A Blank Canvas
You can't force a painting.
It’s 10am on a Tuesday and I am in my studio standing before a 36x36 blank canvas. It is staring back at me, sizing me up, waiting for my next move - “So, what are you going to do?” it asks, daring me to take that first step into the painting. Is it in a fighting mood or is this just the look it gives me as it patiently waits for the first brushstroke that will start our journey?
I recently read Elizabeth Gilbert’s book on creativity, “Big Magic”. It’s a quick read with fun commentary on what it means to be a creative person and how to cultivate a creative life. It hits on all the familiar things. But one belief she has I found intriguing, that Ideas are a disembodied, energetic life-form. That they are completely separate from us, but capable of interacting with us. They have consciousness and they have will. Gilbert believes Ideas are actively swirling around the universe on the hunt to find one person to take the creative baton and run with it. She argues that it is our job as artists and creative types, to recognize when Idea pays us a visit, and be receptive and most importantly curious to what might be possible. If we miss the queues, ignore the signals, or are just too busy elsewhere in our lives to notice, Idea will get bored with us and move on to someone else.
My journey as a painter started late in my life. Adulthood came early, set in motion by my father’s sudden death when I was fifteen; a pregnancy at seventeen; ten years of marriage then divorce - all before I turned twenty-eight. Then another ten-year marriage and divorce. I learned to live life in survival mode, doing what I needed to do with the cards I had been dealt. Night school led to a successful career in healthcare. Then at the age of forty-two, I found myself beginning a new life in Montana with a third husband, children in college, and for the first time since I was eighteen, unemployed. I was ready for something new. That is when Idea found me ready to begin my creative journey.
I am reminded of a quote by one of the pioneers of abstract expressionism, Helen Frankenthaler, “try everything and experiment often.” She was someone who kept the door wide open for Idea, and I did too. I went to art classes, enrolled in a photography program, experimented with black and white photography, then with watercolors and oils. I became curious artistically and found joy in the act of creative expression. I read about and studied the work of artists I admired. Art found its way into my life and I began to hear the whisper of an inner voice that had gone underground and silent for far too many years. Painting gave voice to what I had long been waiting say.
This journey was not easy. However, Idea was very patient with me as I navigated the back roads of creativity, learning the basics of oil painting; color theory, color mixing, etc. I went through the phase of painting what I saw around me, to painting what I felt around me. Gradually, my paintings went from a more literal depiction of the landscape to reflecting more of what I felt when in a landscape. I wanted to capture that moment of inspiration; what caused me to stop, to look, to experience, to listen. My inner voice was learning to speak in a new language and way of expression. I found that I preferred a more muted palette over bold colors, a looser paint application with bigger brushes. I used a palette knife for added texture, and experimented with cold wax medium for interesting techniques and impact. It took many years, but eventually I found my own way of approaching and making a painting. Of applying paint onto the canvas in a spontaneous and inspired way. Less controlled, more intuitive and free, but always true to the original vision and intention. While I focused more on emotion and feeling, and less on detail, I was pleased to see my paintings take on a bit of mystery for the viewer to consider and contemplate. One of my favorite Mark Rothko quotes speaks to this, “There is more power in telling little than in telling all.”
Which brings me to where I am now in my practice. I have been painting for almost two decades. My work has evolved, and continues to evolve. It is a constant battle to be true to the intention of a painting. I am reminded of this chart. I have no idea who came up with it, I first saw it in a painting workshop. It is the most accurate description I have found about the creative process:
The Creative Process
This is awesome
This is tricky
This is shit
I am shit
This might be OK
This is awesome
I cannot say that Idea is a real life-form, as Elizabeth Gilbert suggests. However, I do feel that once an artist is inspired to make a piece of art, they will start with some kind of intention for it. Being true to this intention is very important in the process making art. Every artist, whether they have graduated with degree in fine art, or are self-taught as I am, will eventually find themselves at battle with their work. It comes with the territory. That is when you can find yourself in the “I am shit” phase of The Creative Process. And that is when me and the painting take a break. I will take a few days to focus on something else; clean out a closet, make cookies, take a walk or read a book. But in the back of my mind I am working on the painting, envisioning what it needs, what it wants to be, focusing on my original intention. With renewed energy and armed with a new awareness I get back in the studio, return to painting and discover “This might be OK”, and then it’s not far to “This is awesome!”
I strive to follow my intuition when I work. Intuitive spontaneity is something I embrace, for when I am in that mode I feel the most honest about what is being said. I listen to my inner voice to guide this intuitive and spontaneous process, trusting that what comes through in the painting is truth. The kiss of death is when I start being too rigid, when details take on too much importance, when things feel a bit too precious and controlled. That is when the big brush comes out to obscure everything and start over.
So, how to begin as I stand before a blank canvas? First, I apply a thin wash of paint to cover the entire canvas and prime the surface. Then, I block in the big shapes and start building layers. I typically have a landscape composition in mind. On larger pieces I find I can be a bit freer in my approach, less so in smaller work for some reason. With a large canvas I find myself willing to take on more experimentation or maybe it’s just being more attuned to inspiration. That was the case as I started the large 36x36 ocean painting, “Seascape”.
I had my reference photo. I had my composition. As I worked my way further into the painting I found myself becoming more literal, relying too much on the photo, putting in too much detail and losing the feel I was after in my original intention for the piece. Out came the big brush, and a new palette of more muted colors. Gone was the blue sky, the deep tones of turquoise and green in the water, the well-defined horizon line. The painting began to better reflect my intention for it. It began to evoke the feel of what I had envisioned for my first painting inspired by the Oregon Coast. I grew up a Southern California girl in the Beach Boys days of the 1960’s. The ocean is in my soul and I am thrilled now to live only an hour’s drive from the Pacific. This was a painting of past memories; of sun and sand and laughter, of the innocence of youth, of possibility and joy. It required a gentle touch and the courage to trust and have faith in my intuition and ability to successfully execute the piece. The painting knew what it needed, I just needed to get out of the way.
The most gratifying time for me as an artist is when I sign a finished piece. It marks the end of my time with the painting and celebrates the journey we have made together. Then it’s time to close that chapter and move on to a new canvas and the possibilities it holds. Perhaps one day I will paint that other painting of the ocean. Or, maybe not. One thing I know for sure - you can’t force a painting. You can only be true to your vision for the work, and not every painting lives up to that task.
At some point, I want to take on a purely abstract painting. Since moving to Oregon I find abstract expressionism calling to me. What would find its way from my subconscious onto the canvas? The thought of facing a large blank canvas intuitively, using spontaneous truthful expression free from preconception is exciting to me.
Is this Idea poking me to see if I am interested?
If so, yes I am, so don’t bail on me just yet.
After over thirty years in Montana, contemporary painter Tabby Ivy now lives and works in Carlton, Oregon. Painting came late in her life. Her home studio is a sanctuary for working, and reading her extensive collection of art books. Learn more at www.tabbyivy.com.
Now available! The second printing of "Between Artists, Life in Paintings and Prose", by Damon Falke and Tabby Ivy.
Juke contributors Damon Falke and Tabby Ivy worked for over three years in collaboration on this beautiful body of work. The first printing sold out during their 2022 exhibition at the Hockaday Museum of Art in Kalispell, Montana. The book can be purchased at www.tabbyivy.com/books
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A lovely, thoughtful piece, Tabby. So good to see your work here.
I love this piece, Tabby. Thanks so much!