When teaching writing workshops, I encourage participants to “Read, read, read various genres and styles of writing—and write, write, write, because only through intense application to reading and writing can one discover his or her individual voice.
When I began painting six years ago, I was not aware of having any particular aptitude for art—only an intense desire. I sketched and painted apples, pears, eggplants, mushrooms, pumpkins, flowers, trees, rocks, clouds, and rivers—with occasional forays into replicating houses, teapots, chairs, and bottles on windowsills.
I struggled for accurate representation, and predictably—after a year or two—these renderings failed to satisfy. The goal of realism faded into the background and imagination surfaced, resulting in colors and shapes bearing less (if any) resemblance to the subject (if any) of the painting.
Now I was happy, beyond my wildest dream. Now I could make art for the sheer joy of it without worrying about whether or not it was “good” or “correct”, or whether or not my work would ever resonate with another living soul.
Along with constant painting, I studied: art technique books, bios of famous artists, art history documentaries, etc. I immersed myself in art literature, and soon discovered the kinds of paintings I loved—as well as the varieties of art that failed to move me.
Through reading, I gleaned that every maturing artist develops a style—a “look”, which is equivalent to a writer’s voice. From experimenting with various media and methods, the painter’s personality emerges. Media and methods may change over the years as an artist grows, but individuality remains—if the artist is being true to himself, and not just painting to please a teacher or an audience. This individuality springs from deep within. It’s a blend of one’s DNA as well as temperament, life passions, and personal history.
I kept on reading and painting, enjoying myself immensely yet considering myself to be such a square-one beginner that I couldn’t possibly have any individual style or “painter’s voice”. Being advanced in years, I probably figured I might never live long enough to attain that personal look which is the artist’s signature. So certain that beginners don’t really have any style, I was happily awakened to a new plane of thinking by someone close to me, a person 43 years younger than I—yet possessing that amazing gift of intellectually and verbally “hitting nails on their heads”.
Two years ago, this person came to our home, looked at a painting I’d just completed, and commented: “That makes me think of a Russian folk tale.” So I named the painting “Russian Autumn”. But I was too new at the craft, and too self conscious, to realize that here was input worth considering.
Then just last week, my discerning critic visited. She studied a recent rendering and made another telling appraisal: “That looks ‘Tolkien-ish’.” This time I woke up, and began to think! I responded by reviewing the stacks and shelves full of my completed paintings, matted and waiting for frames. In a spirit of evaluating, I toured our four room home and critically viewed the plethora of my renderings which we have hung on our walls.
Light! Epiphany! Folk Art! Or more specifically “Fantasy and Fairy Tale Art”. To me this discovery is indescribably wonderful—because I know it’s a real break-through! Nothing on earth characterizes my past more than a delight in imaginative literature. Hans Christian Andersen and The Brothers Grimm, read to me by my mother ever since I could sit and listen, were the cause of my passionate desire, at age five—to learn to read and be able to read my very own books.
Anthropomorphic fiction has always enthalled me: Felix Salten’s BAMBI, Thorton Burgess’ MOTHER WEST WIND Series, Kipling’s “JUST SO”. How sterile were the adventures of Nancy Drew, and colorless—despite her yellow roadster! How boring were stories about people, compared to sagas of animals who acted like people. Now, as an adult, I find Brian Jacques’ REDWALL novels satisfying beyond description—and I periodically re-read Richard Adams’ WATERSHIP DOWN.
Of course many other kinds of reading consume me—particularly English mysteries and the novels of Charles Dickens, Wilke Collins, and Louis L’Amour (among many others), bios of artists/scientists/or statesmen, and most any documentaries to do with cultures, historical trends and movements, pestilence, politics, exploration, or shipwrecks.
But none of these can transport my mind and fill my soul with color, excitement, and enchantment more than the “talking animal stories” do. And nearly every day I reflect the impact of fairy tales when I sit at my spinning wheel and produce yarns for knitting—yarns evoking images of Briar Rose’s castle and that nasty little creature, Rumpelstiltskin.
Now all that early programming is spilling from the pages of books, via colorful paint, onto paper. Voilà! A voice! In recognition of discovering my voice, I completed still another folkish/fantasy landscape—pictured above: Tolkien-ish, Brothers Grimm-ish, Brian Jacques-ish, or whatever. Too much fun! 🙂
Margaret L. Been, ©2012
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The Messy Palette . . . 