Today, another Tuesday, marks my ninth Talisman Tree, a veritable forest. Just last week I had prints made of the previous eight, wanting needing to see how they looked for real. Not on a computer screen. Real. Something concrete. Something forever.
When I held them in my hands, I experienced a myriad of emotions. Relief (they looked as I imagined they would), joy (they looked as I imagined they would), awe (they looked as I imagined they would). I had a lot of self-doubt about these; I was so sure I'd be disappointed. What a wonderful feeling that I am not.
This tree had a mind of its own. It's supposed to be purple. Lilac, to be precise. A pastoral shade. Innocent and pretty. The tree is a lilac, photographed earlier this year, before blooms appeared. To honour that, it was my intention to tint the entire piece an appropriate colour. But the art would have none of that: it was going to be orange, maybe apricot or peach, not purple, whether I liked it or not. It was also supposed to feature a plethora of fairies and, at one point, it did. But they all flew away, leaving one lost soul behind.
Art is funny that way. We think we are in complete control of our art, but often we are not. Sometimes, I think, our conscious self is merely a conduit for a creative force springing from somewhere deep within us. Likely the same place where intuition lives.
When I held them in my hands, I experienced a myriad of emotions. Relief (they looked as I imagined they would), joy (they looked as I imagined they would), awe (they looked as I imagined they would). I had a lot of self-doubt about these; I was so sure I'd be disappointed. What a wonderful feeling that I am not.
This tree had a mind of its own. It's supposed to be purple. Lilac, to be precise. A pastoral shade. Innocent and pretty. The tree is a lilac, photographed earlier this year, before blooms appeared. To honour that, it was my intention to tint the entire piece an appropriate colour. But the art would have none of that: it was going to be orange, maybe apricot or peach, not purple, whether I liked it or not. It was also supposed to feature a plethora of fairies and, at one point, it did. But they all flew away, leaving one lost soul behind.
Art is funny that way. We think we are in complete control of our art, but often we are not. Sometimes, I think, our conscious self is merely a conduit for a creative force springing from somewhere deep within us. Likely the same place where intuition lives.
1 comment:
I absolutely love this. Do make some lovely greeting cards or something to gift.
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