The Slow Unfolding of a Big Idea

The studio is trashed. There are paintings everywhere and the word “paintings“ is loosely defined. Studies and missteps, paint slapped on boards, drawings on the floor, a cacophony of visual noise. An artist adrift? It would certainly appear that way.

“We do not see things as they are, we see them as we are.” – Anaïs Nin

It begins with fragments. Experiments that don’t know who they are or what they want to become. Whether you’re working toward something bigger, like a gallery or museum show, or even an open studio, it’s hard to see how these unrelated dobbs will ever feel cohesive. But they will.

Organically. One small sketch, an idea here, a dead end there, and then something new begins to emerge. It feels right, and you have to trust it.  The work itself takes the lead. All of the chaos that brought you to this point takes a backseat. You’re staring at a body of work, cohesive in vision and (If you have let go and trusted the process) powerful in its singularity.

Pablo stops in for a studio tour.

There is no perfect way to start. It doesn’t even have to make sense at first. It’s okay if your work feels all over the place. Trust that the thread will emerge as you keep moving forward. That’s the beauty of working toward something larger than an individual painting. The act of doing will surprise you. It will teach you who you are.

So, how do we keep moving toward that big idea? By trusting the process, and knowing that the muse will show herself eventually. Let the coffee-stained figure studies, failed abstracts, and one-offs guide us toward something bigger. One moment, we’re feeling lost and unmoored, and the next, we’re standing in front of something substantial. A cohesive collection of work, ready to be shared.

Does the momentum from abandoned ideas fuel your larger vision?

Has your process surprised you with answers?

What have you learned from the fragments that didn’t fit?