Could it be that a painting in its truest expression is not tied to a physical reality? I find myself pondering what a painting means to me. I think it means more than one’s adherence to an identity as an artist. I imagine it means something more, or why then would paintings be so precious to all different kinds of people?
I have been going through feelings of ambivalence when describing myself as a painter. I have been struggling with affirming that this is who I am in the world. I imagine this struggle will continue and I have not truly discovered the meaning of my work yet. In the meantime I marvel at the devotion of other artists I know, their commitment to their work and even sometimes their mastery.
Maybe a painting is not only a physical thing but something that evokes a spontaneous presence separate from existence. Have we considered that a painting might not be an object of possession, but rather a living thing not tied to this world? Maybe instead of filling the world with objects, we can fill the world with meaning. Certainly, that is what an artist is trying to do, yes? Even so, I sometimes feel the weight of what I am creating, as if I am weighed down by the identity of it all.
Here is an example of a painting I made which found a voice beyond what I had intended it for. A journey that felt spontaneous and surprising.
I donated this painting to the River Gallery School for their annual art lottery “Off The Wall”. Everyone who buys a ticket at the event walks away with a painting. A family had walked into the gallery prior to the lottery, with their son Ben. Ben gravitated to my painting among the hundred or so other paintings, saying—”This is the one I want.” During the event, part of me was wondering if my painting would ever be selected (which must be the vanity of an artist). More than halfway through the event around fifty people had already received their top choices. Then a number was drawn and a woman called out, ”I can’t believe it!” And she chose my painting. I was struck by her reaction and had to get up and introduce myself to her. Of course, it was Ben’s mother and she chose the painting her son had picked out for them.
Later on, I got an email from the editor at a local newspaper asking me if they could use the image of my painting to accompany an article about homelessness, which is a recurring phenomenon in Brattleboro where I teach. I had never considered that the painting I made might suggest the vulnerability of teenage homelessness, but of course, it does and this makes complete sense to me.
The painting exists outside of what I had intended it for and has a unique presence in the world. Does a painting exist on its own terms? Maybe it stands on equal footing with its maker. The door I tried to open when I made the painting “Here Now” is still a door, even though I am not responsible for it anymore. Could the painting be saying, “I am”? Do paintings say that? I have certainly felt the presence of paintings in my life as guides, so maybe it’s not too far-fetched to say that a painting made with intention might have an innate being that does not entirely come from this world.