Obviously a few years ago, i enjoyed sketching, painting, drawing–why did i stop? Maybe that’s why i feel stale, stagnant and like i’m repeating myself.
Not everything made it to cloth, but i have a stockpile to pick from.
I translated ideas in my head, on paper and then on the cloth:
We are usually our own worst critics. “I should have done this, done that, not done it, oh my gadz what was i thinking”: the whole shitshubola of insecurity rolls through our minds as we cringe inwards. BUT, i think sometimes too when you look back you can see freer expression and less inhibition about trying new media or subjects. I’ve started looking at previous work (done before the last 3 years) with older (semi) wiser eyes and see common threads that i have/had lost through preciousness and the search for acceptance. In that respect i mean being part of a current trend or on the bandwagon rather than acceptance of what i do because i do it, rather than “this is what is popular”. (This year has been one of going back to myself rather than worrying about what everyone else is doing, or what the current hoopla is about online, so i say “had lost”.) The origins of our own art can be a minefield or a mine of new motherlodes. Since the “word of the year” for me is “Origin”, i’m re-exploring some of that. June 1,2012
Looking at myself again, inside, that long path behind the subconscious.
I have a (self imposed) deadline for the winged figure piece, but am going to take some deliberate time with mark makers of various sorts again.