Construction & destruction

One of the concepts I return to again and again in my work is the fundamental connection (and tension) between construction and destruction - the idea that the creative act is one of finding a new resolution from the fragments, a process of resurrection and renewal. 

 This is why so much of my work starts with collage - breaking apart patterns, just so I can realign, rejig and restitch them together again to create a different thing. This gently destructive energy is an integral part of my whole creative process. A deliberate undoing to redo all over again. How Sisyphean.

However, there are certain times in the making of work, that this destructive principle may need to be applied a little more… brutally.

Creating a work of art, whether it is a song, a sculpture, a painting or a book is hard. Artists are propelled and compelled along this road of creation by a certain energy that seems to come from the work itself. Call it inspiration, the muse, whatever you like - there is an elusive spark of life that animates the creative object, that forms a dynamic, responsive relationship between the artist and the thing of art. 

There are (many) times when the work will present it’s own difficulties, and you have to allow space for tensions to exist so you can have resolutions; you have to allow for some element of struggle and fight; a certain tolerance for the moments of uncomfortability, weirdness, or ugliness before it all works. 

But…sometimes the spark dies, and the work you are working on is no longer working.  Like, really not working. Resistance extends beyond mere tension into downright rigor mortis.

That, my friend, is an ex-painting (or perhaps it’s just pining for the fjords…)

You think about working on the work and instead of experiencing a charge of excitement you experience an enervating lassitude. Your approach is flabby, feeble, you poke at the work half-heartedly, fiddling with minor details, losing whole hours to irrelevant pandering to ineffective decorations. 

Sometimes a work can be rescued from this by turning it to the wall for a few weeks or months and coming back, refreshed with new eyes, having accumulated some kind of new knowledge or perspective that allows for a proper renewal. But there are times when you just KNOW it is not going to be salvageable. 

Sometimes…when this happens…the only thing left to do is DISRUPT: clear the decks, wipe the slate clean and burn it all down (and load on the cliches...)

For me, this ‘burn it all down’ strategy of disruption has recently taken the form of sanding.

(…in the past it has also just taken the form of your more prosaic ‘painting it over’ - whatever it takes to reset and clear the way for renewal…)

I put off this recent wipe-out for a few weeks. I tried, I REALLY TRIED with those paintings, but when I finally relented, the process was SO SATISFYING. There is a real nihilistic glee to be found in taking this kind of action. (I think it also sends a strong warning message to the rest of your works and helps keep them in line…zero tolerance for feeble artworks…)

Scraping back to the bare bones, but with enough residual painting that I can still map the passages of past decisions, past journeys.

Opening up the windows and letting fresh air into the paintings, space to breathe, room for more delicate solutions. 

And now, they have a chance for a new life. Hopefully as better paintings…definitely as different ones.

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