Where does creativity come from?
This is a big question for an artist. I think there is a mysterious source that exists in each of us. Still, one must know how to find it to seize it. For me, it emerges long before I pick up a pencil to sketch a composition or get my brushes out to paint.
I have a special gift for amazement!
Walking in a spruce forest, cycling through mountains and valleys, or paddling on a river, I am constantly dazzled by the beauty of my surroundings. I am moved both by the smallest forms of life and by the grandiose landscapes. So, I pause for a moment to contemplate what captures my attention: a mushroom growing among moss and lichen, frost-purpled bunchberries, windswept fields, mountains turning blue under the rain at the end of the lake, a tall pine tree rising as guardian of its forest. My soul is spellbound in those magical moments when a sound, a smell, a feeling, a sight, or all of this at the same time, makes me feel so happy to be alive.
During my outdoor adventures, my camera is never far away.
Thus, I am building up a digital memories bank. These memories ad up to those I keep in mind and with which I reconnect later in my studio. When the time comes, I look for an image that inspires me. The moment I make a choice, I feel butterflies of angst in my stomach. Will I succeed in sublimating or at least honoring this memory?
To soothe my worries and let my ideas mature, I carefully prepare my project. With an old brush, I dilute a little paint in solvent. With smooth gestures, I apply the warm or cool shade to the canvas, depending on the mood I want to convey. The exercise is soothing, and the coloring is useful for assessing tonal nuances when painting.
I let the canvas dry and I take this pause to clarify my artistic intention. I test different compositions. I grid the one of my choice and draw a grid of the same ratios on the canvas.
I am now ready to reproduce the essence of the photography by simplifying the large shapes and the way they lie in space.
At this moment, I feel butterflies in my stomach again.
Will the drawing be successful? Will the composition work?
From vision to realization
When I am satisfied with my sketch and I feel it corresponds to the vision I have in mind, I begin to paint masses of color by marking some areas of shadow and light. I pay attention to how they interact side by side and across the canvas. At this stage, I try not to worry about color accuracy.
What matters to me is that forms is space are clearly distinguishable and to properly establish the "center of attention".
For this, I need to plan the movement of the eyes that will scan the painting. The gazing path I plan to engage with must be clear and subtle at the same time. This cannot be left to chance or decided at the last moment; otherwise, it could compromise what I envision and the essence of what I am trying to communicate and convey.
My ambition is not to replicate in details the reference image.
Rather, I aspire to invite the viewer to plunge into the atmosphere,
allowing them to surrender to the experience and ideally to be moved by it.
Achieving this goal is never guaranteed! Nevertheless, I am invested in it with as much confidence as possible.
Sometimes I succeed, which encourages me to continue. Sometimes it just completely fails, and I try to learn from it: What works? What's not working? In both cases, why? When did I slip up? How could I have gone about it differently?
Acknowledging the problem is already half of the solution found. And, at this preliminary stage, it is still easy to make modifications.
It's all about nuances and contrasts
When I am satisfied with the main forms, it is time to begin to further define the colors, their tonality, their degree of intensity. I am wary of distractions that would divert the eye movement. Touches of colors that are too saturated or not saturated enough, too dark, or too pale, a sense of space confused or lost, an element that catches the eye where I don't want it to... These are all obstacles that I try to avoid.
I try to avoid distractions which would divert the eye's movement.
At this stage of my progress, I am no longer in the preliminary work, although I am still far from the final work. I usually start developing the background, meaning the furthest part of the landscape, which includes the sky and the horizon. Then, I gradually move down to the middle, then the foreground. This way, it is easier for me to establish the position of each element in space and give the impression of volume. The canvas has only two dimensions. It is through a work of abstraction (even in figurative painting) that we manage to give the illusion of a third dimension.
In front of my easel, I constantly move forward and backward, to assess the effect, and make adjustments where necessary. Totally absorbed in this exercise, my stress dissipates, I know where I'm going, guided by my vision.
Then, I lose track of time. I'm in the "zone".
I'm still on the lookout. By mistake, I could take a wrong turn. If I am tired or distracted, I can lose my way and feel the anxiety rising again. When circumstances are not conducive to finding my way and my peace of mind, I prefer to stop for a short break or resume another day.
Investing the proper time
I don't have a predefined schedule. I adapt to the circumstances. I am more creative and efficient in the morning when my mind is clear and free of unnecessary burdens. That being said, I am also an active person. In the summer, I prefer to go out on my bike in the morning when the air is cooler. In winter, I take advantage of the freshly groomed downhill and cross-country ski trails. Either way, most of the time, I’m at the easel for sessions of two to four hours a few times a week. It's part of my lifestyle.
It is important to me to be totally available for the work
in which I have committed myself to.
If the night has not been revitalizing enough, if my activities have drawn too much of my physical or mental energy, I put my creativity to other uses. I nurture it by reading, studying the work of other artists, cooking, having a good time with family and friends… or simply resting!
It’s important to listen to our feelings. It is not a question of finding ways to avoid the “blank canvas” syndrome. For example, I know that my energy level drops when I start fussing too much. So, I take a break. If I insist on continuing what I started, I risk getting bogged down. Better to come back with my mind refreshed.
The solution to the challenge will come
by taking a little distance from the painting and letting time take its course.
After a break, my gaze is refreshed, and I instantly see what needs to be improved. I immediately tweak what needs adjustment so that it does not come back to haunt me later or worse, too late. I can sometimes feel helpless in front of a problem that seem unsolvable, even after having distanced myself from it. In this case, I have two choices: put away the unfinished painting and draw a lesson that will later be useful or, “erase” the part that gives me trouble and try to modify my approach.
The hardest part is knowing when to stop. Precision is not of the aim when applying the finishing touches. While completing this painting, I avoided that trap just in time!
What a wonderful description of our creative process. I could imagine you at every step. The work is magical. - Colleen.