If The Canvas Matters. Part Three.
December 19, 2012
Dave recently posed the question to me: do we take greater care when the canvas we’re working with matters to us? For example, a tattoo on your skin might matter a whole lot more than a napkin illustration – because the canvas is human skin vs. something as disposable as a napkin.
I’ve given the question a lot of thought, and it has since led me down many rabbit holes of even more complicated, philosophical questions such as “what is art?” and “what is the value of our role as artists in society?” and “am I full of self-indulgent shit?” – questions that have managed to leave me in a state of temporary paralysis.
A cherished blank canvas is just as dangerous as a philosophical question, really. It poses lots of opportunity for procrastination, resistance, preciousness and temporary paralysis. I’d say what really matters is the message – the intent – the artist brings to the canvas. How we shape that message, and beyond that, how we share it matters even more. And it’s that message, the art we apply to a canvas, that makes it sacred. For example, a Picasso sketch on a napkin transforms that napkin. Picasso has the power to give something so seemingly disposable and mundane a whole new life – a new purpose. That is significant. That matters.
A few years ago I had an ampersand tattooed on to my ribs. It’s an intimate piece of art embedded, in ink, on my already sacred skin. But I’d dare say there’s something even more noble about elevating the mundane. Transforming something ordinary into an object of divinity with our intent may matter more than the care we bring to an already revered canvas. In fact, I’d declare it our duty as artists.
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Kathleen you are not only elevating the mundane but elevating my notion of art and my responsibility and opportunities as an artist. Thank you.
I’ve been thinking about this very thing recently, but only because I have a young artist under my care. My 6 yr old son, Samuel is constantly drawing. He is confident, deliberate and amazingly intuitive with his artwork. He draws on scraps of paper, napkins, grocery bags, bills, legal pads, anything he can get his hands on. I am continually discovering these beautiful drawings and lamenting the fact they aren’t on some super heavy weight water color paper or canvas or something equally as nice so that I could frame them to hang prominently. But Samuel has little regard, if any, for the canvas. There’s probably some important lesson for me to learn in the midst of that…
What a great question to ponder. I absolutely love blank journals, which is a writer’s canvas, and I really resonate with the “procrastination, resistance, preciousness, and temporary paralysis” you warn about here. When the canvas – or, in my case, journal – is empty, it still holds so much potential for greatness! It’s not until I make the first mark that its perfection is ruined. And will my writing be worthy of the handcrafted page? Will my words merit the cost of a Moleskin (Hemmingway’s choice too, btw)?
I am going to be mulling over your word for some time, especially the final thought–that our duty as artists is to transform the ordinary into an object of divinity with our intent. That stirs me to a hearty shout of “yes and amen!!” But I still need to spend time figuring out WHY that resonates so deeply…
Thanks for this great post!
last July I put poster paper on the table and set the grandkids free with crayons, markers and colored pencils. As the adults drifted in and the children drifted off the doodling began. It made for lively conversation and some very interesting art. Not wanting to destroy the resulting art. I cut it into sections and attached them to small sections of birch paneling, left over from the utility room remodel. The “art” of my loved ones is now hanging in my workroom in the basement. Now I have the inspiration of their work as I work on my stain glass projects.
As to the tattoos, I have several some public, some more private. I do them for me and I give quite a bit of consideration to each before having the work done. Does the canvas matter, I think it depends on the eye of the beholder.
Shoot…now I’m going to start pondering this like crazy. Good thoughts! I’ve never thought about the canvas in that way but it’s true — you’re going to plan and mull over what you put on your body. But there is also something beautiful about transforming what would become garbage into art. It makes the object come alive and tell stories we couldn’t have articulated on our own.