Recently I read a great Substack post by artist Harry Stooshinoff, a retired schoolteacher. It started something like “I’m pretty old now, and one of the benefits of getting old is you get rid of what you no longer need… including self doubt and worry about whether your art is important.” He goes on to describe how he has changed his artistic practice over time to suit his nature, his practical constraints like storage space, his life. He describes how he follows what feels exciting - this brush mark, that pencil line. He no longer worries about galleries, but sells work on Etsy.
This all felt like a revelation. A permission slip.
But it also feels like holding a lit match and some damp newspaper at the campsite. A spark is there, but will it catch fire?
There is self doubt and the discomfort of potentially disappointing people. I stumbled into a style that is fun and punchy, built on a particular stylized and abstracted approach. I built a website and some marketing materials around it. But things change. I change. The art I want to make changes. So what happens when it takes a different course? I could deliberately stick with a particular style, build a brand, fit myself into what is expected. If my primary focus were sales and galleries, this might be the thing to do. It works. People like knowing what to expect.
But that would be premature. I’m still working my way into processes that feel truly authentic and sustainable. Maybe I always will be. I like Harry’s focus on following the things that feel exciting and alive. That feels resonant.
Sometimes I grasp through fog to try to find it. Sometimes it’s painting out in the mountains. Yesterday, it was these acrylic landscapes on dark brown watercolour paper, chasing free, expressive brushstrokes. Today, the idea to make a linocut calls.
Tomorrow, who knows.
Taking this approach requires accepting that some who liked what I made before might not like what comes next. It means embracing that I can’t know either, what is around the corner. It means a continued commitment to asking, at each moment, what is exciting now? And then following that. Wouldn’t it be interesting if it leads me right back to where I started? Like crawling up a Slinky. Around and around and back to the same spot. Just a shade higher.
But hey, it doesn’t much matter - as they say, 100 years, all new people. And I think this is what Harry was getting at. In the end, it all leads to the same place, so why worry? Just do your thing. It’ll be fine.
In more practical news, I’m proud to say I will be participating in an art market with the Cadmium Art Collective soon! November 8th at Orange Hall, 10:00 to 4:00. It’s behind the Strathcona farmers market, between the library and the Fringe theatre. I’ll have some painted linocuts, paintings, and some of these new explorations into other ways of working. And I’ll be alongside 11 other fabulous local artists. Hope to see you!