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Part One: Think Like An Artist

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

… and Lead a More Creative, Productive Life by Will Gompertz isn’t taking me long to read at all. Gompertz, artistic director at the Barbican, makes some very interesting and thought-provoking observations on what it is to be creative. As I’m galloping through it at such a speed, I thought it best to highlight some parts, as I go along, which I think will either help me in finding my artistic voice, or which reinforce ideas and concepts which we have touched on in the course so far.

On failure:

”When it comes to creativity, failure is as inevitable as it is unavoidable. It is part of the very fabric of making. All artists, regardless of their discipline, aim for perfection…But they know perfection is unobtainable. And therefore they have to accept that everything they produce is doomed to be a failure to some extent…Thomas Edison knew all about the notion of sticking at it…But at no point did he countenance failure: ‘I have not failed 10,000 times,’ he said. ‘I have not failed once. I have succeeded in proving that those 10,000 ways will not work. When I have eliminated the ways that will not work, I will find a way that will work‘…There is plenty of time for wrong turns, for getting lost; for feeling generally hopeless. The crucial thing is to keep going. Artists appear glamorous and blessedly detached, but in reality they are tenacious grafters: they are the proverbial dogs with bones… And while they are out there, worrying away, they often discover a hidden truth about the creative process… Their success is very often down to a Plan B. That is, the thing they originally set out to do has morphed along the way into something different.”

He references several artists who started out in one direction only to find their success through a Plan B, such as Mondrian, Lictenstein and Bridget Riley. In the case of the latter, in the early part of her career Riley was interested in colour theory and the work of the Impressionists, the Pointillism of Seurat, and the composition of Cézanne. It wasn’t working for her; she was directionless and lacked originality, and she was getting older. The ending of a relationship caused her to paint a canvas black, and she took all that she had learnt from her studies of Seurat et al and applied her knowledge in abstract terms. She painted a white horizontal line the lower edge straight, the upper edge forming a curve – it became a painting expressing the dynamism and inequality of relationships, human and spatial.

’Kiss’, 1961, Bridget Riley (Wikiart 4 Jan 2025)

”Bridget Riley had to abandon the one thing she thought most important and appealing about painting – colour – in order to make any real progress. It didn’t mean colour could never feature in her work again, only that at that precise moment in time it was the roadblock… Only when [she] went back to the most basic of basics – a canvas covered in black paint – did she find the necessary clarity to progress. Only then did she discover the most precious and liberating of things: her artistic voice… As long as you stick at what you are doing, constantly going through the cycle of experimentation, assessment and correction, the chances are you will reach the moment when everything falls into place.”

The cycle of experimentation, assessment and correction is at the very essence of this course: Practice-based research.

Gompertz also states that if you call yourself an artist and make art, then you are an artist regardless of where you are in the process, or what skills you still need to learn and develop. I think I find this the hardest to embrace – I still can’t quite think of myself that way. I’ve only just got my head around being a student – in retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to try it out first on the border official at Marrakech airport who looked at me with incredulity and repeated “Student?”. Admittedly, it’s been a lot easier since I discovered all the discounts available!

On ideas:

Gompertz asserts that originality in a completely pure form does not exist; that all ideas are additional links in an existing chain, each link adding to the one before. It is a form of disruption: something to react against and respond to, to build upon. He suggests that Picasso, in the quote attributed to him – good artists copy, great artists steal – is actually describing a process that an artist needs to go through: we learn through copying and imitating, and it is only once we have done this and developed the basic techniques that we can identify opportunities to add our own link to the chain, and to find our own artistic voice. This reminds me of my discussion with Jonathan about Frida Kahlo’s ‘The Two Fridas’, when I questioned whether any work I make which is inspired by it will be original enough: he advised me that Kahlo painted it in the late 1930s and I would be doing my version almost 90 years later expressing my own feelings – following Gompertz’s reasoning, I would, in effect, be adding my own link to her existing link in the chain.

In fact there are numerous creatives who have been quoted as admitting to building on the ideas of others.

” If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” Isaac Newton

“ Creativity is knowing how to hide your sources” Einstein

”We have always been shameless about stealing great ideas”. Steve Jobs

The young Picasso produced work which imitated the likes of Goya, Velázquez and El Greco, and later the Impressionists and Post Impressionists. It was only when his friend, Casagemas, died that he found his own artistic voice in his Blue Period; the blocks of colour, bold lines and expressive manner, which he had learnt from all those artists he had imitated, still influenced him, he just put his own twist on it. He took their ideas and filtered them through his own personality and experience, and used his instincts to simplify and reduce them into his original thought, into new and unique connections. Being creative isn’t always about adding to something; it can be at its most original when taking something away. This is demonstrated perfectly by Picasso’s bull lithographs, which took him a month to complete.

‘Le Taureau‘, 1945/46 (Wikipedia, 5 January 2025)

”There is no such thing as a wholly original idea. But there is such a thing as unique combinations.” Gompertz

Vienna Calling

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

I have just returned from an amazing 4 nights in magically festive Vienna, having had my fill of glühwein, Sachertorte and boiled beef broth (it loses something in translation!).

I’ve never been before, but will definitely be going back. Beautiful architecture, and so much to do, not least the seemingly endless supply of museums and galleries.

The Leopold and Belvedere were on my hit list as housing the greatest number of works by Klimt and Schiele. I had a nagging fear that the episode might end the same way as Michael Craig-Martin but, instead, I came away with a greater appreciation of all the details that can’t be gleaned from a photograph: the brushstrokes, the surprising thickness and coverage of the paint, sometimes leaving areas of the canvas exposed and the purity of colour. It was a revelation to get up really close and just look.

Death and Life 1910/15 , Klimt

Detail

I had always thought that Klimt applied paint quite uniformly and flat, so I was surprised to see the thickness of the paint and multi-directional brushstrokes. I like the way Klimt paints skin in all its imperfections and blotchiness, ranging from the pale and cold whiteness to the warmer, darker tones of the male figure.

Seeing ‘The Kiss’ was an interesting experience; it reminded me of when I saw the ‘Mona Lisa’ in the Louvre. Being one of Klimt’s most famous works, along with the ‘Mona Lisa’ and Van Gogh’s ‘Starry, Starry Night’, it is one of the most mass reproduced images of all time. I was underwhelmed, and I found it quite sad, as I was expecting to be bowled over by it. It was the most crowded room at the Belvedere, but what I found particularly interesting was that the crowd of people in front of it, holding up their phones and cameras, seemed totally uninterested in looking at it in any great detail – in fact they had left a sizeable gap in front of it so that they could get it in shot. This was handy as it allowed me to perform a flanking manoeuvre to get in front of it, to try and appreciate it as a work of art, as opposed to just a selfie opportunity with a celebrity. There was no point taking a photo – it was so strongly lit, and the lights reflected in the glass covering it. I grappled with my feeling of ‘numbness’ for the rest of the day, and as I was mulling it over in my mind, holding yet another mug of mulled wine in my hand, the answer came to me when I remembered John Berger’s ‘Ways of Seeing’ in which he considers the effect of reproduction:

”When the camera reproduces a painting, it destroys the uniqueness of its image. As a result its meaning changes. Or, more exactly, its meaning multiplies and fragments into many meanings … Alternatively one can forget about the quality of the reproduction and simply be reminded, when one sees the original, that it is a famous painting of which somewhere one has already seen a reproduction. But in either case the uniqueness of the original now lies in it being the original of a reproduction. It is no longer what its image shows that strikes one as unique; its first meaning is no longer to be found in what it says, but in what it is.”

By contrast, in the next room was one of my favourites, ‘Judith and the Head of Holofernes’, a depiction of a strong femme fatale, the polar opposite to ‘The Kiss’.

Judith and the Head of Holofernes, Klimt, 1901

What can I say? I love gold leaf: I’m a magpie. Despite the abundance of gold in the painting, the eye is still drawn to the figure of Judith which is thrown forward by the decorative background. She is holding the head of Holofernes, somewhat gently, which is shown half in and half out of the frame, relegating him to a secondary role in the drama which has unfolded. There are intriguingly two decapitated heads in the painting; the treatment of the choker has effectively severed Judith’s head from her body. It is an image full of female power, sexual and otherwise.

It’s easy to forget that Klimt was a master draughtsman.

His drawings are exquisite. The simple monochrome of pencil or black chalk, a quiet antidote to the noise of gold and vibrant colour.

Self-Portrait with Raised bare Shoulder, Egon Schiele, 1912

I love this self-portrait; it is so expressive, and the fluidity of the brushstrokes creates a sense of movement and vitality. It is reminiscent of the Lucian Freud self-portrait in my earlier post, “I’m Sorry, Michael…”. It is quite small but he manages to pack a lot into such a confined space, including his shoulder, which by extension includes his body. The difference in treatment between the figure itself, which is quite thinly painted, and the more heavy impasto in the background is extremely effective. It is painted on wood, which might explain the wonderful textures on the face which would have been caused by the hog bristles in the brushes, although I have read, in a book on artists’ palettes, that Schiele would often use a brush to remove paint from a canvas in order to create texture. I particularly like the simple use of sgrafitto particularly above his left eye, and to delineate the edge of the chin against the neck.

The description next to this piece was interesting in that it described Schiele’s connection with his own body as both a fusion and a dissociation, in the context of the main theme of Viennese Modernism ie the individual becomes a dividual – something that can be divided.

The Embrace, 1917, Egon Schiele

This painting is so impactful. It’s approximately 1.5m by 1m. It shows Schiele with his wife, Edith Harms, in a loving and tender embrace. Unlike a lot of his work, this does not, to me at least, have any sexual or erotic overtones. There is a sense of completeness, in that Schiele depicts himself physically emaciated as he envelops and buries his head in the hair of his wife, almost blending into one, in an act of nourishing love. It’s even more poignant to think that this is one of his last works, as they both died within days of each other a few years later in the flu epidemic of 1918-20. He was only 28.

Both Schiele and Klimt were ahead of their time; they were disruptors. Schiele was akin to Sid Vicious and the punk movement, and Klimt founded the Viennese Secession, breaking away from the constraints of the Künstlerhaus. In today’s art world there is no prescribed way of doing things, no longer any art movements or – isms against which to rebel; artists have never been freer to express themselves in whatever way they wish, so I wonder how it is possible for an artist to stand out; how to make a difference in a world of differences.

Caught In A Paradox

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

I’m typing this just as I’ve finished my tutorial with Jonathan, whilst I can still remember what we discussed – I did start taking notes at the beginning but ditched them as the act of note-taking became too intrusive. Consequently, I will probably forget bits, but this is the gist.

I explained that I’m feeling really positive about the course – just to be in the process is enough, and anything over and above is a bonus. Jonathan asked me what I wanted to get out of the course. What I would like is to find out who I am, which is a bit of a cliché, and to develop a rhythm of working so that art becomes a major part of my life: up until now I have had to carve out time to spend making art.

Jonathan asked me what my life is like in terms of whether it is ordered: no, it’s totally disordered with no real routine, fire-fighting issues and dealing with lots of things at the same time. Jonathan commented that the idea of spinning plates has its own rhythm. It has, but I feel that I need to develop a discipline in my artistic practice – I have no real self-discipline in many areas of my life.

Jonathan then asked me what my strength is. It’s getting things done: I can be determined, persistent and I don’t give up. The downside to this is that I’m goal driven (which causes issues in terms of concentrating on the end product, rather than the process), and I tend to jump right in. Thinking about it now as I write, not giving up can result in me being relentless and not knowing when to walk away and leave something – my mother used to describe me as a terrier.

Jonathan mentioned the story on my blog about my shopping habits: the act of wandering from shop to shop contradicts the idea of jumping in. I agreed that actually I should shop more like my husband in terms of reaching a goal, and that the act of wandering is not enjoyable but full of pressure: to find something which meets the criteria by the deadline. Not buying the first thing I see which would suffice, may indicate a reluctance to commit before exploring all the options.

What does it feel like to be working at my best? I lose all sense of time. I’m lost in time. Nothing else matters. I can look up and find that it’s dark and it’s 9.30pm and the dogs and my family haven’t eaten. But then I can look at what I’ve done and, if I’m not happy with it , think how I’ve wasted those hours of my life which I’ll never get back and which I could have spent doing something more productive. Jonathan commented that there was a paradox in terms of being lost in time and losing time. He asked me to describe the sense of loss of time: it’s huge and full of resentment in the moment, but then dissipates as everyday life starts to take over again, until it eventually disappears.

We talked about some of the things that I’ve been trying out, and I explained that I’ve been purposely not viewing things as good or bad (although I did on my last post!) or as a success or failure. You can only fail if you have an expectation and that every experience, whether good or bad, is a valuable learning experience. Jonathan agreed and commented that the purpose of the act of mark-making is to tell us what to do next and if it does this, then it’s done its job, even if it is to tell us not to carry on. He sensed a real frustration in my experiments with the iPad. I did feel frustrated but even though I had reached the view that it wasn’t something for me in terms of producing a final piece of work, I did appreciate its usefulness for preparatory work. Jonathan mentioned that a lot of artists use it for this purpose in terms of working things out, like composition, and referred to Justin Mortimer who produces large oil paintings.

I explained that I have been doing a lot of thinking recently and have a lot of ideas inside my head – In fact, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve also been getting a lot of inspiration as to how to express these ideas in terms of producing work. If we had had this tutorial a few days ago I would have been excited and energised, but I now seem to be less so, as I feel a resistance to attempt to translate the ideas into actual work. It’s not a fear of failure as such, but a reluctance, or maybe a fear that once I try to capture the idea it won’t be as good as it is in my head. I would usually jump straight in and, more often than not, end up feeling frustrated or disappointed. I’ve recently found that thinking about and planning a work results in less dissatisfaction in the end result, but it seems that the act of stopping and thinking creates a barrier, an inertia, to moving forward. It’s a bit like how I would imagine doing a parachute jump: I check that I have everything I need in order to jump safely, but I still can’t get myself out of the plane. The other side of me would just jump. I mentioned the blog: I’m not on social media and I like to keep myself to myself and fly under the radar, yet I enjoy the process of writing the blog and this is fine as long as I don’t think too much about it ie that it’s public (as an aside whilst I’m writing this, I have actually searched for it on Google and it doesn’t come up so that makes me feel better!).

I then told Jonathan about a proof-reading distance learning course I signed up for many years ago, as I thought it could be something I could do whilst my daughter was young. I received the first couple of modules in the post and did the first assignment. The feedback was good but finished with a reminder that the marks from all subsequent assignments would count towards the final mark. That was it for me, I couldn’t carry on. We discussed why this might have been the case. I think it was because I hadn’t done perfectly on my first assignment and that I might not even do as well in future assignments. When I was young I would come home from school eager to tell my mother how I had done in a test – then she would ask me how everyone else had done – I didn’t understand at the time, why she couldn’t just be pleased with my result, like I was. I grew up to be a perfectionist, with a view that if you are going to do something, you should do it to the best of your abilities – I have since realised that what is your best can be influenced by the circumstances at the time. Jonathan reassured me that that is why the course is the way it is – there is no assessment of a final work or comparative approach for the very reason that it would cause students to freeze up.

Jonathan commented that my perceived weaknesses are actually also strengths in that the tendency to rush in, would deal with this issue. He observed that I had mentioned the word ‘fear’ quite a lot and asked me to describe the fear. It’s like a barrier in front of me but it’s not insurmountable and it’s transparent in that I can see beyond it, to where I need to get to. Having said that it clearly wasn’t insurmountable in terms of the proof-reading episode, but that was a long time ago! To get past it I need to act, and in this respect, Jonathan said that’s where I need to draw on my strength of jumping right in without thinking about it.

We concluded that there were many paradoxes in what we had discussed and that perhaps the solution is to try and combine the two sides of me in terms of moving forward in my art practice. I commented that perhaps the paradoxes are caused by me thinking that I’m one version of me when actually the real me is someone else, which is what I want to explore. Is the real me the baby who was born, or the person I now am with all the baggage I’ve collected along the way? I recognise that my strength of getting things done is probably as a result of my career. Jonathan commented that it is the question of nature and nurture and who they are is something artists ask themselves, so it’s far from being a cliché, it is actually what art is all about.

I then asked Jonathan about something which has been niggling at me: I draw inspiration from various sources to help me see ways to express my thoughts in work. I gave the example of the Two Fridas and the passage I had come across in a book I had seen in Waterstones about siblings and the primal connection through umbilical cords. In drawing on these sources, am I creating anything new, unique, or will someone just look at it and think ‘that reminds me of the Two Fridas’? Is it enough that it is coming from me and about how I feel? Jonathan assured me that it is ok to draw inspiration from others – the Two Fridas was personal to Kahlo and painted 80 years ago – I would be making it now, in 2024, and it would be personal to me.

What will I do for the next hour? Go away and write up my note of the tutorial before I forget it, which will be a useful process to consider what we discussed. Jonathan pointed out that at the beginning I had said that I had wanted to make art a bigger part of my life and that during our chat I had said that I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I’m on my way and I should just keep doing what I’m doing.

I’m still feeling positive, and I would venture to say, even more so. I need to cogitate on what we discussed to move forward, but for the moment, everything is all ok.