The Pursuit of the Original in Art - Digging Deeper into What I Paint and Why
It's a weird feeling to see that the work you like to produce fits into a movement, oeuvre, genre, or whatever and to question why that is.
It's not that I want to create things that are not a response to the long history of art and human experience, but I still wince at the idea that I could be seen as aping other artists or too easily influenced.
In fact, I am embarrassed to admit that for a fleeting moment, I felt very special and original with my Ouija board-based paintings. Truly, anytime you feel original, it means you are less informed than you think you are. Not being original doesn't mean that you are mimicking someone else; it just means your brain isn't a magical portal to unmined imagery and ideas. You haven't thought of the unthinkable.
After reading a post on Wurzeltod by the unfailingly honest Suzanne(and why I cherish her presence on the internet) about a current trend in contemporary art, I realized my work could easily fit into the fault she finds in it.
I guess that's okay, but it left me confused. Why is this imagery so popular right now? I have some theories, and the only ones I can come up with are why I'm attracted to them. Perhaps we all got into our parents' dusty attic boxes and found their seventies magazines and hippy mystical books balanced with others spreading fear of Satanism and the New Order attempts at creating new witchy peons through Saturday morning kids programming.
Maybe.
However, my parents never seemed afraid of me being corrupted or led away from a god they had chosen. In fact, they raised me with no religion, more out of not having time for the effort than any lack of belief. Our house used to be owned by a Jewish family. There was a Hebrew letter built into the backyard stone grill and a Jewish good luck symbol screwed into the door frame of the front door. I remember feeling upset when I wasn't allowed to remove it and take it with me when I moved out.
Outside of my home was a big, scary Catholic world. Those kids told me spooky stories about the Smurfs and taught me to play Bloody Mary games in the bathroom. Those were the kids who grew alarmed when I pulled out an Ouija board. I adopted their superstitions for play. I found books about poltergeists in my elementary school library. In middle school, every girl had a ghost that haunted them. Some of them believed in it. I didn't want their faith, but I loved their superstitions. Being fun and scared made me feel full of adventure. I was truly scared of many tangible things. It was better to be "pretend scared" of things I was sure didn't exist.
My family didn't have neo-pagan books in the attic, but they did have Dianetics and guides on hypnotizing, all on a basement shelf. My father also collected books about local ghost lore and treasure hunting in abandoned towns. He sat up with me and watched Histories Mysteries, narrated by Leonard Nimoy. I snuck back even later and watched Unsolved Mysteries alone in the dark.
I don't know why other artists paint the things they do, but mine are more about my lack of belief in the supernatural and my wish that I could find control and comfort in ritual and superstition.