What Are You Aiming For??

The picture is only a part of the process.

“Do something, do something to that, and then do something to that.” – Jasper Johns

Right now my studio is riddled with paint filled squeeze tubes. A palimpsest of desaturated grays and brilliant hues lay on panels sandwiched between layers of clear acrylic gel medium. This method of piling it on, was probably inspired on some level by my discovery of Jasper Johns’ encaustic work. Johns is a master of material. Heaping layer upon layer to create depth, and build up visual history.

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I first met Jasper Johns’s Target with Plaster Casts face-to-face, in New York at the MOMA in 2001. Before that, it had only existed for me on the printed page of a stolen Library book. His encaustic mixture of pigment and hot wax, applied over scraps of newspaper, gave the flat shapes of the target texture and depth. I stood there, squinting, searching for hidden messages in the newsprint. “Return that book” it whispered.

The dualism of piece hits hard. Discarded precision. Every layer feels both deliberate and accidental. As Johns himself said, “I tend to like things that the mind already knows.”

His approach feels particularly resonant in this digital age of regurgitated imagery and AI prompts. It asks us to slow down, to consider texture, process, and context. Each element, whether it’s a brushstroke, a color choice, even the plaster cast of an ear or nipple, is tangible and human.

Born in Augusta, Georgia, in 1930, and raised in the rural South, Jasper Johns described his childhood as isolated and without much exposure to art. Maybe that’s why his work feels so accessible to me. I didn’t know that the artworld existed until halfway through high school, and even then, I was still living in Oregon.

 

 

Johns uses symbols and objects to play with our perception, and interpretation of the world around us. What’s strikes me most when I stand in front of his work, is how he allows the materials themselves to speak. Wax hardens unpredictably, and newsprint lives just under the paint’s surface, like unearthed petroglyphs. There’s a real broom dangling from a hook in the middle of a canvas. I think he used it to sweep away hesitation and self-doubt.

In the studio, it’s tempting to chase perfection, to try to erase the moments when our tools misbehave or the drawing goes wrong. But there’s something incredibly honest in letting our process show through. It’s brave to allow ourselves to be seen.

Are there layers in your own work, histories or insights into your struggle, that you’ve been tempted to obscure? What would happen if you let them breathe? What story would your layers tell?

 

What happens when you embrace ambiguity over clarity?

What happens when precision meets imperfection?

What Are You Aiming For?

 

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You inspire me daily.

Paint tuff!

Gabriel Lipper