January 04, 2004

In the belly of the eye

I was listening to an interview with the English writer, Martin Amis, on the radio this afternoon (CBC, of course). He was talking about how he listens to his body as his critique when he is writing. He honors his feet as they take him away from his desk when he is struggling with his work and as they bring him back after he has rested his body in a chair and thereby refreshed his mind.

For me, it is also the body that talks when I am working and it also has the final say. When I look at a piece to decide what to do next, to understand what is happening, I feel it, literally, in my gut. A visceral reaction.

A painting needs to have tension and excitement. It is easy to get stuck in some area that excites, pleases but nevertheless does not work with the rest of the piece. So there is often a feeling of sacrificing something in order to have the different elements work together. The areas that do not work well with the whole usually talk louder, have a voice that is discordant. Like when I was in eighth grade and wanted so much to sing in the choir. But the teacher always knew when I was singing, would say someone is off key in that section. So I would mouth the words, just to be there. But that didn’t work for long.

Sometimes I will think a painting is finished, photograph it, show it, but then later that uncomfortable feeling creeps into my experience of it and so I will continue on with it, sometimes with just a few minimal changes, sometimes for a couple of years. When a painting is finished, there is no anguish in the gut, no desire to change anything. And then the desire to look at it is constant. It is a feast.

Posted by leya at January 4, 2004 06:22 PM