Leni Wiener

Yesterday I told you how I take photographs to encourage the light and shadow so I can use that in my art quilts.  Today I will show you that step.  I will be working just on the shirt of the man used yesterday in the example.

First I trace just the shirt onto freezer paper using a light box.  (I apologize that this shot is not so clear):

In this particular case, the figure is less than 12″ high, making it hard to show every single little shadow, so I have simplified it to just L, M and D.  Usually, there are at least four values to work with, as there are lighter and darker shadow areas.  I will try to accomplish some of that by fussy cutting my fabric (as you will see)

Because I have simplified to only Light, Medium and Dark, I choose the three fabrics with the help of my red viewer.  I have decided to use a dark blue “tie-dye” looking fabric as the dark value, the back of it as the medium value, and a light blue for the light value.

Since there is no overlapping of these pieces in the shirt, I do not have to do a seperate template tracing for their placement.  The medium value occupies most of the space, so I will cut the entire shirt from this fabric and layer the others on top of it.  This fabric has lots of “highs and lows” in it (as it is not a solid color) so I tried to take advantage of that by cutting so that the darker areas are up near his shoulders where the secondary shadows would have been.  Using an iron, I press the freezer paper tracing onto the fabric so that it will stick.  Then I can cut out the shape.  Note here that the diagonal dotted line represents where this shirt will underlap the bag his wife is carrying.

Here is that piece cut out–you can clearly see here where I have marked the L, M and D areas.

Carefully peeling the freezer paper off, you can now see the “foundation” of the shirt cut out and ready for the next step.  See how there are lighter and darker areas on it, and I have controlled where those fall by the way I cut out the fabric.

I use the same freezer paper cutout to now cut the D pieces…

Here you can see them cut but not yet removed from the freezer paper.

By laying what remains of the freezer paper back on the foundation, I can see exactly where these new cut pieces belong…

Gently removing the freezer paper reveals the dark pieces in their proper position.

Then I use the same piece of freezer paper to cut out the light piece, layer the remaining freezer paper over what I have done so far, and position the light piece in place.

Now all the pieces of the shirt are in place, and a dab of fabric glue on the end of a toothpick secures them.  This shirt will be put aside while I complete another section of the man, putting them together as they are complete.

Here he is finished–hope this helps!

Almost immediately after posting the day before yesterday I got a comment asking me to discuss light and shadow–so that will be today and tomorrow.

The real work in depicting light and shadow comes before you start choosing and assigning fabric, it begins when you take your photo.

Here is the original photo of the man from the last post.  I have cropped to just show his shirt as that is the example I will use for this discussion.  As you can see, the light was coming from the left and that created a highlight on his shoulder and shadows in the folds of his shirt.  It is difficult (for me, at least) to start with a line drawing and try to figure out where the fabric of the shirt would drape, and where those folds would be in shadow and where they would reflect the light.

By contrast, here is a photo taken with a flash (the faces have been cropped out to protect people’s privacy)

You can see that with a camera flash, there is a bright light straight on, leaving only a few shadows towards the bottom of the shirt and in the sleeves.  This would be far less interesting done in fabric, as the whole shirt would be the same value.

When I take a photo, if I can control the situation at all, I try to take pictures that have a strong side light so that there are highlights and shadows in it.  This means shooting without a flash, which often results in a dark photo with focus that might not be as sharp as it would with the additional light from the camera flash.  No matter, super sharp focus is of less importance to me than those nice lights and shadows.

Once I have chosen my photo, I find that simplifying it in Photoshop helps define those light and dark areas.

Here is the photo side by side with the “cutout filter” from Photoshop.  The cutout filter takes the many colors in a photograph and limits them to just a few, creating a simplified map of the basic shapes.  You can choose up to 8 “levels” (meaning 8 colors) which is what I use.  You can see on the cutout on the right that the light and shadow has been exaggerated and will be easier to follow than the original photo–but if you don’t have a computer or are not comfortable using it, you don’t need to do this step.  You can also print or xerox your photo and bring up the contrast, which will have a similar effect.

This is the critical stage, finding or taking a photo that already contains the information you need to create light and shadow, whether it is on a figure, a building, or a tree–whatever.  THAT is why I choose to work from photographs.

Tomorrow, I will recreate that shirt for you so that you can see step by step how I translate this information into fabric.

This art quilt of my son Jordan playing the guitar is one of my favorite examples of beautiful side light–you can really see the light source, especially in the shirt.

There are many art quilters who work from their heads, even when doing representational images.  I confess that I am just not good enough at drawing to work that way.  The reason I my pieces begin with a photograph is so that I will not loose the subtle nuance that makes the figures come to life.

Here is a couple I just completed for a larger piece I am currently working on.

Look at the body language of the man–you can feel the weight from his shoulder and the slump of his stance.  This was easily achieved by working from a photo, it would have been much more difficult for me to create this feeling from “scratch”.  Even the way the plaid falls in the fabric she is carrying was given to me by the photo.

You may remember this woman from an earlier post.  Here she is with her husband–at least I assume it is her husband from her body language.  I can feel her angst, and his indifference because of the little subtleties that the photo revealed, the curve of her back, the position of her hand, and his face all tell a story I would not be able to tell without the assistance of a “road map”.

Both of these folks have an upward tilt of the head that I think gives them a haughtiness and makes them appear more alloof.  The position of their legs and feet give the sense that they are moving forward in space, as opposed to standing still.

Don’t get me wrong, there are MANY artists who could easily capture these sublte details in a drawing, but that is not where my talent lies.  If it did, I suppose I would draw or paint rather than work with fabric, but I can’t know that for sure.  What I do know is that working from a photo eliminates that whole issue for me, and allows me to focus on the values and the choice of fabric for my art quilt.

Working from a photo means learning to take better photos.  Although many of the people in my quilts come from snapshots I take (I am careful to either change their faces, hair, or leave them so abstracted that I would never embarrass someone who saw themselves in my work) I do pay attention to what I am snapping with my camera.  Nothing is more frustrating than that perfect figure obscured in part by another person or some other obstacle.

I also try to take photos without flash (which can lead to out of focus shots in low light) because flash flattens out people’s features and other details that are much more interesting when shown with highlights and shadows.  What you see is what you get, so learn to see all the details in the lens before you snap that shutter.

Photos can be saved on the computer (I have files that go back several years) and are often combined.  I use Photoshop to combine either people or other elements from different photos to create the composition I want.  It is important to remember to keep the light source consistent when working this way, or your results will look unnatural.

Whenever I am out, I carry my digital camera so that I can snap photos to use in my art quilts.  Sometimes a lovely landscape (which I never seem to use, but they appeal to me), sometimes a building, most often people.  I love to capture people going about their everyday business, just being themselves, nothing extraordinary.  I keep files of these people for reference when I start a new piece, and some of the files go back several years.

For the past few days, I have been working on a large piece that contains many figures.  So it was interesting to me when I started going through the files and pulling out the people I wanted to consider and found that they had one thing in common–they are wearing blue.  OK, blue jeans I get–everyone in the photos is wearing either blue jeans or black pants–but as for shirts–almost all of the people I found in my files were wearing blue.

I don’t think that I have noticed an abundance of blue when I am out in the world, but that might be part of the prevelance of blue.  Think about pink–once in a while I see an adult woman in a pale pink top (forget little girls who always seem to be in pink or purple), but if all of a sudden there was an abundance of pink on the street, I think I would notice.  Or purple, or green.

So what is the deal with blue?  Do we all choose it so often that we don’t really notice it?  Has blue become a neutral color to us?  Do people in other countries wear blue as often as we do?  And why blue?

Personally, I own very little blue.  In fact, I have one jacket and one shirt in deep blue that I almost never wear, and except for jeans, I can’t think of another thing I own that is blue.  That got me thinking about what colors we choose for our clothing, and our artwork, and if they are similar.

In my case, I use a lot of orange in my work, but don’t wear it.  I am drawn to orange, and have a bin of bright orange fabrics that I use all the time.  I am also constantly in my blue bin, as well, but always thought that was because blue is the complimentary color to orange and it makes the orange sing.  My house is dominated by orange/red (with a very large blue abstract painting over the sofa in the living room), in fact my husband told me several years ago we had to paint something blue (his favorite color), so I made the downstairs powder room a deep but bright blue (inspired by blue glass bottles) and (of course) orange accents.  Orange is a hot color, passionate and fiery.  But that isn’t me…so why orange?

Blue is cool, calm, restful–is that why people choose to wear it?  Are our lives so stressful that we are drawn to clothing that reflects the need to relax?  Do artists who work in blue wear blue?

But here is the real surprise, when I started going through my finished art quilts to illustrate this blog post, I found far more people “dressed” in blue than in orange.  I do not use the color they were wearing as a matter of course, in fact the colors I use are carefully considered as vehicles to set a mood.  Here are only SOME of the people in my past work “dressed” in blue:

I had to really look hard to find these in orange:

So where is all that orange fabric going!!??

Think about your colors, what you are drawn to, what you think you use often, and then look–really look–and see if that is what is reflected in your artwork.

That is my goofy thought for the day, but one that struck me.

It surprises me that many art quilters who spend their time creating art have never really studied art.  I don’t mean that one needs to go to college and major in studio art, or even take classes.  But one needs to look at good art and learn to analyze what makes it good in order to improve as an artist.

My pet peeve–composition.  For many artists, composition is intuitive, for others clearly not.  Like anything else in art, there are no hard and fast rules, but there are things to consider.  Only when you understand the rules can you break them with intent–which is different from not knowing them in the first place.

In “photo-inspired art quilts” I spend some time discussing the concepts of composition, what makes a good composition and some tricks.  When I used to teach photography, composition was my biggest stumbling block–the difference between an effective photograph and a snap shot has more to do with composition than almost anything else (except maybe focus).

Composition tip #1 Cropping

Take for example this snap shot of my son Jordan playing the guitar:

Pretty typical snap shot.  The focal point (main element) is Jordan playing the guitar, but there is so much other stuff going on in the frame that doesn’t do anything but distract attention.  The only thing this snap shot lacks is my pet peeve number two–something in the background that looks like it is growing out of his head.  If I want to make an art quilt of this photo, I need to eliminate all the distractions and details that have nothing to do with the main focus of this shot:

Here is the finished art quilt.  The difference between the snap shot and this is more than the simplified background–I have cropped in closer to his face and his hands on the guitar, so that the viewer is drawn to those two focal points.  I don’t need to include his knees, the rest of the guitar or his arms, even the top of his head, the brain fills in the rest.  The trick is to avoid cropping at a joint.  Cropping at the knee or elbow makes the person look amputated; cropping above or below those joints looks more natural.

Composition tip #2 one third/two thirds

Placing your focal point smack dab in the middle of your composition looks static and boring, moving it so that you split your composition into one third/two thirds is more dynamic:

In this photo of a stone bridge, the top of the bridge is right in the middle of the composition.  Interesting, but not great.

By moving the viewpoint a bit, now the top of that bridge is at the one third point in the composition and two thirds remains below.  Splitting the composition into thirds is not literal, but the idea is to split it so that the eye is drawn either up or down, taking in more of the artwork:

Here the two thirds have moved to the top of the composition, drawing the eye upwards into the tree tops.

This one third/two third split does not have to occur horizontally, look at this art quilt, “Just Walk By”

Here the split is more diagonal and more vertical, with more of the visual weight on the right side–the man–and the one third the people walking by on the road.  Diagonal lines are most dynamic, vertical lines draw the eye up and give the feeling of height, while horizontal lines are calm and reposed–like serene landscape scenes.

Composition tip #3 leading the eye in

Go back to the example of the bridge and look at the two compositions that are one third/two thirds.  The one with the one third at the top is more effective than the other–why?–because the brook “leads the eye into” the composition.  Any design element that begins at the edge and ends somewhere inside the composition serves as the path the viewer’s eye will follow, taking in more of the artwork and either passing or ending at the focal point.  It also give the artwork a sense of depth and dimension.

In “I am ready to challenge the world on my own” the eye is drawn up to the boy by the use of the stone pathway in front of the arch in which he stands.  The path continues behind him, disappearing around the corner.

By contrast, in “life was simpler when all I needed was teddy” the composition is static and there is nothing that begins at the edge to draw the eye in.  This is meant to emphasize both the fact that when we are very young life is pretty simple and straightforward, and the vertical arrangement and the height of the door serve instead to draw the eye upward.

In “suspicion” the eye is drawn up along the road, into the archway and that strip of light in the background, by-passing the two figures that serve as the focus of the work.  And in “Market Day, Sarlat”

The stone pathway leads the eye past the woman and into the distance.

The best way to learn about composition is to look at art–lots of art.  Go to a museum or to galleries; look at art books or on the internet–and ask yourself “why does this work?”  Eventually, composition issues will become intuitive for you, too.

How many times have we asked ourselves, “how can I use my talents to make money?” and, if you are like me, the answer is never clear.  For those of us who make art quilts (or even traditional quilts, for that matter) there is a constant struggle between doing what we need to do to feed our creative souls, and making money at it.  Although there are quilters out there who regularly sell their work or get commissions, I am not one of them.

So there is that age-old question–how can I make money at this?  In my mind there are two primary options, and at least for me, only one is viable.

Option one is to make something for which people are willing to spend money, and (this is the key) which you can produce in a time frame and with material costs that allow you to make a profit.  Art is a tough sell, and it is so personal that it doesn’t sell like other “products”.  People who can’t make things themselves will spend their money for handmade items like tote bags, pillows, table runners, art clothing, and traditional quilts.  But can you make these at a price point that will sell, and (more importantly) do you want to?  I don’t.

In my mind, the time and energy I would have to spend to mass produce tote bags (and the like) in different fabric combinations and find crafts shows and other venues in which to sell them would take far too much time away from the main event, creating art quilts.  So for the time I would spend at it, I might as well have a “real job” in the real world.  As it is now, all the stuff that goes along with my art quilting takes up so much time that I am not in the studio as much as I would like.  And thinking that you can create a body of work that will appeal to the masses and sell regularly and at a good price–well, you might as well be making those table runners.  Etsy, Ebay?  everyone seems to be looking for handmade and special at a K-mart price.

I have a friend who used to make and sell the most gorgeous handbags.  She would work feverishly to produce enough to go to high end crafts shows and more often than not, people would say “I love this one, but can you make it in______(fill in the color, or other specification)?  So with all the inventory she had, she would still go home with orders to make more just the way the customer wanted them.  Do you think this fed her creative soul?  No way.  The bottom line is that making anything at the standard at which you want to put your name on it is probably going to take more hours than the purchase price will support.

The only other option, and the one I choose, is to teach.  I really enjoy teaching, I love the companionship of the women in my classes (I have never had a man in my class) and some days that is the only human contact I have, given my solitary life as an “artist”.  I also like to maintain the connection to the generations of women before me who quilted, and I love turning on a new quilter to the possiblities.

I teach on two different levels–workshops for the techniques in my two books (thread painting and photo-inspired art quilts–you can buy either on my website–www.leniwiener.com and please do!) and traditional classes in a local quilt shop.

Keep in mind that there are two important criteria for teaching; the first is that you have to enjoy it and the second is that you don’t need to make the equivalent of a full time salary (well, maybe it is possible, but I don’t).

Ah, yes, you say, but you have written two books.  Those of you who have written books will smile, because you know that the money an art quilter makes from a book is not exactly what Stephen King makes when he drops a new title.  The books certainly help book workshops, but unless you enjoy the process (I do) it isn’t an easy way to riches.

The topic of books brings up the topic of patterns and kits.  Lots of quilters sell kits and patterns of their work, but this is not something with which I am familiar.  I would imagine that it takes all the same marketing effort required of selling a book, without the help of a publisher.  I sold kits on my website from the thread painting book for several years, in the end, I dropped them because they didn’t generate enough revenue to justify maintaining an inventory of all the components.

Maybe some of you have found that middle ground that works out perfectly, and if you have I salute you.  For me, I don’t want to compromise on my art just to make it more saleable; I want to create what I want to create.  And sewing for a living doesn’t appeal to me.

This quilt, The Rose, from 2009 has nothing to do with the topic, I just wanted to include a photo!

In a recent post about some of the quilts I loved in Houston this year, I misidentified one quilt, “Canopy” by Maggie Weiss and misspelled the name of the artist who made “Hearts Desire”, her name is Debby Kemball.  These two mistakes have been corrected in the blog posts, and I apologise to both of these talented artists.

Working hard in the studio today, rainy days are great for hiding away upstairs with the radio on and sewing.  Another post tomorrow.

One of the roadblocks we all face from time to time is that we don’t know how to get started on something new, or have hit a bump in the road that is hard to get past.  These artistic blocks can be hard to overcome, and sometimes require a new approach or a new vision.

More often than not, when I hit a snag and don’t want to go into the studio to continue on a piece in progress it means there is something wrong that needs to be changed.  When a piece is going well, I can’t wait to get back to it, I am compelled to continue at the expense of all else.  But when I find myself looking for other things to do, I know there is a problem that needs fixing.  Recently, that was the case with this piece:

“The Boy in the Banyan Tree” was moving along nicely and then I found myself ignoring it for over a week.  Feeling like I couldn’t move forward without finishing it, and not wanting to work on it I had hit an impasse.  So I decided to really look at it and figure out why I had lost interest.  Although I didn’t save a photo of it, the original jacket of the grandfather was a lighter floral, which wasn’t different enough in value from the color of his pants.  When I determined that was the problem, the solution was simple and I was back on track.  I find that sometimes I get so invested in having made a decision (and cut a piece of fabric) that I can’t let it go and replace it.  As soon as I did, the piece worked and I was back in business.

Looking at something with a critical eye can lead to solutions and renewed interest.  I find that taking a digital photo and viewing it on the computer instantly allows me to focus in on the problem.  The reducing side of binoculars does the same thing.  But it requires honesty and often means reworking either a small (in this case) or large area that is holding me back.

I rarely have trouble getting started–I maintain a large file of photos that are “in queue” some of which have been waiting in line for years.  I take lots of photos, even pause the TV when something looks interesting and shoot the screen, and download images from the computer.  Only my photos are used for my work, but other images can be inspirational–a color combination, the way another artist has handled a particular “challenge” or an idea for a composition.  Every image I save is well organized on my computer so that I know where everything is for quick and easy reference.  For example, I have a folder entitled “photo files for art quilts” and in it are dozens of sub-folders–landscapes, seascapes, beaches, architecture, floral and vines, animals (sub-categorized in folders by animal), NYC, etc.  Then there are all my people folders–since people are the primary focus of my work.  Photos can be used as is, or elements from two or more might be combined to create the composition I have in mind.  I keep another folder entitled “artistic inspirations” and the sub-folders there include fabric and fiber, other people’s paintings, other people’s art quilts, tribal designs, African motifs, nature (mostly extreme close-ups), tattoos, even photos of jewelry.

Although I do not do work that looks like this nature closeup, I find the color and composition inspirational and helpful when building a new piece.

Then there is my “next up” folder which contains all the images I want to work on “NEXT’ which can serve as a starting point when I am at the “what do I start now” stage.  Often, with all those pieces waiting patiently for attention, I snap a photo while out and about and can’t wait to get started on it, by-passing all those images that are “up next”.

What I get started on is often a function of my mood at the time–some pieces are more contemplative than others, and believe it or not, some are dependent on what music I am listening to at the time.  (I go through music phases, a cycle of an eclectic mix of everything from blues to rock to Peruvian flute, classical, flamenco, native chanting, Irish ballads…)  Sometimes I start on a new piece because I acquire or rediscover a piece of fabric that seems perfect for something I have been waiting to make.  I find that I am always thinking about the next piece (or the next three or four).

Many people find journaling a good way to find a new direction, I prefer to jump in and get to work on something.  I also have a short attention span, so I rarely work in series–I approach a new idea and by the time I am finished I am sick of it and ready to move onto something else.

There are two factors that cannot be ignored when I feel like I have “hit the wall” creatively.  The first is a clean studio.  I am lucky enough to have a dedicated space in the house (thanks to my grown and moved-out son) that gets pretty disorganized and messy as I work–paper, fabric and all sorts of stuff all over the place.  Many artists can work in a messy space, I find that I need to clear my mind by clearing the clutter and starting fresh.  Remember that old addage about “start every sewing project with a new needle in your machine”?  Well, I start every project with a clean and organized studio.

A clear mind is as important as a clean studio.  Long walks with Yendrik (my dog who never says no to a walk in the woods or along the water–Larchmont Harbor Park is one of my favorite places to clear my head) help me to let go of all the mental clutter I carry around–like to do lists and other distractions.

And (believe it or not) playing sudoku can help me clear my head.  My family doesn’t get that when I am playing sudoku I am actually working.

Finally, there are times that I just need to suck it up and force myself to work.  I will give myself an hour just to work on something.  Sometimes an hour isn’t enough and I have to force myself to work an hour the next day, too.  Music on, brain partially engaged–and eventually, something starts to take shape and I am off and running.

I continue to teach beginner quilting and other traditional quilt classes at a local fabric store, because I don’t want to lose the connection to quilting’s roots.  One of the things I love about being an art quilter is being one of generations of women doing what was always considered “woman’s work”.  I can’t help think about all those before me, seemingly unconnected in any other way, who sat with needle and thread in hand, sewing fabric together.  I also love how excited new quilters get when they discover what they can do.

Last night I had the first session of a beginner quilt class.  There were about seven in the class and I began by showing them a quick overview of the first step, so that they would understand why we were doing what we were doing.  I am not new to this, I have been teaching beginner quilting since the fall of 2001.  But something happened last night that really threw me.  About 15 minutes into the class one of the students (who had not really been paying attention to the overview–but hey, I figured she already knew how to rotary cut and that was fine with me) had a little tantrum and said I was going too fast and she had been told there would be no sewing required.  (No sewing required?  Did she bring her own gaffer tape?).  My best efforts, and those of the other students, to assure her that I would give her all the personal attention she required to make her project were useless and she left in a huff, along with the other student who had come with her (and who had been engaged and interested).

As a “seasoned professional” I should have thrown it off and not given it a second thought.  But I couldn’t.  Sure, I got through the rest of the class, but felt so badly all the way home.  What had I done wrong?  One of the women from the fabric store, who was in the classroom at the time, assured me that it was not my fault at all.  My husband assured me that this woman obviously had an issue even before the class got started.  But that old nemesis, low self esteem, took over.

I don’t know if low self esteem plagues creative people, women, or women of my generation (WW2 baby boomers).  But I see it in the most surprising places–artists whose work I admire and who seem to have it all together often admit privately that they suffer from feelings that they just aren’t good enough.  Is this part of the creative process?  Is the humility part of what drives us to create?  Or is it just that some of us feel insecure and that is not unique to artists?  Do non-creative people suffer from low self esteem as well?

I guess the upside of low self esteem is that I will never get a swelled head!  I will just keep plugging along, doing what I need to do, and trying to grow and improve along the way.  In the end, what else can I do?

Wow, I was surprised at how many responses I got from yesterday’s post about finding your voice.  Obviously, this is an issue that many artists grapple with.  In reading the posts, it is interesting to me that we all seem to have the same experience–that others recognize our voice before we see it clearly.  For me, a lot about who I am as an artist and what direction to take with my art came from long walks in the woods with my dog (a very supportive art lover).  Sometimes it is important to clear your head of everything else and just ruminate.  I also made lists–what I do well and love to do and what I hate doing and would like to avoid.  It seems like a silly exercise, but writing it down drives the points home and helps to see the whole picture.

Recently I saw a movie entitled (Untitled) that seems to be playing only in art theaters, but if you have a chance to see it, go.  It is a quirky film that spoofs the NYC art scene and asks the question “when is it art and when is it hype?”  I thought it was very funny and really enjoyed it.  Other people in the audience who are not tapped into the “art scene” didn’t really get it.  One of my favorite scenes showed the hanging of the show of an exciting new artist who walked around the gallery trying to find the best place to “hang” his piece “push pin surrounded by blank wall,” which, you guessed it, was a push pin in the wall with authentication papers and instructions on how to hang it when the buyer got it home.  When he found the right spot, everyone cooed and agreed that it was just perfect.

I find that even with an opened mind (and don’t get me wrong, I love seeing the creativity of artists who really push the envelope and find new avenues of expression) there is art out there that I just don’t get.  I look at it and say “oh, come on, really?”  I do think that some galleries look to be controversial, showing
“art” that gets people talking–even if it is negative.  Let’s face it, it is all about buzz.  Why else do we all want blogs, websites and facebook accounts?

There was a line in (Untitled) that resonated with me.  It was similar to something I always tell my students when I teach.  I may not have it exactly right, but the line was something akin to “everyone has opinions, that is why artists must find meaning in the process.”

What does that mean? Everyone responds to art differently, and no artist will appeal to everyone. That is a fact of life. But for the artist to get lost in, to find meaning in, and to be fulfilled by the process is the reason we do what we do. There are certainly easier ways to make money.   When artists start worrying too much about the end product–will it get into the right shows, will it sell, will other people consider it ground-breaking–we lose the real reason we create.  For artistic people, there is a need to express ourselves through the process.  The end result should not be the “goal” and should not impact on how and why we create.  Art is a selfish endeavor–in that, I mean that we do it to fulfill ourselves–if we get outside gratification, that is just the icing on the cake.

When I teach I always give the example of young children drawing or painting pictures.  If you say to a young child “oh, I love your painting” they will give it to you.  Why?  Because for them it is all about the process, the end result is unimportant.  It is only as we get older that we need the satisfaction of knowing we have put something out in the world that others appreciate.  We need to learn from young children that the process is what it is about.  So embrace the process, follow your gut instincts and do what you feel compelled to do.  That is your voice.

Think he is napping?  HA!  He is clearing his head in order to find his artistic voice.  Well, no, actually, this is my son, and he really was napping.  The piece is “catnap” from this year.