I’ve been slowly pruning myself for years. I think we all do this, as we gain a sense of self, we begin to observe others’ selves, internalizing the things we are told are valuable, gross, lovely, weird. I remember at first it was bad to be weird. Sixth grader with the weird jeans? Nope, go to American Eagle and fit in! Your hair does that weird cowlick thing? Ugh, style it better! But then high school hit and it was like, cool to be weird and like, random! Like, so unique! But not TOO unique.
Enter.. adulthood? Or maybe the Societal Hum of the Importance of Normalcy’s Link to Success got a little too loud? I can’t pin point the timing, but somewhere along the line my pruning shears became quite sharp, and I slowly began to shave off bits of myself that felt like overgrowth. Too much oddness, too much emotional expression, too much caring. I wanted so badly to fit into the mold set out for me, to be seen as all the good things and none of the bad. To not rock the boat too much, just enough that it’s cute and quirky. To not let my ideas be too out there, just different enough to be ‘good.’ It was ultimately fear that motivated me to sharpen my shears. Fear of being over the top, of not being right, of disapproval. I could hear my fears stir from slumber in the subtle language of peers, misguided reprimands, my own inner critic, and that damn Societal Hum! Instead of my oddities being cultivated into twisting vines to adorn myself with, all of these sharp blades just snipped them at the roots. So I burned the underbrush and polished myself shiny. I cut back the wilderness and presented a well manicured garden. Sometimes I wonder how marvelous I would have looked if my vines had become overgrown. Instead of getting caught in that lovely what-if, I’ve decided to go in search of those roots, pull them to the surface and encourage them again. To vibe off of Mary Oliver’s idea of the three selves, I want to chew my life as a child well in my savage teeth. I think it is then that my third self can flourish, can continue hungering for eternity with the hope of grasping it. That self requires solitude at times, occasionally darkness, often nostalgia. She aches amid injustices large and small, and will absolutely cry for what seams like no reason. Allowing her what she requires is often frightening and uncomfortable. It means taking risks and waking the fears from their slumber. It means letting the madness of overgrowth bear fruit. So. If you see me being a little funky, a little absurd, a little twisted and covered in vines, just let me grow.
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I’m coming up on one year (!) of signing the lease on my studio space. It’s got me dwelling on this past year of creating, of parsing out my practice and organizing my space, of creating two (!) new bodies of work, and many things in between. I’ve said before how much I love buzzing back and forth between different mediums. Sometimes I work in three different ones all in the same day, or maybe I spend a week in oils, the next in collage or printmaking or drawing. Before I had this studio, that movement felt chaotic and painfully spontaneous, leaving me with unfinished work or less-than-coherent ideas. This space has given me the freedom to leave things out, to stare at them for hours without “working” on them. It’s given me perspective, and allowed me to approach pieces with deliberation and softness. Not to say there aren’t days when I just get to WORK, with a fierce passion and emotional energy, slinging paint and ink and slashing around magazines. But those days feel like a creative climax instead of a forced hurl, and they’re brought about by the slow, progressive work done beforehand. Cheeky, I know.
All that to say, in this new season of creativity, one where I feel a sense of rootedness and methodical knowledge, I’m beginning to thread all of these mediums together. Not on one canvas, but in one space. By letting them converse, by taking visual languages from one to another, by weaving similar thought processes into the fibers of their foundations, I can assemble my work in a way that screams in harmony. So, if you’re wondering to yourself as I’m sure you often do, “What’s BA up to this winter?” I can assure you that I’m listening to the cacophonous voices inside and outside my head, slowly knitting them into one big harmonious yell. Come listen with me sometime. |
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