Collective Retrospective
Greens, Leaves | Pastel | 20” x 16”, Sfumato | Monoprint on wood panel | 8” x 8”
Late in 2023, I was invited to participate in the Collective Retrospective project. The brainchild of Cindy Zimmerman, artists submitted two works of art representing how they and their work had changed over the years, along with a written statement. There’s a corresponding show in San Diego in February 2024, along with a night of readings by the artists. I’m grateful to Cindy for the invitation to participate and reflect on the two works I contributed.
As I thought about the pastel drawing from the mid-1980s, I remembered where I was, and what my influences were — very different from today. But the feelings are still familiar. This is what I wrote:
I’ve always been able to draw fairly well, and that was an important part of my identity when I was growing up. In my mind—and in the minds of others in my circle—that skill allowed me to wear the label of ‘artist.’ I never thought to question what I felt while making the image or what emotions it evoked in others when they viewed it. If a drawing looked just like the thing itself, it was successful.
Greens, Leaves is a pastel painting I did when I was laid off from my first professional job as a graphic designer. I worked on it for many weeks (maybe months!) after I moved myself and my young daughter back into my mother’s house, having no place else to go. I labored over replicating every detail of every leaf from a photo I took of irises in the backyard. No cell phone, no Netflix, no internet—just long hours wondering what I was going to do with my life. My future was uncertain, but the comfort of this super-realistic drawing distracted me from the anxiety of my situation.
As I’ve gotten older, the pull to the safety of realism is still there, but I know I’m missing out on something more elusive and satisfying. As I venture out from my comfort zone, my work is becoming looser, even a bit abstract.
On the right is a mixed media piece titled Sfumato, from my recent collection of gel plate prints called “Landscapes in the Abstract.” The only idea I had when I began was to create a horizon line with two horizontal bands of color. After that, it was just a matter of applying layer after layer of transparent paint and seeing what happened. After a while, a mountain range emerged in the distance, topped off with a few white clouds, and I could see a field of indistinct plants in the foreground.
Freedom from constant left-brain judgment can be surprisingly fun and rewarding. I’m more comfortable with not having a preconceived idea of what the end result should look like, in my attempts at art, at least. Translating that concept into an approach to life in general? That’s a daily challenge.
