Essay: Spills and Splatters

Muscular and intellectual atrophy develops for lack of exercise. Because of this I maintain an effort to paint at least four new paintings annually. It’s not an aggressive plan, but it keeps my mind in body in shape artistically. It has also allowed me to teach my son how enjoyable it is to create with paint, brush and canvas. I suspect atrophy may occur in relationships as well which is a good reason to spend as much time with my family as possible.

Last year my paintings took on a dramatically different direction thanks to my three-year-old son. From what his pediatrician says, his drawings are a bit advanced for his age but by no means does this mean he is a child prodigy. It means he has fun drawing.

My son’s understanding of the human form transposes and simplifies what he observes. A large circle represents a head. Smaller circles placed inside the larger circle provide eyes and a nose. A single line inside the larger circle and below the smaller circles depicts a mouth; smile optional. From there, my son attaches two circles below the larger circle which represent feet, but no legs. Likewise, he places two medium size circles on either sides of the larger circle (where one might place ears) with exploding lines coming from these circles. These are hands with fingers, but no arms. Horizontal slashes on top of the large circle complete the drawing. That’s hair, he tells me. The head, eyes and hands are the prominent features in all his compositions. Interestingly, in figure drawing, the head, hands and eyes are the most difficult to capture realistically.

Still, his abstract drawings of people capture my imagination. Through his eyes I see that figure paintings don't need all the detail and lighting of Rembrandt or Jan Vermeer van Delft to communicate a message. He really enjoys mixing paint directly on the canvas. Since he lacks complete understanding of Joseph Alber's interaction of colors, he doesn't realize that all colors fade to gray if you're not careful. And yet, gray can be a lovely neutral background.

Together we paint; I upon my wood panel or canvas, he upon his. Happy accidents occur and enhance the experience of painting. The approach to painting is to have fun. It's why I pursued the arts in high school and later at a university. Yet, beyond the fun there is a discipline to making art.

The first step to making art is designating time to produce it and the second step is commitment to complete the task. Many of my former classmates from the university "played" and are currently too busy with a professional career or life in general or other matters of consequence that they no longer make art. In Art & Fear, David Bayles and Ted Orland discuss this topic and offer a lucid observation. Many art students pursue art making merely to achieve a degree and hang a senior art exhibit. They have designated four years of study to do this. Likewise, they are committed to completing their study. But why do art students stop once they graduate? In a recent essay in Poets & Writers, David Hollander states, "The goal is not to get a degree." The goal of art making is to share your individual vision and that takes a life of discipline. Art school is a launching pad to a life of art making. A degree is merely a mile marker.

Last spring I read about the discovery of some unknown Jackson Pollock paintings. The article read: “Previously unknown early Jackson Pollock drip paintings, part of a trove of 32 paintings by the artist on boards and paper found two years ago in a metal storage bin in Wainscott, N.Y.” I got goose pimples with excitement. I’ve seen Pollock’s work in Chicago and have always been inspired by his creations. There is some debate concerning the authenticity of the 32 paintings. A common modern myth is that Pollock splattered grandly without purpose or practice; a genuine beat painter. The real story is that he experimented for a couple years before graduating from small panels to large canvases. He wanted to study how the drips dropped and how to articulate his vision with this new technique. Maybe the 32 paintings are the practice pieces.

After reading the article in The New York Times, I was giddy. I wanted to spill paint everywhere. My son thought it was quite an exciting idea too. However, once the paint hit the wood panel he had an urge to mix the paint into a gray soup. I compromised and let him work the backgrounds as I handled the main subject; copper creatures of imagination. We developed a visual language together and understood what red and black and white and copper mean in their relationship to each other.

Some fathers, I am sure, have other ways of engaging their children in activity like trips to the park, hikes in the mountains or visits to apple festivals. I do all those things as well, but somehow making art with my young expressionist seems more fulfilling.

During Colonial America, it is purported that a son began practicing the trade of his father around the age of seven or eight. So, if the father were a shopkeeper, the son would be directly instructed in the family business. The son would even wear a similar wardrobe to his father (i.e. a blacksmith's son dressed like his father and a farmer's son dressed like his father). This practice is honorable though not entirely practical in this postmodern era. I like the idea of my son growing to be come a painter or poet, but I understand that my journey is not his journey. My father is a clergyman. I am not a clergyman, but rather a new products manager. My father’s father is a farmer and his father was a farmer before him. There is something that was passed down from generation to generations; love for the word. Though our occupations or job titles are or were different, we all share a love for the written word.

Maybe twenty years from now my son and I may strengthen our relationship by spilling paint together or sharing a love of the word together over a cup of coffee. Until then, we wrap black bandanas around our skulls, wear paint splattered jeans, and spill paint onto wood panels while listening to Dime Store Prophets sing “Truth is getting so hard to paint/ Just chasing the wind, No place to begin/ Mister, you’re not the first/ Try working with dirt/ Yeah, sure, o.k. Monet.” Part of avoiding muscular and intellectual atrophy is exercising the mind and body artistically by making art. Part of avoiding the atrophy of a relationship is the exercise of making beautiful memories.

Originally published in Wander, Winter 2006