When my daughter was about seven years old,
she asked me one day what I did at work.
I told her I worked at the college -
that my job was to teach people how to draw.
She stared at me, incredulous, and said, "You mean they forget?"
Howard Ikemoto
As artists, are we drawn to the medium that has the greatest potential to teach us about ourselves, to push us out of our comfortable places? To reignite that childhood spark?
As long as I can remember, and even to this day, whenever I'm on the phone, this is what I doodle . . .
As long as I can remember, and even to this day, whenever I'm on the phone, this is what I doodle . . .
Always squares or rectangles, always some pattern of grid work, always an ‘X’ in the middle of each shape . . . I wouldn’t be hard-pressed to find a notepad in my childhood home in some long-forgotten game box with my characteristic doodle.
As a child, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I remember distinctly saying, ‘a cleaning woman’. Grownups laughed. I understand why — now. But, as a child, it made perfect sense; I liked the organization. Structures that promised order and then some: bookshelves, cupboards, desks, treasure chests, hope chests, jewelry boxes, trunks, closets and, discarded appliance boxes appealed to me. To my mind, a cleaning woman was the ultimate organizer (this was long before the coining of the term Professional Organizer). She put things in their proper places, and within those places were treasures that, when opened, promised endless hours of escape to the inner world of my imagination. Books, costumes, accessories, art supplies, toys were all mine to discover anew, reinvent, and repurpose.
As I got older, professions such as a pharmacist, computer analyst and, accountant appealed to me. They all promised structure. I chose computers. The writing of computer code could generate a ‘fix’ through the application of structure that, when examined closer, not unlike the boxes of my childhood, held so much more. These computer programs might detect the likelihood of discovering oil buried deep within the ground or find the perfect clause in the law to nudge the last jurors’ opinion over to the majority or even the key that saves the patient’s life because it uncovers an obscure reaction between prescribed medicines.
What does this have to do with the direction I’m on now as an artist? For me, it has everything to do with it. The organized, structural side of my life was very comfortable, ingrained in fact, but the loose, unpredictable side — not so much. To grow, I had to delve deeper, to experience that which I couldn’t easily control. The universe was more than happy to oblige. Challenging and uncontrollable events reared their ugly heads, as they do in all lives. A reminder to embrace change, to realize control is an illusion, to start to get comfortable with uncertainty.
So, in hindsight, it should come as no surprise as to what ended up choosing me. Watercolor chose me. You know, that medium often touted as the most uncontrollable, unforgiving, spontaneous one out there? Over the years, I had explored several mediums but, watercolor, despite, or perhaps because of its unpredictable nature, drew me in. I loved its drips, its runs, its blooms! I knew embarking on this journey would challenge my sense of control and order and push me out of my comfort zone.
As expected, my initial and not-so-initial forays into painting with watercolors were a marginal marriage, at best, between structure and the inherent nature of water. Well-intentioned guides would proffer: maybe you should switch to acrylics, and perhaps you should be an illustrator, not a fine artist.
Over the years, I continued to manipulate the medium (while even garnering some critical recognition) into the structure I craved and was comfortable with, all along successfully managing to miss the message entirely!
I now know the gift of this watercolor journey has been the impetus it provided to grow as an artist and a person, to revisit the magic I felt as a child to reinvent, renew, repurpose and reimagine my environment, my inner world. In essence, to facilitate change. Today I endeavor to meld my innate nature with that of watercolor; to merge my sense of structure with the fluidity of watercolor; not allowing one to overshadow the other.
For those of us fortunate enough to have been given this opportunity to grow through pursuing an artistic path, we will face this challenge of reconciling our innate nature with our chosen medium. If successful, we will learn to embrace its gifts, take on its risks, and push its boundaries.
In life, as in art . . .
© 2008-2023 Barbara Olsen