If you’re like me, or literally anyone else on the planet, you’ve probably made a New Year’s Resolution at some point in your life. But I’m here to tell you that the generic “I’m gonna lose some weight” resolution is no more than a recipe for a binge-eating cake session in less than a week.
Thing is, the person you were on December 31st is the exact same person who wakes up in your bed on January 1st. We have to stop kidding ourselves into believing that we are brand-new (insert your pronouns here). Because we aren’t. The diet may have started, but the person you are still loves cake, and you’ve already been invited to two birthday parties in January.
So what are you to do? Just give up and eat the cake?
I mean, if it were me, I’d eat the cake.
But if losing weight were a really important goal for me, for health reasons and for the sheer fact that I no longer have any pants that fit me, I would focus less on the generic “lose weight, diet, exercise” mentality and focus more on forming a habit that will lead up to my goal. Like, maybe I could form a habit of doing 20 minutes of yoga each morning, or maybe I could form a habit of logging into my fitness pal every day after lunch. The goal then becomes less about losing weight, and more about establishing the routine that will eventually lead up to the weight loss.
Forming habits is not easy, and you’re going to have a few days in January where you either forget or say “today’s not the day” but once that habit is established you won’t be able to do anything else at 10am besides roll out the yoga mat. In fact, your day will be weird without that action, and you might even find yourself doing it later in the day so you can achieve some normalcy.
So, stop giving yourself these generic New Year’s Resolutions. Instead decide what it is you are trying to improve upon, and then think of the habits you can form in order to achieve this goal.
But Lina, you say, isn’t deciding to form a habit kind of like a resolution? Sort of! But it’s less “I will” or “I will not” and more “these are the habits I’d like to establish in the coming months.”
Instead of “I will do better in school,” form a habit of studying for an hour each day at 5pm.
Instead of “I will be more optimistic,” create a habit of writing in a gratitude journal every night before bed.”
Instead of “I will stop smoking,” form a habit of repeating a mantra each time the craving kicks in, or form a habit of going to a therapist each week to learn some great methods to fight the urge.
Having some trouble forming that habit? Try a habit tracker. You can find them in planners, journals, and there are dozens of phone apps with habit trackers as well. Make it fun. Treat yourself when you get to 10 days, 50 days, 100 days, etc.
One final bit of advice…avoid trying to change something that relies on external forces. For instance, “getting more followers” or “making more sales.” Goals like these are a slippery slope that will most likely leave you feeling resentful. You can definitely form few habits that may lead to more followers/sales/etc., but these habits are not a sure thing and on the off chance that you just so happen to make these goals at the beginning of a year like 2020, well that just uproots the whole plan.
Your goals should be something that you yourself can change, without relying on outside sources or the public or your audience. Goals like these, achieved by establishing a daily habit, are going to be the most successful, and leaving you feeling the most fulfilled.
Until next time, may your New Year be exciting and full of endless possibilities.
The Lina of the past wrote in the beginning of her 2022 Passion Planner that she wanted to “establish herself as an intuitive artist” by May. She also wrote that she wanted to finally start showing in Columbia, show in St. Louis, have a large-scale series, and to move to a new house with a studio space (with lots of natural lighting). While not all of those things happened this year, I can say, as Present Lina, that I had a pretty decent 2022.
But it wasn’t without its mishaps, trials and failures, and good old fashioned life. There was no way we could have predicted the massive inflation here in the U.S., the drunk moron who would total our second car in June, or the death of our beloved Canary, Apple. We, as a family, also caught Covid a week before our vacation, something we had tried so hard to prevent with vaccines, masks, and hand-sanitizer. Is it time to quote John Lennon here? I think it is:
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
That might actually be my biggest takeaway from the year 2022, that no matter how well-planned you are, Murphy is still right around the corner, waiting to throw you a curve ball that will send you down a completely different path. 2022 added new therapists, med regimes, and a second car payment. If I could change anything, it would be only to bring Apple back, so I can hear him sing during the sunrise, and while watching musicals on TV.
I think it’s important for all of us to take a moment to reflect on this past year. What popped up that was out of your control? What did you accomplish and what did you mess up? Did you learn any important lessons? How are you different today than you were on January 1st? Doing this kind of reflection is a great way to prep you for the impending 2023.
Here’s mine:
Successes of 2022
Art in the Park: This was an event I had been getting accepted to since 2020 but due to the pandemic was unable to participate as it was canceled each year since. Except this year! I finally got to see what it was like to be a part of a huge, multiple-day art festival. Not only that, but it was a big eye-opener as to what the public is drawn to and how to give my booth a more “professional” look for next year’s event. I even gained some networking points and am now part of the 1st Fridays in Columbia.
Columbia Art League: This is one of the art galleries in Columbia, and the one I had been wanting to submit to for so long but could never work myself up to it. This year I decided that since I was going to be a part of Art in the Park, that a membership to this gallery was a must, and I have since been a part of several of their exhibitions and have even made a few sales and won an honorable mention ribbon.
The Eccentric Chai Podcast: Perhaps my biggest success of the year is my podcast, Eccentric Chai. I had been tossing around the idea of starting a podcast since 2020, but it wasn’t until this year that I finally decided to go for it, and it wasn’t as hard as I thought! Just like everything else, it’s a learn-as-you-go process. With the podcast I had to learn how to use Audacity, how to get my podcast on multiple platforms, and how to prevent myself from spending the entire week working on one episode. I have big plans for the podcast in the year 2023 and I’m excited to get started.
This painting was a fail for me, but that’s common with intuitive art.
Mishaps
I don’t want to call these “failures” because technically you never “fail” at something unless you give up entirely. These things are more mishaps, and so that’s what I’m calling them.
Doubting Myself and My Art: This isn’t necessarily a preventable mishap, as this is practically in the job description of an artist. At some point we will doubt ourselves, our art, our “brand”, our “style”, and everything in between. We will worry that we aren’t contributing enough to our family when we don’t sell enough. We will worry that we are spending too many events “working” and not enough events just spending time with our families. We will get overwhelmed with FOMO and Impostor Syndrome and existential crises and all those other fun issues we deal with as creatives. But it’s important to not let these issues bog us down, rather remind us why we chose this career path in the first place. Why do you do what you do? I’ve only just recently figured this out and it’s the end of the year. So don’t beat yourself up if you’re still confused.
Patreon: I don’t know why I keep trying with Patreon (I suppose I should read above), but I gave it another go this year and it has still barely gained any momentum. My hope is to better my marketing skills in 2023 so that I can get more patrons. A steady paycheck is very important to this career, and Patreon is one of the only places—other than teaching—that I have found to give me that option.
Marketing: Which brings me to marketing. This is yet another learn-as-you-go process. You find what works and what doesn’t. As Andy J. Pizza would say, you have to “write while onstage.” But my issue is that I didn’t add any further research to my marketing tool bag. I need to focus on my professional development in 2023, read a few books on business and maybe even take a class. The better I am at marketing, the better I will be able to prevent the previous two mishaps.
Lessons Learned
There’s too many to write about, so here’s a list:
How to better set up my booth at events
How to make flyers and brochures for marketing
How to host a podcast
Consistency is KEY
When you finish a painting, FOLLOW THROUGH. Scan it, post it on your shop, frame it, don’t just toss it in your portfolio and move on.
Take a break (the world won’t end, and neither will your career)
Your best moments in this career will not be monetary. Instead they will be the time your student called your intuitive art class, “finger painting for grow-ups,” the time a mother cried because her son was so passionate about art camp, and that evening you taught intuitive art to cancer survivors.
To-do lists will change your life
Goals for 2023
I’ve already mentioned a few, but let’s get specific.
Podcast Interviews: I have always loved listening to artist interviews on other podcasts, and have wanted to do the same on my own podcast. 2023 will be the year I finally start interviewing other artists.
50 Patrons: It’s not a huge number, but it’s a specific one, and specific goals are always much more obtainable than general ones. Once I add those marketing skills to my tool bag, my goal is to get this number before the end of 2023.
Watercolor Classes: I have given them in the past, but now I want to give them weekly. Because of the lesson I learned that “consistency is key,” I know that weekly classes, held on the same day at the same time, are far more successful than the occasional, sporadic classes. I also want to start doing my intuitive art classes weekly as well.
Work Larger: This was a goal for 2022, and while I did work larger, I didn’t finish anything large. But I have some new ideas and I can’t wait to get started on some big surfaces. It will be one step closer to my career goal of painting a mural in the city.
2022 had its flaws, as does any year, but damn it was a good one (and busy). The amount of events I did in 2021? Two or three. The amount of events I did in 2022? Over FIFTEEN (and I still have two more scheduled this month)! I exhibited in new places, taught kids’ camps, won 1st place in the Chalk Art competition, and became a part of the Art Heals project here in Jefferson City. My family and I went to St. Louis to see the Van Gogh exhibit (Goo said it was one of the best days of her life), traveled to Cedar Point (on a plane!) and rode a busy subway to downtown Chicago.
Don’t get me wrong, we had our shit days. We struggled with the inflation and gas prices. We had to watch what was happening in the world on the news and feel completely powerless. We buried Apple beneath a tree on a cold January day.
But my hope is that I can take these moments and put them in the “I lived through it” file. I don’t want to dwell on them, but I don’t want to forget them. And I want to give the fun stuff more focus. A lot of times we only remember the bad stuff, but it’s the bad stuff that makes the good stuff good. Right? That might be the biggest takeaway from the year.
My 2023 New Year’s Resolution is to pay more attention to the good stuff, the good memories, the good feelings, the fun days with the family. To not let them be overpowered by the bad stuff, but rather enhanced by it.
Until next year, may your Holiday food be hot and filling, and you and your families be happy and healthy. See you in 2023!
Let’s face it, we all live in our own happy bubble. Most of the time. We get used to what works and go with it, because why fix what ain’t broke? We get the same order from the coffee shop, cook the same meals, walk the same routes, wear the same outfits, talk to the same people, go to the same places on vacation.
And this isn’t just true with our normal day-to-day lives. As artists, we’ve also created our own creative bubbles. We choose the same color scheme, the same medium, the same surface, even the same spot next to the window to work. Same background music. Same subject matter. Same camera. Same brush.
I get asked a lot of questions, especially at events where I’m creating live (let me just say…it is hard to do intuitive art when you have an audience). Most of the questions are general “break the ice” politeness, and/or are from fellow artists who are intrigued by a certain hue I’m using and wanting to know which one it is so they can go purchase it for themselves.
But there are a few questions that have been popping up since the very beginning of my creative career. So I decided to answer some of those right here on the blog.
One of my most frequently asked questions is about my medium. People ask me what tools I use, on what paper, and my answer is always pretty vague, because as I’ve said before it’s usually in passing at an event.
What I say is: “it depends on the day and on my mood.” Which is true, but I suppose it doesn’t really answer the question. To be honest, I love using a variety of mediums, but that doesn’t mean I like using them all. So I’m going to share with you some of my favorite (current) go-to tools.
Watercolor: it’s flowy, drippy, and delicious. I love watching it bleed into other colors, and don’t get me started on granulation. Drool. Some of my favorite brands are Daniel Smith and the Watercolor Confections palette boxes by Art Philosophy (current favorites are Currents and Woodlands).
Watercolor Ink: again, it’s flowy, drippy, but I can use it in concentrated form or dilute it to get something super light. I like that these have droppers so that I can “draw” with the dropper, making it a lot easier for me to improvise. Favorite brands are Dr. Ph. Martin’s Hydrus watercolor inks, and a discontinued watercolor ink by Brea Reese (I still have a few drops left).
Iridescent Inks: I can use these with my dip pen to add some shimmer to my pieces. I’ve also been known to just pour them on landscapes to add some sort of magical effect. Along with the iridescent inks I also enjoy using regular India Ink. My favorite brand is, once again, Dr. Ph. Martin’s.
Ink pens: These are the best go-to for me and my improvised art. I’ve recently been attached to the Sharpie pens. They don’t bleed, have two different sizes, and they last a lot longer than any other ink pen I’ve used (including Micron). The nibs also hold up a lot better.
Brush pen: I have one brush pen that I love. It was a whopping 20$ but it was a wise purchase, as you simply have to refill it when it runs out. The brush has also kept up well for over a year. It’s still like new. The brand I’m using is the Pentel Pocket Brush Pen.
Hot press paper: To me, there is nothing more delicious than an aging sheet of hot press paper by Canson. This 100% cotton paper is super versatile (I’ve used just about every medium on it) and when I use it for sketchbooks, the pages become like old book pages in a dusty library. Yermy.
Khadi Paper: Khadi! If you’ve been following me like…anywhere…you will know how much I love this paper. This is also a versatile paper and can seriously take a beating if you want to hit it with every medium you’ve got. It’s also hand-made in India, and has beautiful deckled edges and a slightly textured surface.
Another question I hear a lot is “what is intuitive art?” and for good reason! I mean, it’s not like it’s mainstream information to the general public, and even to the artist community. For those of you who have been listening to the podcast, or reading this blog, you’ll know that I’ve covered this topic multiple times. In passing, however, it is very hard to sum it all up into one sentence. So I simply say: “it is basically improvised art. I just pick a color and a tool and I go.” Sometimes people will want me to elaborate, but most are okay with that definition.
As I’ve said before, however, Intuitive art should be defined individually. So start with that very basic definition of improvised art, and then move on from there. What does it mean to you? What is intuition to you? Do you believe you are working from the subconscious? Or do you believe it’s more than that?
I had a conversation on my Twitter with a poet who wondered if intuitive art took away from the idea of the creative genius, as it shifts away from the individual? Or if it actually reinforces it by saying one is channeling their own creative genius through mere intuition. It was quite a philosophical conversation, and one I’d love to maybe have an entire episode about later. But for now I’ll just say this: I personally believe the subconscious is just another halve to your whole. You have your conscious self, the light side, the awakened side, and then you have your subconscious, the shadow self, the automated side.
There is a theory out there that your subconscious remembers everything that has ever happened to you, as it has the storage capacity to do so, so would that not mean our subconscious would be unique from person to person? Which would then make intuitive art unique from person to person? It’s possible! But then there are those who simply look at it from a scientific perspective and say the subconscious has no identity, no creativity, and no awareness. It is merely the automated part of yourself that keeps you alive so you don’t have to sit there and think about things like breathing. I’m not sure those who look at it from that perspective would even believe it was possible to draw from your subconscious mind.
But then again, intuitive art isn’t always about the subconscious mind. Because, as I’ve said before, it is going to have a different definition for everyone. Some don’t even think about that shadow self. Instead, to them, intuitive art is all about the fun of creating. It’s about the process, and nothing more. To others it’s a form of meditation. As for me? Well I think all of that…and I also believe we’re getting into some deep personality theory and my last personality theory class was in college ten years ago, so I may have to do a bit more research before we can discuss this one further.
Perhaps one of my most popular questions, especially lately, is, (and I’m paraphrasing here because this question is asked in a variety of different ways) “How do you work so fearlessly? Aren’t you afraid you’re going to mess up? What do you do IF you mess up?” This question is usually followed up by the statement: “I’m too much of a perfectionist.
I have a fun fact that may help you feel a little better about yourself:
I’m a perfectionist too.
When I first started out I would draw my bunnies out with pencil, then carefully with an ink pen. If any line was even a little shaky, I threw out the entire thing and started over. I wasted a LOT of paper. Then, when it came time to paint with watercolor, I would paint it in such a way that there wasn’t even a tiny little blemish–you know, the character of watercolor–and I even had someone ask if my work was a print. Because that’s what it looked like. It didn’t even look like a painting. And still, I would look at my bunny portraits and shudder, because I would see that one line out of place, or that one little pencil mark that I couldn’t erase all the way.
My problem then was simple, I hadn’t failed enough. It sounds counterintuitive, but the only way I could learn to accept failure was to fail.
When I was introduced to the term “intuitive Art” in late 2018, I still had that perfectionist mentality. But I had found a way to have so much fun that I didn’t care. I bought cheap sketchbooks so that I could screw up as much as I wanted and never show anyone. I played and experimented every day and I messed up every day. Once I got used to that, I had to start branching out and painting on my expensive Canson paper. That usually stops me in my tracks, and it did for a while–it still does–but the more I got used to screwing up, the braver I got.
What I liked about my Road Maps collection was I allowed myself to have that perfectionist side of myself come out a bit, because they were meant to look like maps, which are usually uniform, but I was also allowed to relax and just draw shapes. Sort of like a Zendoodle. They were meditative, from the staining process with coffee to the tiniest details with tiny nibs.
Now that I’ve been attempting to work with acrylic I’m messing up more than ever, mostly because I don’t figure out a color scheme beforehand–which is bad. Bad Lina. Don’t do that. Do as I say and not as I do. When you don’t come up with a color scheme beforehand it can create a huge mess. And it does. That was bothering me, even a few days ago. Because while I may appear brave, I’m not always a fearless artist. In fact, most of the time, I’m scared to death.
Because, and here’s the cold hard truth here, if I can’t create anything, I don’t make money, and if I don’t make money I can’t help pay bills, and if I can’t help pay bills we can’t live our lives outside of work because we’re pinching pennies. It’s a lot of pressure! Not to mention, as I said before, my supplies can get expensive, so I’m spending money and if I don’t make that back and I can’t help pay the bills, well then what the hell am I doing prancing around with a paintbrush instead of getting a real job? Trust me, after dozens of fails and no success, the impostor syndrome is real.
But a few days ago, when I was wondering how all of these awesome abstract intuitive artists on Instagram do each painting so well, and wondering what they do when they mess up–and wondering if they ever have the same doubts about their work as I do–I saw a video by Josh Jensen, showing his process on a certain piece and he mentioned below that he’d had to cover up certain sections, and so I re-watched the video and lo and behold, about halfway through he covered up half of his canvas with white and started fresh. What he said beneath the video has stuck with me, and I even wrote it down so I could re-read it when I was feeling icky, he said
“Sometimes to move a piece forward it has to move backward, but this is all part of the process. Don’t be afraid to try new things, cover them over, and enjoy the layers.”
Like O.M.G. did he just give me permission to screw up? Hell yeah! So I’m going to be taking his advice. I’m going to be brave and experiment and make those marks even though I’m afraid they won’t work, or that they’ll mess it all up, and if they mess it all up I will simply cover them with white paint and start again. And I’m going to remind myself that those failed layers are there, beneath the success, sort of like my identity. Right? Aren’t we all just a jumbled mess of wins and losses?
Finally I will make the same comment that I hear everyone make: you learn from your failures. If it was simple and everything went smoothly, then how exactly did you evolve?
I’m going to answer one last question on here, and that question is “how did you get started in intuitive art?” First of all, that’s an interesting question, because I don’t think I’ve ever not done intuitive art. Even when I was working on my bunnies I never had a plan in mind. I just drew shapes until they became something more and then I went from there.
I can remember doing a newspaper interview at a gallery reception and the reporter asked me what set my art apart. By then I had moved from my bunnies and was fully immersed in the world of improvised landscapes. I told the reporter that my unique quality was the fact that I never had a plan in mind. I would just go with the flow. I probably even used those words: go with the flow. But at that time I was still defining my artistic identity as what I painted and what tools I used. I was a watercolor artist who painted landscapes. I hadn’t yet determined my style should have been more about who I was as an individual and how I liked to portray that.
In my case, it was intuitive art, but, as I said before, I didn’t hear that term until the end of 2018, when I took Marie-Noëlle Wurm’s Skillshare class on improvised abstracts. I remember seeing her work in the intro of the class and I was like “ermergerd I want to be this kind of artist.” Her work was–and still is–so organic, and emotional and you could tell it comes from a place deep within the webs of her creative soul.
I wanted to know more about this type of art, so I researched and researched and I learned it’s actually a modern form of art–even though I later learned it was started by the Surrealists–and I perused the art of so many amazing artists out there who work without a plan. They just grab their tools and go. I took more classes by Marie-Noëlle and I took classes by Laura Hornand I became a patron of Marie-Noëlle so I could join her live painting sessions and I learned so much.
Those of you who listened to episode 5 of my podcast will know I continued to struggle with existential crises for quite a while until probably the end of last year and the beginning of this year, when I learned our style is linked to our identity and not our tools. That was when I jumped whole-heartedly into an intuitive art practice. Now every single thing I work on is improvised. I started Wordless Wednesday and I even began to teach. One of my students said that my classes were like finger painting for adults. Because we just play. We don’t learn any rules. We aren’t tied down with “this is the only way it can be done” we simply learn a new technique and then we play. Play with our childhood brains and our adult hands.
I’m waiting for the day that someone says under their breath “my kid can do this.” And I can say to them “duh. That’s the point.” Because we adults can’t paint or draw like kids can. We’ve been wired to make it perfect, to follow the rules, to make it sellable.
Kids don’t have that problem. They just play.
Have another question? Ask below or email me at lina@linaforrester.com and I will answer it on the next Q&A episode on the podcast.
Until next time, may your mediums be plentiful and your art be play.
This could go with the job description, but I’m like…a super homebody. It is very hard to get me out of the comforts of my sanctuary. I don’t have to change out of my PJs, or comb my hair, put on makeup. I don’t have to pay attention to the road or enter society in any way.
But while a lot of us writers/painters/candlestick makers are great at being reclusive, this can be debilitating to our careers. Because we never go anywhere. And when we never go anywhere, our art, our identities, our lives become stagnant. We can’t ignore that lesson we all learned in Soul: that it’s our “spark” that makes life worth living. It’s also that spark that helps us reset, and gives us new material for our creative endeavors.
And my spark just so happens to be the scenic route. The places with the trees and the karst topography and the sunshine and the butterflies and chirping robins. My spark is also, believe it or not, people. People are fascinating. They’re different, and strange, and relatable, and confusing, and creative. But the problem is I gotta leave the house if I want to meet these people and goof off with their kids and pet the dogs walking beside them.
I think getting out of the house is kind of like yoga. The hardest part is rolling out the mat–in this case, leaving the front door–but then once I’m beyond that hurdle, I’m coasting on the very flow of life.
As I do with most events, when I was invited to the Hermann, MO first Friday Art Walk, I immediately agreed, then stressed out during the weeks beforehand. I was going to have to drive an hour away, without my husband and the kid, and socialize with a ton of people I’d never met before. And what about the non-social stuff, like putting up a 10-foot canopy when I myself barely pass 5 feet? And how could I make all of my art, or myself, look professional?
All that stress left as soon as I realized I’d be taking an awesomely scenic route to reach my destination. Highway 94–we’ve always called it the haunted highway since we were kids–runs along the Missouri river, in a floodplain created by the river long ago. On the left-hand side you have towering cliffsides of layered rock. On the right-hand side you have fields and a row of trees lining the river. It’s a beautiful trip. Blasting classic rock and taking the twisty, bendy road gave me the “spark” that makes life worth living, and I instantly knew I’d made the right decision to go.
Scenic trip aside, Hermann itself is a stunning little town. A train passes by the station every ten minutes or so, providing a sort of soundtrack to the bustle of the downtown shops, cafes, and restaurants. On this April Friday, People walked side-by-side, holding coffee cups, squinting in a sunshine we hadn’t seen in too long.
I took a short walk to find where I was meant to set up, and immediately met my “sidewalk partner” who quickly became a new friend, as we both seem to be great at babbling. I didn’t have to set up my canopy (phew!) and I was able to place all of my framed works on a bench next to my tables.
Chatting with the passersby was fun, teaching others about the methods of intuitive art–and asking if they’d like to attend a class–was empowering, but when I let those kids splash with my inks and watercolors, I found that former Pre-K teacher inside of me who’d been dormant for ten years. At the next art walk–yes I’m going again!–I hope to have a separate table just for people of all ages to experiment and create their own intuitive art.
This event will be taking place every first Friday of every month until October. I hope to attend every single one (except June, as I’ll be prepping for Art in the Park yay!). I look forward to blasting Led Zeppelin and gawking at the rocky cliffsides as I head toward the tiny train town with all of its friendly people.
And, like it is now with my in-person intuitive art classes, the urge to stay indoors and be a vampire will no longer be a problem. Instead I’ll be looking forward to leaving the front door.
So I guess the lesson here is, if you’re feeling stagnant, it’s time to rekindle your spark. Go somewhere, maybe somewhere outdoors, and somewhere with people. You’ll thank yourself later.
Until next time, may your days be exciting and your adventures be plenty.
A few months ago I wrote about my own definition of intuitive art and the different ways I might achieve mindfulness through my work. Since then I’ve learned about Asemic writing, automatic drawing and how it was first introduced and practiced by surrealist artists back in the day, and I have since read a variety of definitions of intuitive art.
As I said in the previous post, the true practice of intuitive art may be different for us all, but I believe our end goals are the same. Some days we simply want to enjoy the process itself, the feel of the brush, the sight of Prussian blue. Other times we aim to achieve a deep connection to the self and our identity. Some days it’s both.
Both can be quite the meditative experience. Both can be–and maybe even should be–interpreted once the piece is finished.
An example of my subconscious and conscious minds working together
But as I’ve dug deeper into this realm of the unknowing artist, I’ve found a slight difference between a truly meditative scribble and a scribble that allows me to get a glimpse of the subconscious. I’ve seen both come into play in the same piece. I’ve seen works that are simply one or the other. And I’ve also allowed my conscious mind to play a role at times. Being a follower of the Taoist philosophy, this idea of finding balance between the conscious and subconscious on the same canvas fits right in with my beliefs. It’s a circle with no beginning or end.
So how can we tell the difference between all of these different methods? Is there any one true goal of what we call Intuitive Art?
I believe this all comes down to the very core of intuitive art. If intuitive art is about finding your own flow, your own peace, your own understanding of your deepest identities, then discovering your own definitions and differing methods (and what each method will achieve for you) is also an important part of the practice. And the only way to learn these things is to create. You have to scribble/splash/scratch/smear and make mistakes and have one success for every ten failures (and you have to define a failure and a success) and you have to make a huge mess of your work space and your hands and your clothes. You have to experience intuitive art to learn what its purpose is. For you.
An example of a more meditative work
For me I’ve found that Zendoodles and Zentangles are almost purely meditative. The patterns are often already laid out for us. All we have to do is relax and focus on our pen work. Though these works do start out with an intuitive scribble, or a “thread” as it’s called, to help provide a foundation to the entire piece. But can this single thread be interpreted and teach me more about myself? Maybe for others. But not necessarily for me. The patterns can teach me about my aesthetic choices, and my own tastes, but I’m not entirely sure this is a purely subconscious decision.
My non-zendoodle meditative work often includes a lot of lines and repetition. These marks appear on days I want to simply enjoy the process of creating, or need a way to clear my head. I’ve found with these particular pieces I tend to merge thought and intuition. I will start out with those improvised marks, then gradually work toward a composition. While I didn’t know what the piece would portray, and what story it would inevitably tell, some of my marks are definitely a conscious decision to help flesh out a piece and give it the attention it deserves.
As for the truly improvised work, a daily practice in my Wordless Diary has given me some serious insight into what works are more meditative and what works are definitely drawn out by the subconscious. To tap into that shadow side I’ve begun to use the automatic drawing methods used by Surrealists and what has come to life on the paper has been truly fascinating. These are the pieces that I most take notes on in my separate journal. I will write down what I’m feeling, what I’ve experienced recently, what I may be doing at that moment (what music is playing etc.) and then I search for these clues in my work.
Automatic drawings are a way to reveal our subconscious thoughts/feelings
Take this piece for instance. I was having one of those days in which I was just feeling inadequate as a mother. My daughter had been having her own bad day and was projecting a lot of that anger onto me, and no amount of trying to talk it out was working. That evening I scribbled this out, jotted down in my separate journal about my maternal feelings, and thought nothing of it until a few days later when I returned to the drawing and the notes and noticed there were two shapes. One large, one small. A mother and daughter. Both similar in everything but size. The mother, with long tendrils of wisdom attempting to lead the daughter, whose mirrored appearance hints she is facing the opposite direction.
This kind of interpretation is rare for me, but these are the moments when I feel I truly did the whole intuitive thing “right.”
Landscapes are another way for me to meditate through art
Keeping up with your practice is, in my opinion, the only way to discover your own version of the process. It’s the only way to find your definition of what intuitive art is and what you are hoping to achieve when you sit down to work. This mindfulness will allow your practice to grow and evolve, as you yourself grow and evolve, and those issues we artists have with “finding our style” and “creating a brand” will pretty much blow out the window.
Because it’s in our true nature that these mysteries lie.
Until next time, may your practice be mindful and your work be honest.
If you follow me on social media you might have seen me talking about my “Wordless Diary” from time to time. This is an important tool in both my creative practice and my personal well-being. The works I deem to be wordless diary entries are essential in helping me loosen up, in quieting that logical left brain, and in helping me through whatever it is I’m mentally going through at that time. I’m a big believer in this practice, and so I wanted to come on here and give you a break down of what it is and how you can get started with your own Wordless Diary practice.
What is a Wordless Diary?
Most of you know what a diary is. It’s a book/journal in which you write down your thoughts and experiences and just take a quiet moment to reflect on all the goings-on happening in your life. The Wordless Diary is the same thing, only instead of writing, you draw. It’s a collection of doodles/drawings/scribbles that you made during this moment of reflection. I say collection because the Wordless Diary doesn’t have to be in one sketchbook. It can be in many, and on many different substrates, and created with a variety of mediums.
What are the Benefits of a Wordless Diary?
One of my favorite times to work in my Wordless Diary is when my mind is feeling super cluttered. Sometimes there is just so much going on in the world and in my own life and so many things to do that my brain is nothing but white noise. This is usually when I would start a Wordless Diary entry. By the time I’m finished with that particular doodle, my brain is much clearer and I know what my next step(s) are in terms of getting things accomplished.
Another benefit is the same as keeping a regular diary/journal. It helps you reflect and understand your feelings about what is happening in your life and in the world. What’s interesting is you may not even know what the particular scribbles mean until you’re finished. When done right, it can be an eerie experience.
Finally, for those of you who love to work intuitively, this is a great exercise to start with before working on a larger piece, as it loosens you up and quiets that part of your brain that’s always trying to figure out where the piece is going, what you’re trying to say, when it will be done, whether it is a true “composition” and so on.
How do you Get Started?
There are a few ways you can make an entry in your Wordless Diary. But the initial prep is pretty much the same. Still, throughout this prep process I want you to repeat the mantra: keep it simple.
Find a quiet place: This is important, as you won’t want any distractions while working on your entry.
Choose your sound: For me I like to listen to quiet music. Others may want to hear white noise like ocean sounds or rain falling. Then there are those who want complete silence. Whichever one gets you the most Zen is where you should start. Keep it simple.
Choose your tool: We’re starting with one thing here. Your tool. Do you want to work with a pen? A pencil? Can your brain handle a brush right now? Or are you just wanting to work with something you can scribble with? Keep it simple.
Choose your substrate: It’s best to work with your go-to. Do you have a sketchbook you like using? Or do you still have a few sheets of cold press? Or are you the kind of person who just likes using good ol’ fashioned copy paper? Keep it simple.
Choose your color: Are you feeling red right now? Or purple? Those of you using pens or pencils already have this one covered. Keep it simple.
A note on multimedia and The Wordless Diary: You may see all of your glorious colored pencils and pastels and want to try that new watercolor palette box you spent 80$ on, but this is not the time for an abundance of supplies. Try to keep a minimal amount of tools/mediums within arm’s reach. Those of you using paint or a colored medium like colored pencils or pastels, start with that one color. You’ll know in your heart when it’s time to change. But don’t keep all your colors next to you. Instead choose three at the most to keep nearby in case you get sick of one color. Again, as I’ve said above, keep it simple and work with your go-tos.
The First Stroke is the Hardest
I know that white sheet of paper is super intimidating, but it’s important first to remember that this isn’t a work of art that will be hanging in a museum. It’s not even a work that you have to show anyone. You can screw up as much as you want on this paper and then you can do whatever you like once it’s done. Toss it in the fireplace. Who cares?
Still, I understand what it’s like to have that mental barrier. So here are a few methods I use when that wall is put up and there’s no knocking it down.
The Thread Method
Take whatever your tool is and scribble out a line. Start on one end and work toward another. Don’t draw a straight line, or a wavy line that doesn’t overlap anywhere. Instead, scribble and dart around and go from wavy to sharp to straight to squares to whatever and make sure your thread overlaps several times. Don’t lift your tool until you’ve gotten to the other side. Now you can work with the different shapes you’ve made. Add patterns or more lines. Make one polka dotted. Whatever your intuition (not your brain) is telling you to do. Just do it.
Close Your Eyes
Close your eyes and take your tool and just do things on the paper until you think you’ve got a good starting point. Then open your eyes and work with what you’ve been given. Bonus points for those of you who don’t even open your eyes, and just work blindfolded until they feel their piece might be finished.
Use your non-dominant hand
This confuses your brain so much that it has no time to ask those questions about what your piece is about or why you’re doing it or where it’s headed or (insert nonsense question here). You can use your non-dominant hand to draw your thread, or some shapes, or you can just continue using your non-dominant hand throughout the entire piece.
Use both of your hands
Get two pens/pencils/brushes/pastels instead of one and tape your paper down. Now scribble with both hands at the same time. Use the shapes/lines you’ve made to work from there.
Start ultra slow
Don’t scribble. Instead move your tool slower than it’s ever moved before. Listen to the sound it makes. Watch the medium bleed onto the page. Return to this pace any time you hear your brain starting to creep in with its input. Go even slower than that.
What Should You Draw?
That’s up to your intuition and your impulses. Stop thinking. Just draw those lines, even if they cross over circles. Meet one blob of paint with another blob of paint. Pay attention to your senses and the color(s) and the sounds and the way your hand feels wrapped around the tool. Think about things that you might write in a journal or diary. Re-live your morning in your mind.
Once you’ve gotten the hang of it, you may start to feel things you haven’t felt in a while or remember things that happened over the weekend that you may have simply brushed off. Let those feelings guide your tool.
A Few Extra Morsels of Advice:
Your intuition will let you know when you’re finished.
Never cover up the things that mattered to you mid-stroke.
All of those lines and colors and shapes are there for a reason.
When you’re finished, take a look at the drawing you’ve made and try to translate it. You can learn a lot about yourself from a few speckles of ink.
If you haven’t already, I suggest checking out Marie-Noëlle Wurm’s classes on Skillshare. She is the one who first helped me understand how to get started on the intuitive journey and I will be forever grateful for her showing me the way.
And, of course, if you have any questions just ask me in the comments below! I promise to be prompt and help you the best I can.
Until next time, may your intuition be strong and your tools be forever within arm’s reach.
Those of you who follow my Instagram and Twitter know that I took a break over the weekend from the “business” side of things and instead traveled to St. Louis to visit the Van Gogh immersion exhibit. While there, we also visited the Gateway Arch and perused its underground museum. Getting out of the house and doing something brand new seemed to be just what I needed to get back into my creative flow. Before we even left for the two hour car ride, I was already scratching out landscapes with pastel pencils.
I continued these little landscapes off and on through the car ride to keep myself busy and also while waiting for our dinner. Goo even joined me in the sketching after we purchased her a sketchbook from the Van Gogh exhibit.
And speaking of the Van Gogh exhibit, could there be a cooler thing to experience? The whole first part of the exhibit was quotes from his letters to Theo and tidbits of history. The second part was a 35 minute long immersion experience, during which you could walk around or sit as Van Gogh’s work is projected all around you. Sometimes the paintings would move, portraits would blink, and his sunflowers would grow from behind paintings of wheat fields.
Goo loved the Japanese flowers and Starry Night, and my husband marveled at the night paintings, which had been animated slightly to show the water moving. I myself was in love with all of the self-portraits and admired each one. When we returned home that evening, Goo told us it was one of the best days of her life.
Since our St. Louis experience I’ve been binge-watching both Van Gogh and Monet documentaries. They are two of my creative heroes, and a lot of their philosophies about art, and life, make sense to me. During one of the Van Gogh documentaries, the narrator, who was being a voice for Van Gogh, said that after picking up oil painting: “I painted as I drew.” And something about that line clicked a gear into place.
I had been working with charcoals and pastels all weekend, scribbling and creating my little rocky landscapes, but what if I applied those same methods to watercolors? I decided to give it a go.
These are little paintings, around 5×7 inches, but I love the results so much I’ve already stretched out a large piece of hot press (approx 18×24) for a larger landscape “waterscribble.”
The methods are very similar, though with the waterscribbles I don’t actually “scribble” as that would ruin my brushes. But I do trail the color downward to create those same organic lines resembling roots. With watercolor I also don’t have the luxury of painting over dark colors with light colors as I would with dry media, but I do have the option to use ink or even gouache should I decide I want some lighter colors on top.
For these two pieces I used two separate palette boxes by Prima Watercolor Confections. The orange/red one was the Woodlands palette and the blues one is the Currents palette. For the blue one I also added a bit of copper-colored ink to give it an extra shimmer.
This past weekend has re-affirmed to me that taking a break can be so helpful in moving my career and/or my art forward. I’m hoping that this new boost in creative mojo will give me the energy I need to finally finish some larger work.
Until next time, may your creativity flow and your fun be immersive.
I was first introduced to intuitive art with Zentangle. The process behind it is simple: draw a “thread” and then fill each of the shapes you made with a pattern. The traditional Zentangle method is on a 3.5×3.5 square and the patterns you use are directly from their list. This is so you don’t have to pause and come up with your own pattern, allowing you to work without “thinking.” The process is similar to, if not exactly like, meditation, in that you focus solely on your senses (the feel of the paper, the sound of the pencil) and keep your conscious thoughts quiet. If they come forward, acknowledge them, and then return to your senses. Zendoodling is a similar form of this meditative practice, only instead of working with the restrictions of a square and a predetermined list of patterns, you are allowed to work on whatever size you want and make your own patterns.
But intuitive art isn’t just Zentangle, ink drawings, patterns, and meditation. It’s a whole new trend. Internet searches provide thousands of different definitions of intuitive art, leading me to the conclusion that the definition, just like the process, is completely different from person to person. Still, the basis is pretty much the same: create without restraint. When your brain starts to wonder how this will be a “composition” or whether or not the marks you just made are horrible, acknowledge these thoughts and then return to your senses. The results are even more interesting when you not only let your intuition guide the strokes, but also the colors and mediums themselves.
The whole process is a practice in trusting yourself, as well as translating what your piece is about once it’s finished. It’s incredible what you can learn from a few scratches laid down by your subconscious mind.
For me I have a few different methods of working intuitively. One of them is to hang eight to ten sheets of paper on a blank wall and scribble on each one, moving quickly from one to the next (even using my intuition to determine which sheet of paper to jump to). This keeps my mind from being able to step in, because before it gets a chance I’ve already hopped to the next sheet of paper. I work on all of the pieces at once. Instead of working on one at a time, I lay down one color on each sheet, change the color (or medium), and then lay that new color/medium on each sheet. It’s a random process that can produce some fascinating results. And no two works are exactly alike.
“Unresolved” Drawn when Angry
Another method is to work when I have a lot of mental “clutter” or when I’m feeling an intense emotion like anger. Mental clutter prevents me from getting too technical in whatever I’m scribbling/coloring because I can’t hear my thoughts over all the noise, and intense emotions often provide a fuel to my brushstrokes. I’ve noticed that when I’m angry, my lines are jagged, and when I’m calm, my lines are long and smooth.
Large format is somewhat new to me as I’ve always had trouble returning to a piece and what might have influenced it when I’d first started it. Coming back to a piece often turns my brain on as it’s now in technical mode, paying attention to things like composition and balance. One thing that has been helping me since I’ve started working large format is to remind myself to go back to the senses. If my brain starts to tell me a line I’m using won’t work, or I start to cover up what I’ve done with gesso, I return to the senses. I listen to the sound of the brush, or the music in my ears. I feel the pencil in my hand and the vibration of it scratching on canvas. I return to that meditative practice that intrigued me in the first place.
And when returning to the senses doesn’t work, it’s time to leave my work area entirely. Sometimes taking a break and doing something that has nothing to do with art (Judge Judy, anyone?) is all I need to get my head out of “work” mode and back into “play” mode.
But these are just my methods. There are so so SO many different ways I’ve seen people work intuitively. So with all of these different processes, how can you determine what your ideal process should be?
How to Get Started
Trust the Process: First and foremost you need to understand that intuitive art is about the process itself and not about the end result. Getting into this mindset from the very beginning will help you sense when you’re getting off track.
Make One Choice at a Time: While taking Marie-Nöelle’s Skillshare class on intuitive abstract art, she had us make one choice at a time. From the medium we wanted to use, to the single brush we were going to give ourselves, to one color we wanted to start with. Use your intuition. Literally. Is it a red kind of day? Are you feeling a bit indigo? Is the vibrant color of your daughter’s orange dress stuck in your mind? These are very good starting points.
Pay Attention to your Senses: What do you hear, see, smell, feel? What does the charcoal on paper sound like? How satisfying is it to spread the acrylic on canvas?
Try the “Thread” Method: As with Zendoodle and Zentangle, starting with a “thread” can be beneficial to getting you started. Not only does it give you a general foundation, but it also gets rid of the intimidation of a blank page. Simply take a pencil (or anything, really) and scribble from one end of the substrate to the other. In the work below you can see I started with a pencil “thread” which is still visible in the finished piece and sort of “ties” it all together.
“Conversations with a Friend”
When you Get Off Track: You’ll notice this is happening when you’re starting to worry about whether the yellow you’ve just chosen will clash with a red you used earlier. Or whether your piece is a strong composition. Or whether you should cover something you scribbled out that looks hideous. When this happens, use the quote from Luca and say “Silenzio, Bruno!” And then return to your senses. The color of that yellow is so vibrant and lush. The sound of pastel on paper is so gritty and raw. The feel of the dust on your fingertips is smooth and chalky.
Experiment: What sorts of marks do you make when you’re mad? Happy? What colors do you prefer in the morning vs the night? While listening to heavy metal? While it’s raining? Intuitive art can make for some super fun social experiments. Get a group of friends together and work intuitively while listening to the same song or after reading a work of poetry. Then compare your works.
There are no wrong marks: The thing is…you’re going to make a lot of weird marks. Some of them might be super obnoxious and seem to take away from the whole piece. This is when you need to quote intuitive artist Sally-Anne Ashley and say: “that mark is there for a reason.” Whether you find the mark to be wrong, or something you’d never do if you were consciously thinking of it, it’s there. Embrace it. And then do the following…
“The Little Yellow House III”
Study your Scribbles: Sometimes the funnest part is attempting to translate what your work(s) mean once they’re finished. This is true for whether they are, in your mind, “successes” or “failures.” The cold hard truth is: you will have a lot of the latter. For every one piece I feel is good enough to scan and share with the world, maybe even sell, I have a dozen “not good enough” pieces. Either they are just weird compositionally, or the colors are weird, or they’re too busy. But it’s important to remember that even these busy, weird pieces are still windows into your subconscious. Try to determine what they’re about, or what might have inspired certain marks. Take notes on patterns that come up often and what you think they mean. What do the colors mean to you? Why did you suddenly use the color green when you never ever use green? What memories came to you while working? What did you see in your mind’s eye? Keep a journal that you can write in after each session, where you attempt to translate what your subconscious is trying to say. This is a huge practice in self-awareness, and will help you make more subconscious decisions in the future.
For instance, I recently noticed I am often drawing a little yellow house in my works. I immediately knew it was my childhood home, something I dream about at least once a week for whatever reason. While this was an obvious translation to me, other translations, such as the works in my “Misshapen Rock” series, are not always so apparent and take a bit of reflection.
The last bit of advice I’ll give you is to keep a Wordless Diary. It can be a simple sketchbook, and should be small that you can take it with you anywhere. Doodle in it whenever the opportunity presents itself, like when you’re waiting at the doctor’s office or when on break at work. Put the date at the bottom when you stop and don’t come back to it later. Even if you were interrupted. Other times you can sit with it, such as when you first wake up and have coffee, and doodle out your feelings. It’s a great way to exercise working intuitively, but it’s also yet another way to gain self-awareness and help you understand why you make certain marks, what your favorite lines are, and what is truly important to you.
Because intuitive art is so different from person to person it would be impossible for me to get on here and tell you exactly how it’s done and what the “proper” method(s) are. All I can do is give you tips on what has worked for me. If you have any questions, however, feel free to comment below and I will do my best to help!
Until next time, may your intuition be strong and your works be honest.
When we first stepped out of 2020, I’m sure a lot of us were like Frodo after the ring melted in the fires of Mordor.
And at first it seemed we were coming out of it, especially when the vaccines arrived, but it wasn’t long for me (and most of us, I’m sure) to see that 2021 was more of the same. We still had to wear masks, still had to use hand sanitizer after pumping gas, still had to worry when one of us started to run a fever or uttered a minor cough. This also meant that a lot of the events I was sure would be coming back in 2021, were canceled yet again.
Because of this weird limbo state of having one foot in normalcy and the other still in pandemic-land, my art career continued to feel more like a light at the end of the tunnel instead of a full-time job. Though I understood–and was thankful for it–why certain events were canceled, I still felt something like a leaf in a stream that had gotten tangled in some old debris. While the current continued beside me, I was stuck.
Still, despite it all, I managed to find comfort in many different things that I might not have otherwise, such as journaling (with words) and returning to nature with my detached lens. 2021 for me became less about career growth, and more about personal growth. I learned to slow down. That I had the time, even if I’d convinced myself otherwise, to do something that didn’t have monetary value.
I recently listened to the final podcast of the year by Creative Pep Talk. It was about how to make 2022 different, instead of more of the same. The big takeaway was to take insight from 2021, sure, but to also try new things. New begets new. More of the same begets…well…sameness.
In order to take away the insight 2021 had to offer, we were to make a list of our mistakes and our breakthroughs, and to write the “big lie” we’d told ourselves throughout the year. Doing this exercise gave me some serious hindsight and showed me exactly what I needed to change for myself in 2022.
For me, my biggest mistakes were:
Not taking enough hikes
Ignoring certain passions and hyper-focusing on others (example: ignoring my photography because it wasn’t my “job” and giving all of my attention to the art biz.)
Working in the evenings and/or on weekends
But I also had some serious breakthroughs:
The Bunnified Project on Twitter
Being interviewed for the local paper complete with photoshoot and front page shoutout
Getting back into photography
Taking over the After School Art Club at the local gallery
Starting the Kids’ Photography Club in our city
One big takeaway from my breakthroughs was that getting the community involved with art and/or starting conversations about art (all types of art) is super rewarding to me. This was why the Bunnified project was so meaningful, and why I found I loved running the After School Art Club.
Finally, what was the biggest lie I told myself in 2021 regarding my creative practice?
Actually, I had two big lies that went hand-in-hand.
Lie #1: I don’t have the time.
Lie #2: I have to choose a focus/passion and stick with it, even if it means ignoring my other passions because of Lie #1.
When I look back on 2021 I see that I did, in fact, have a ton of time to do the things I neglected. I know it’s hard to find that mentality when in the thick of things, especially when you are your own boss and have the control over whether or not you get paid, but it’s important for us to remember that the business will still be there when we return. Even if we take a day, a week, or even a month off.
How do I hope to make 2022 a different year?
Well, for starters, I’m going to GET OUT MORE. Being cooped up in the house isn’t as healthy as I’d like to pretend it is, and I get all sluggish and mentally cluttered. Getting out into the fresh air, even for a ten minute walk, does my brain some serious good. The hardest part is leaving the house. Once I’ve gotten past the front door, the rest should be a breeze.
I’m going to focus on allowing myself to take more breathers, to allow myself to have evenings off and weekends so that I can hang out with the fam, maybe play some board games, learn how to use my new Dutch oven. And every time I hear one of the two lies above in my head, I’m just going to repeat Mrs. Chudd in Chrysanthemum:
“Thank you for sharing that with us. Now put your head down.”
I’ve already gotten a head start by redoing my website so that it allows all of my creative passions to show, not just the illustration ones. And I’m working on not using specific categories for myself like “illustrator” or “pattern designer” or even “photographer.” Any time I hear one of these labels pop up in reference to my creative career, I’m going to redirect myself to the generalized term: “Artist.” I might be an illustrator some days. Other days I’m a teacher. Today I’m a blogger. These are identities and they should be placed among other such identities as “mom” and “gamer” and “husky-wrangler.”
To combat this identity crisis I often have in reference to my art career, I’ve returned all of my social media handles to @linaforrester. This will help me see that the things I post are from the menagerie of me, and not from one specific genre or medium. Plus it’s easier for my in-person followers to find me on the web.
Going into the next year, I wonder what lies I will tell myself in 2022, what mistakes I will make. What will my breakthroughs be? What lessons will I learn? Will I finally get into the Missouri Top 50 at the fair? Will Art in the Park actually happen this year? I think the thing about a new year that’s so intriguing is that it’s like traveling somewhere for the first time. It’s all unknown. And that makes it an adventure.
Until next time, may the lies to yourself be little and white and your breakthroughs be extra juicy.
Scribble Chai 