the things people ask

Why do I show my work?

My exhibition at Field Trip is starting very soon, and I’ve been thinking about the process of exhibiting and just how exposing it is.

Someone asked me not long ago why I show my work.

I believe it is part of the job of being an artist. I think it is a little like the old question: if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, has it made a sound?

If I make art and no one sees it, have I made it at all?

For me, the making of the art is my process. The making is where the thinking happens. I am making a thousand decisions, mainly without even realising it. I choose colours, values, ways of applying paint, shapes, lines, textures, patterns, rhythms, repetition, balance, proportion, composition, scale and variety.

All those tiny decisions accumulate and become the art.

Showing the art is where you let it all hang out.

I suffered from social anxiety for years. Showing my art was excruciating. It is like being naked in public. Maybe worse.

You, your very being, is there on the wall.

I now have the anxiety under control, and showing my work, although still cringe-inducing, is no longer the blind panic it once was.

The body of work I have created for Field Notes is strong. I know I have progressed, and I have made a coherent body of work.

When people come to view your work, they try to engage with it. Which is lovely.

However, some of the questions I get asked can be... varied.

So I thought I’d answer a few of them here. It will be good practice for me.

How long does it take?

Well, the smart-arse answer is 60 years.

I have always been an artist. There was art college, university and a gazillion hours of practice. I never say this. It’s arsey.

But honestly, I can’t say how long a painting takes.

I work quickly and prolifically, but a painting might hang around for ages while I keep dipping in and out of it. That is the cooking phase.

I honestly don’t know how many hours go into any particular painting, and I can never decide whether 1,000 hours is worth more than something that took 10 hours.

And why does it matter?

How do you know when it’s finished?

The answer I used to give to kids was: never.

A painting isn’t finished until the artist dies.

That isn't particularly helpful either.

At some point, I just have to make a decision.

There is a sweet spot somewhere between finished and overworked. Sometimes a piece gets overcooked. Sometimes it’s a little rare. Sometimes there is a deadline, or I’ve simply had enough.

Once I get the gloss medium out, the work is done.

That said, some pieces continue to bug me, and I will occasionally go back in to “fix” something.

What are the straight lines?

I use masking tape in my work.

I’ll get a painting to a certain stage and then use the tape to break up the image. I have the ability to paint a regular, conventional image, but I don’t want to.

The tape conceals parts of the painting, which means I can’t overwork them. It also disrupts the image.

I’m interested in the way I observe the world. I’m aware that I don’t look at a whole object or scene all at once. I look at it in parts.

My eye moves across and through. I observe in more detail each time as I examine how something is constructed, how the light works and how it relates to its surroundings.

Seeing isn’t fixed.

My eyes move from one thing to another. In, up, down, across, between.

A thing or a space is never observed from one fixed point. Seeing unfolds.

That’s why I use the tape.

It breaks up the surface and invites another way of looking.

Is it oils?

No. I work in acrylic.

I find oils induce anxiety because I have to wait too long.

How do you finish the piece?

Two coats of gloss medium, applied in one direction, with 24 hours between coats.

Gloss medium reveals the colour and layers of the paint. Acrylic dries matte and dull, and the gloss makes the colour glow.

Then two coats of cold wax medium, applied with a soft cloth.

The wax takes the edge off the shiny finish of the gloss. It gives the painting a softer, burnished look.

The colour is still there, but without that shiny sheen.

Is it archival?

Nope.

Is it marine-grade?

No. It’s not a boat.

Why do you work on ply?

I don’t like canvas.

It’s springy, it’s textured, and I know I’ll wreck it.

What does “cradled” mean?

The ply is attached to a wooden frame around the back. This stiffens the panel and helps prevent warping.

Will it warp?

See above.