Pivotal Point

Probably around 1999–2000, there was a pivotal point in my art practice.

At Concordia University, I was taking studio arts classes because I didn’t get into the design department right away. So I was biding my time in classes like drawing, sculpture, painting, and ceramics.

Painting was never my strongest skill. I found it technically frustrating and never quite knew how to approach what I was painting.

Ironically, during painting critiques, professors would often say things like, “Well, this looks designerly.” (I can make up whatever words I want in my blog)

That always made me laugh because design was exactly where I wanted to be, and somehow it was already showing up in my paintings. Not intentionally—it was just how I naturally saw composition and content.

So, back to the pivotal point...

The painting classrooms were massive warehouse-like spaces with industrial ceilings, exposed pipes, gray floors, and paint splattered everywhere. Huge metal easels filled the room, built for canvases taller than most people.

I loved the atmosphere. The painting process itself, though, was still a struggle.

One day I walked into class with a blank canvas and saw a table in the middle of the room piled with random objects for a still-life setup.

If you’re unfamiliar with still-life, it’s simply a collection of objects arranged to paint from observation.

I stared at the pile, unsure what to paint or even how to begin. But eventually the brush hit the canvas, and I painted the objects as realistically as I could.

After a few hours, I felt reasonably satisfied. Everything in my painting could be clearly identified.

Then I looked over at my friend’s painting.

It was one of those moments where you immediately think, “Oh wow.”

Her painting was magnificent.

Here’s the kicker: nothing in it was clearly identifiable. There was only the suggestion of a table and the suggestion of objects sitting on it.

That was THE moment.

Never again was I going to look at painting so literally. This was over 25 years ago, and I still think about it.

I’m still in awe of people who can paint realism so beautifully. The ability to translate what the eye sees through the hand and onto canvas is incredible to me.

But for me, that moment revealed something else.

Art is expression.

It’s like music. Two people can play the same notes, but one feels the music while the other simply follows instructions. There’s a huge difference.

I want to be the person who feels what is being played and interprets it the way I was meant to. I want to feel the art I create. (Woof, that's cheesy sounding, but true)

I hope you approach what you do the same way—not by copying someone else, but by allowing your own expression to come through in whatever you create AND do.

It doesn't have to be art. It can be how you approach your work, your play, what have you.

Does that make sense?

Here are the flowers I painted the other day while playing around with watercolor again. I try to paint daily, and this is an example of where I wanted to play with the medium instead of paint what I thought people wanted me to paint... Or draw. Whatever you want to call this. As for the frames, of course they are antiques since frame hinting is my other favorite thing to do.

It's funny though, as I post this, you could probably still argue that these are also, very "designerly".

And I am okay with that.

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OK! I did something different for this blog. It IS AI assisted – but WAIT. I used a dictation app to write the blog. I can't type fast enough to catch my thoughts and blogging is extremely difficult. I wanted to see if I could dictate it, then used ChatGPT to take out all the weird words that I dictated when you have to say "comma", or "new paragraph" or when the dictation heard LITRELL (???) instead of literally.

If you know me, I have a lot to say and I love the idea of a blog. But the skill (lack thereof) of typing has made the process painful. What are your thoughts onme doing it like this?