This week, as the dust settles from my house move, and I consider how to reengage with my studio work, I’m thinking a lot about the shapes of different parts of my creative practice. After a domestically and personally fluid year that intersected with making a lot of work for a solo show, I find that my practice has changed. I have changed. And increasingly, I see this as a perfectly natural thing, this changeability; where I used to strive for a static moment of perfection, now I look and all I see is process. Me as process, life as process, work as process. This feels like a good shift, one that takes me further toward the truth of things.
By its nature, this shift from static into dynamic requires ongoing attention. It feels as though much of my creative ground has been cleared and I see an opportunity to rebuild aspects of my practice. I’ve started thinking about this as creating containers of engagement. Containers of activation. Containers of production. Containers of attention. Containers of healing. Containers of rest. Containers of connection. Containers of learning. I like the metaphor of a container. A container has boundaries and volume, and can share space with other containers. We can place things within a container and we can take them out again. It can hold anything, become flexible, and be any shape we wish.
For example, several years ago, I began a project called the Periphery Project. I had an idea to walk around San Franciso Bay using the Bay Trail system. I wasn’t sure exactly how the project would work exactly, but I knew that if I walked a certain distance once a week for a year, I could circumnavigate the bay. I began walking, and within two or three weeks, the project crystallized. I tuned into whatever part of myself was drawn to the water, and knew what the project wanted. I photographed along each walk, documenting the bay and posting the images on social media. Before long, the imagery from those walks filtered into my paintings and informed my work for the better part of the next five years. The “container” was the weekly walk, staying curious, and the weekly sharing of images online. Once the container was defined, a field of inquiry was activated, and the project largely took care of itself, generating the work, generating an audience, and shows. I showed up for it each week, and it showed up for me. Containers of engagement are magical art generators.
Much like unpacking boxes into a new apartment and deciding where each object needs to be, I am examining each aspect of my practice and seeing things with new eyes, asking questions. How does my new studio space want to be used? Of the many projects I’d like to begin, which do I want to choose? What approach to developing Practice and Curiosity will be sustainable? What do I want to learn next and who do I want to facilitate that learning? How can I best take care of my body so that I can make the work I want to make? What landscapes do I want to engage with this year to inform my painting practice?
All good questions, with slowly unfurling answers. Gently choosing, shaping, and filling containers of engagement. What about you? How do you think about shaping creative projects? What creative frameworks are best for you? Let me know in the comments!
Yours in Practice,
Lisa
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