice, to perfect. Practice becomes one of the rituals of life, continual acts of doing. And sustaining a practice-not just surviving in the business of art, but living in the space of art-means to know that the process is of greater value than the product, that the making...and even arriving at the making...exceeds the thing made, that the experience outweighs the material form."

Richard Serra in the book, "Spark: How Creativity Works", freed himself from the constraints of making art by approaching it as play. He said, "I'm interested in the notion of play; [I'm] not interested in the end, [I'm] interested in the activity itself; [I'm] interested in not worrying in a self-conscious way about what I have to make."

In my studio, I follow the work (play) to see where it leads. It inevitably leads to new ideas and to a new series of paintings. But it starts slowly. And as it moves along, I discard the ideas I find don't hold my interest, and follow the ideas that continue to feel playful. After a time of playing and gradually creating a series, I sit back and ask the work what it wants to say. What is it about? I listen to it. There's always an answer. Often it surprises me. So Rebecca's question about which comes first, the painting or the concept has a very clear answer. It's always play that leads the way.

Meet the Owners of a Scottish Castle

Anne Tristine Nguyen, Ali Orr Ewing, their children, Ava, Atticus and their dog, Harriet Beecher Stowe. Dunskey Estate, Portpatrick, Scotland Anne Tristine Nguyen and her husband, Alistair Orr Ewing are the owners of Dunskey Estate near Portpatrick, Scotland where I will teach a painting workshop in September. Dunskey is a splendid Edwardian castle on 2000 acres of ocean-front land with miles of walking trails. As well as daily workshop sessions in the studio on the top floor of the castle, our small group of artists will enjoy breathtaking hikes, superb accommodation and fabulous meals. Not having met owners of a castle before, I asked Anne if I could interview her to hear a little of their background story and that of the castle. Can you tell me a little of your personal story and that of your husband, Alistair Orr Ewing? Anne emigrated to America when she was ten years old, but it was at an art gallery in Saigon, her birthplace, where she met Al

The Importance of Silence in Art

Gathering Light 60x60" Oil on canvas © 2014 Janice Mason Steeves Michael David Rosenberg, the musician known as Passenger, sings, "See all I need is a whisper in a world that only shouts." In the workshops I teach, I find that one of the most common problems with paintings is that they shout. Most have too much going on: too many small shapes, too much texture, extremes of colour, too many lines, too much, too much. One thing I say most often as I walk around the classroom working with students individually, is 'make bigger shapes'. But not only bigger shapes. Quiet shapes. Where can your eye go and rest in the painting? That isn't a consideration in much of contemporary painting or much of contemporary life. Ours is a noisy world both visually and auditorily. Ours is a world that shouts. People are afraid of silence. I wrote a blog post 3 years ago about planning a retreat in my own home, where I shut off the computer and the phon

Liminal Time

The word liminal comes from the Latin, limen meaning threshold. an in-between place, a place of transition, a time of waiting and not knowing. Dawn and dusk are considered liminal places. Crepuscular animals, like foxes and coyotes are most active at this time of day, a time that is considered a magical time in Celtic spirituality and to Indigenous people which is perhaps the origin of their designation as tricksters. As I write this, the northern hemisphere has just passed the vernal equinox, where day and night are of equal length.We are in a liminal space between winter and spring right now, unsure if we will have one more storm or snowfall before spring finally settles in. We're also in a liminal place as we live through this pandemic with the anxiety and discomfort of not knowing. A time of great transition for the entire world, wondering what we've learned from this and what lessons we'll carry forward. Author and Franciscan friar Richard Rohr describes limi

Janice Mason Steeves

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