The process you describe reminds me a bit of the way I work. The process of imposing order on “apparent” chaos, regardless of the field of work, requires you to impose your will on your subject matter in a way that gives due respect to the medium and the natural limitations of what you are doing. There is an inherent tension, and if you get a false start, the rest is doomed. You’re better off starting from scratch than following a false path. I can relate.
There are always a bunch of paintings sitting in my studio that represent false paths, cul de sacs if you will, in which I haven’t been able to find a way out. Sometimes, if they’re sitting around there long enough (and this can be years), I can reactivate them in the studio and continue on. I think this is because what may look like a false path today, may just be a new route sometime in the future.
R U sure it is guilt ..or some other feeling ??? I think anything &/or all things can be possible is a great beginning-middle-or conclusion for that matter!!
Keep in mind I’ve had 2 much beer n i’m trying to be helpful or smart or sumptin’ sumptin’ ???
Well….
I don’t feel pressure to perform. My work is not so popular that there are any expectations from any audience group. And I don’t think what I’m talking about is rooted in feelings of guilt.
Losing control is something I always do in the studio, though. A late painter friend of mine used to make little pencil drawings as models for his paintings. He would make all the decisions about the painting he possibly could in the drawing, even making little written notes about the pigments he was going to use. Then he would concern himself with the problems associated with taking that blueprint and making a painting based on it as closely as possible. That is something I could never do.
Any drawing is typically done directly on the painting. I may go into the studio with a head full of ideas, but it is only once I get past those that I can start the real work. I’ve painted for many years, but I find myself always going back to square one. Each painting session it’s the same thing, and what I call a painting results from many painting sessions, many ideas, hopes, dreams, best intentions, and of course limitations.
One day the image sticks. It feels whole or complete in itself and I don’t feel compelled to mess with it any more, so I put it aside and call it a painting. I feel like I’ve come through to the other side on that painting. We’re talking about very subjective criteria, but that’s it, really. I’m not so interested in what anybody else thinks is a painting. So what am I left with? Some kind of image. As often as not, it’s awkward and ugly. I look at it and wonder how I ever got there. They’re kind of like ideas compost. I keep throwing ideas at a canvas and they pile up, one on top of another until eventually, they aren’t a pile of ideas anymore, but a painting. There is something in that peculiar miracle that keeps me coming back for more.
I’ve heard people say things like “painting is such a relaxing activity” or “painting is fun”. For me, there is an underlying anxiety in the process of every painting that is hardly relaxing. Sometimes, painting can be fun, but that’s besides the point. When I say, anything can happen, I think that’s just what I mean. I impose all kinds of limitations, sure…like the size of my surface, the paints I have available….but I can’t predict the outcome. I suppose that painting is a place I go to access a part of my mind that I don’t access in any other way. I think it must be like that for some jazz musicians who improvise too. At a certain moment in the process of making a painting, for me, painting is thinking.
Interesting. Do you feel pressure to perform (i.e., “uneasy” that you might not live up to your expectations)? Or are you afraid of losing control, quitting your day job, locking yourself in your studio and never looking back? You obviously have an intense relationship with painting, and I think she must be a jealous mistress whom you feel you’ve been neglecting. Maybe it’s guilt feelings that make you feel uneasy.
27th Street 
The process you describe reminds me a bit of the way I work. The process of imposing order on “apparent” chaos, regardless of the field of work, requires you to impose your will on your subject matter in a way that gives due respect to the medium and the natural limitations of what you are doing. There is an inherent tension, and if you get a false start, the rest is doomed. You’re better off starting from scratch than following a false path. I can relate.
There are always a bunch of paintings sitting in my studio that represent false paths, cul de sacs if you will, in which I haven’t been able to find a way out. Sometimes, if they’re sitting around there long enough (and this can be years), I can reactivate them in the studio and continue on. I think this is because what may look like a false path today, may just be a new route sometime in the future.
R U sure it is guilt ..or some other feeling ??? I think anything &/or all things can be possible is a great beginning-middle-or conclusion for that matter!!
Keep in mind I’ve had 2 much beer n i’m trying to be helpful or smart or sumptin’ sumptin’ ???
STAGG
Well….
I don’t feel pressure to perform. My work is not so popular that there are any expectations from any audience group. And I don’t think what I’m talking about is rooted in feelings of guilt.
Losing control is something I always do in the studio, though. A late painter friend of mine used to make little pencil drawings as models for his paintings. He would make all the decisions about the painting he possibly could in the drawing, even making little written notes about the pigments he was going to use. Then he would concern himself with the problems associated with taking that blueprint and making a painting based on it as closely as possible. That is something I could never do.
Any drawing is typically done directly on the painting. I may go into the studio with a head full of ideas, but it is only once I get past those that I can start the real work. I’ve painted for many years, but I find myself always going back to square one. Each painting session it’s the same thing, and what I call a painting results from many painting sessions, many ideas, hopes, dreams, best intentions, and of course limitations.
One day the image sticks. It feels whole or complete in itself and I don’t feel compelled to mess with it any more, so I put it aside and call it a painting. I feel like I’ve come through to the other side on that painting. We’re talking about very subjective criteria, but that’s it, really. I’m not so interested in what anybody else thinks is a painting. So what am I left with? Some kind of image. As often as not, it’s awkward and ugly. I look at it and wonder how I ever got there. They’re kind of like ideas compost. I keep throwing ideas at a canvas and they pile up, one on top of another until eventually, they aren’t a pile of ideas anymore, but a painting. There is something in that peculiar miracle that keeps me coming back for more.
I’ve heard people say things like “painting is such a relaxing activity” or “painting is fun”. For me, there is an underlying anxiety in the process of every painting that is hardly relaxing. Sometimes, painting can be fun, but that’s besides the point. When I say, anything can happen, I think that’s just what I mean. I impose all kinds of limitations, sure…like the size of my surface, the paints I have available….but I can’t predict the outcome. I suppose that painting is a place I go to access a part of my mind that I don’t access in any other way. I think it must be like that for some jazz musicians who improvise too. At a certain moment in the process of making a painting, for me, painting is thinking.
Interesting. Do you feel pressure to perform (i.e., “uneasy” that you might not live up to your expectations)? Or are you afraid of losing control, quitting your day job, locking yourself in your studio and never looking back? You obviously have an intense relationship with painting, and I think she must be a jealous mistress whom you feel you’ve been neglecting. Maybe it’s guilt feelings that make you feel uneasy.