Just after Christmas, I read a great book by Ian Roberts called Creative Authenticity. I highly recommend it if you’re an arty farty type.
Reading it gave me such a sense of affirmation and renewed belief that my approach to creating work and my processes were authentic, to me at least. In fact, I would go so far as to say that, being self taught, I actually congratulated myself on how far I’d come. Well, you know how
smugness pride comes before a fall and all that…
Fast forward to now. Creating anything I’m satisfied with is a memory long gone it seems. Actually, that’s not true – I love painting my abstracts, choosing the colours, the emotion, the mark making, tuning in to myself so that I can produce some un-named feeling that I didn’t realise existed till I saw it on the canvas.
The reason for this abrupt desertion of creativity, I’m sure
(it better bloody well be) is I simply haven’t been able to get out and about in the wet weather to get my landscape fix. Also, I think I’ve got sloppy and I’m getting in a muddle with my colour schemes. Which is funny as I’m quite pleased with the last two landscape paintings I’ve done, but feel I got there by luck rather than skill.
So, the only thing I know to do in this situation is spend some time with my books, and go over what it is I think I’ve forgotten. Also, it’s been a long time since I used my pastels to paint, and I found in the past that pastel painting really helped with my oils. Plus – we’ve had sun for two days on the trot….which means this soggy boggy damp island can dry out a bit and we pale types can top up our vitamin D!