growing weary
embodiment of sketches; demarcations of a blurry idea, an attempt at another subjectivity
hi! and welcome to
digging a hole. sharing creative processes and research
(for those who missed our latest post: we returned to substack with a new name - branches - and 4 different newsletter strains. Last time we introduced fruits of the newsletter; this time we’re peaking in with our second strain - more info below)
about digging a hole
a space within branches where we tap into (artistic) process(es). It can apply to readings (ex. thoughts on Akwaeke Emezi’s newest novel), creative ideas (conceptualising a series of paintings), skill-development (learning hand embroidery) however we’re driven here to remain in a state of fluidity. Artistic research can mean a lot of things and instead of occupying ourselves with description, we desire for this strain to be a creative outlet in itself. Our aim is for the writing to facilitate a deeper dive into the processes we are engaged in, whether they’re personal, collaborative, fictional, or historical.
We will release individual, studio-oriented and collaborative entries. Digging a hole will land in your mailbox every 25 days.
Ire’s recent months of painting in passing or passing in painting (?)
I started a file with notes about the painting process on December 10th, 2023. Back then I was really motivated to make a BIG painting of a monster. What I wrote then:
For a few months now I've been letting my hands loose in my sketchbook and they've been drawing figures of what I've come to generically call, for lack of a better word, 'monsters.'
These drawings are mostly body outlines. Sometimes there is an eye or a mouth, more often marks suggesting fur or shine. There are many limbs, not much detail, not much flesh. You can tell the ease of the hand that drew the sketch through the way the lines connect, crossing over each other in a whoosh of an arc. They are really an embodiment of sketches; demarcations of a blurry idea, an attempt at another subjectivity.
It must have been early November when I stood over my desk and I began extracting those monster figures from my sketchbooks, redrawing them on loose A4s. I'd use a pencil or coloured crayons for the (re)drawings. Pens and markers don't slide well enough on paper for those figures to come out the way I felt them be. I did that because an idea crawled out of my mouth, desire shaking my chest, I said to the desk first before saying to Szy: "I think I want to make a series of monster paintings."
They craved attention. They came from somewhere, I don't know where, but I'm itching to find out. It's not their origin story per say that interests me. It's what they could become, how they can transition, through another medium, into something other.
Now, many months later, the sole painting I started back in December is standing in our bedroom, leaning against the wall, its canvas flipped around. It transitioned so many times. From a portrait to a landscape, to a floating rock with its own creatures, plants and castles. I got so lost in it. I loved the process of applying paint on canvas, mixing the colours; but the moment I stood back something would twist in my stomach and all I wanted to do was turn away.
The most difficult part was seeing the painting everyday as it stood in our transit (studio) room, on the way from the bedroom/bathroom to the kitchen. I was seeing it way too often. I kept on adding, then painting over, then adding. I could no longer see an end. I needed help.
I called up a dear friend of mine to have a studio visit to talk about my paintings. Apart from the big one, I was making some smaller canvases, all very different from one another. I was struggling to see a thread that could connect them all, thus a direction, thus a reason to go on.
I had the most wonderful conversation with my friend who enabled me to find somewhere little bits of positive affection towards the images I was producing. I tend to really dislike all works I make with the idea that they could potentially be works of art (wow, I just realised that writing this.) I love all that happens accidentally, on the brim of conscious thought. One of the things my friend suggested was to hide the image from my sight for a while, let it rest. I liked the idea but didn’t commit to it at first. I had to give it another push, at least flesh out the colours which at the time lacked vibrancy (which was also due to cheap oil paint.)
Finally, seeing the same story repeat over and over, I turned it around. And then.
Ease.
Relief.
…curiosity.
There was so much beauty happening on the other side!
The cotton fabric I stretched on the frame proved a little too thin to handle the amount of oil I used. Thus, big oil stains seeped through to the backside of the canvas, alongside bits of paint here and there, giving colour to an otherwise cream surface. And then there were parts that remained dry, gesso still holding on, keeping the textures of the cotton intact.
After a few days, I flipped the painted surface to the back and re-stapled it with the help of Szy. We then took the (I guess) ready painting to the bedroom and cleaned up the workstation, filled with cardboard and used paints. It’s done. But also…
Things like that never have an end for me. What changed is that now instead of fixating on what needs to be different in the image I’m working on, I let myself swim in the potential of it changing over time, through little gestures, or the sun or another’s hand. It gives me great peace to know that the creatures are hidden, that they’re able to do their dealings unexposed. I entertain the idea of hiding images within images, I’m not sure why. There are so many questions.
I don’t think I will paint anytime soon. Or, at least not in the way I did in the past months. I want to focus on finding methods that fit my rhythm more. Methods that allow me to be slow, engaged in multiple, and that prioritise texture. I want to layer and tear, and think more about beauty than the story (?) I keep asking myself:
Am I even concerned with the image? At all?
I don’t understand my relationship to pictorial practices, perhaps to visuality in general. I’m upset about the status of painting in the arts and my favourite painter is Giotto. There are so many questions.
I’d like to wish you a week rich with images and feelings.
till next time,
Ire