Reflections

It's been a time of firsts lately, as I've prepared for and then opened my first solo exhibition. And today, as part of the opening weekend at Kina Gallery, I was in the gallery to do an Artist's Talk – to share about myself, my process and my works. The recent blog on Kina's website talked a little about this and Katie O'Neill's photographs showed some of my painting in action, but I saw today's talk as an opportunity to share in-depth and in my own words.

I've spent the past year consciously working on sharing more regularly my process and my work (often warts and wall) via Instagram. I'm a private person mostly, and not the best at styling things to make them 'gramable', but what I do share are truthful reflections of my work and what my creative energy is going towards. 

So today's talk was a great chance to share further. I baked a cake, put it on a beautiful plate by the talented Marita Green, and headed to the gallery shortly before the 1pm kick off to chat with anyone who popped by. 

And here is what I said:

I’ve titled this talk – Learning to let go

I’m learning to let go of assumptions, let go of outcomes and pre-conceived ideals, let go of perfection, judgement and failure and in doing so, I’ve found a process for creating art that is instinctive, playful and liberating.

It’s not entirely about freedom, because any creative engagement is a battle of sorts, and a constant stream of decision making, trade-offs and an interplay of ideas, but my style of painting allows me to intuitively answer these questions and provides an outlet for conversations with my inner voice.

Tena kotou, welcome and thank you for coming along. I want to start by saying that I work primarily alone. Painting, is for the most part, a solo sport. And I’m not often in a position to talk about what I do or about my work with others. I create on my own, in a small space at the end of our garage, my ‘studio’, whilst the kids are at school, and hubby is at work. So, to share in this way today is novel and exciting, but also foreign to me. But here goes. I’ll attempt to share with you over the next 20minutes or so the who, why and how of it all.

I’m Vicky. Auckland born, Wellington trained and now residing in New Plymouth. I’m Mum to 2 young boys, and wife to a fabulous Taranaki man. I’m a freelance design and brand consultant, creativity advocate and artist. 

I couldn’t tell you exactly when I started painting, but I think I always have. I was fortunate enough to grow up in a creative household, with a mother who always had art making tools at the ready and a father in the textile industry. I have fond memories of adventuring into the basement studio of my Grandparents’ home to inhale the smell of my Grandfather’s oil paints and examine his brushes and palette knives. As a youngster I’d always have a creative project on the go and a trail of mess in my wake. I studied art history, print making, photography and design at secondary school and went on to attend Massey’s College of Creative Arts in Wellington. 

From here my creative energies were largely channelled into commercial design work, and for well over a decade I did very little personal work. With the exception being a collaboration with a writer and illustrator for a couple of children’s books circa 2005. 

Until 3 years ago, when I began meeting each week at Pukekura Park with a dear friend (another local artist Alana Clarke). We’d meet up to draw botanical scenes and specimens whilst we chatted and caught up on the week’s events. Those drawing sessions culminated in a joint show in October 2017 here at Kina Gallery and from there I’ve continued to engage in painting regularly and to further fine tune my style. A style that I don’t really have a name for, but in preparing for this talk I thought it best to call them cut-outs and I’ll attempt to clarify this as I describe my process, my inspiration and my work a little further.

I say cut-outs, but of course there isn’t any actual cutting out in the true sense with these works. Rather a use of paint in solid, or almost solid density to mask areas of the layered paint effects.

I came to this cut-out way of visualising through the work of Henri Matisse. I’ve long been a fan of his works, and his way of capturing movement. Even in still-lives that should present a staged and still moment in time, his perspectives and colour choices seem to make objects within the compositions move. I particularly love the colour and form within his cut-outs from the latter years of his life, where he sculpted with scissors and Gouche painted sheets of paper. I was captivated when I saw the MOMA and TATE Modern curated shows of his cut-outs (which I saw via the Exhibition On Screen series). The scale, the colour pairings, and in particular a dance performance piece that was created as part of the show. I obviously can’t present it in a public setting such as this, but accentually, a solo ballet dancer, dressed in full body suits to match the colours of Matisse’s works, performs a carefully choreographed dance piece inspired by the cut-outs. It appears to be simple yet complex at the same time, carefully composed with both elegant and sharp movement. I loved these dichotomies and the energy of this work. For me, it was the perfect way to explain to an audience, the movement I’d seen in the compositions of these 2-dimensional works. This said, I’m not about to break into interpretive dance right now to explain my paintings, but wanted to share that this ‘ballet meets art’ piece inspired me to explore movement, natural form, colour and the idea of choreography in my own work.

I’ve found that I connect with the notion of cutting out and covering up, and realised early on that these terms would normally mean you were wanting to avoid something or hide something from view. Whereas in fact the opposite is true. In cutting into an area new form is revealed. It is actually about highlighting and sharpening our focus, or bringing into view something that wasn’t visible before. It’s almost as if you’re working in reverse by painting backgrounds.

And I think the same thing is true with silhouette effects. Apparently silhouettes came out of necessity in 18thcentury France when their then Finance minister, Étienne de Silhouette slashed budgets and people could no longer afford to have their portrait painted. But from this reduction, came a simplicity that seems perfect and deliberate. 

When you are forced to look at an image with reduced detail and simple colour, usually just the relationship between positive and negative space, your eye is re-trained in a sense to see details you may not have seen previously when dealing with distracting detail and clutter. And I compare this to the early hours of each day and also the ambiguity of dusk. The light plays tricks with our surrounds and we’re left to fill in the blanks. Where I live, from my kitchen window each morning I look through to a stand of Macrocarpa giants. And the sun rising behind, places these trees into silhouette, along with our neighbouring roof lines and closer objects. And I love that such a familiar scene (a view that I see throughout the day, every day) can appear to be so simple and surprising even with the familiarity. Rational me, says you know it, you’ve seen it millions of times before, there is no need to look. Yet due to the simplicity of the scene presented in low light, I can always find a detail that fascinates in the striking contrast in which it is presented. It is also a time of quiet in my day, where information overload doesn’t exist.

So my process…

I begin quite literally with mess. Free play. Letting go completely of any notion what a work should be about.  A psychologist suggested to me many years ago that I’d do well to replace the word ‘should’ – something I apparently said with high frequency, with the word ‘could’. Could didn’t harbour any pressure or guilt. Could was about possibilities. And this comes through in my work. I give myself permission to play. I spread paint around, I spray water onto the surface. 

I use my favourite trusty rubber thingy (pictured below) and move the paint (and sometimes ink) across the canvas or board. At this point colour doesn’t matter. Form doesn’t matter. It is about whole arm, free movement and gestural mark making. I have combs from the $2 shop, brushes and palette knives, rollers and sticks, even some dried flax flowers. It is really about covering the canvas and, in a sense, anything goes.

I then wait for the paint to dry, and I repeat, building up the layers of paint and starting to look at how the layers are interacting to create serendipitous paint effects. With canvas I’m obviously limited to painting then scrapping or wiping back of wet paint. But with the boards, I’ll often take out my electric sander, or hand sand back to scratch into the paint.

Once I have a few layers of paint, I’ll start to cut in, or paint translucent forms. For the most part, the forms are created by painting in a solid colour, or semi-transparent background. Again, waiting for it to dry and then painting another layer of ‘cutting-in’ or covering up. And this is where an interesting thing happens for me as the artist. I shift from free play and mess making, to controlled and intentional brush work, yet the sense of freedom and flow remain. And I can’t explain why this is, other than to say that the forms I cut in are coming from the free play and shapes I can see within the painted layers, and not something I’ve conceived or am forcing on the work. The work seems to present the possibilities rather than me applying them. 

Some years ago, I heard the talented Taranaki artist John McLean, share about a starting out process he has for his visual narrative works. He flicks and throws paint onto the canvas or paper, and then from this, he forms his composition – based on the densities, colour shifts, and so on. And at the time I heard this explanation I was intrigued by the randomness of it all, but also dubious. I couldn’t work out how this could work, and the sceptic in me said that I thought it wasn’t entirely honest. But now that I’m working with my own creative process, albeit with an extremely different outcome (I’m not for a second claiming to sit alongside McLean), I can see how the work itself can present possibilities for composition.

At a subconscious level I’m making decisions about colour and the lines I contour. I even find myself visualising the shapes when I close my eyes to sleep at times. But I never sit down on my painting stool in front of a work, and think today I’ll paint a blue work with a golden bloom slightly left of centre.

My inspiration...

I’ve talked about Matisse as inspiration. Another artist I love is sculptor Alexander Calder, known for his large scale kinetic mobile works and his ability to find perfect balance.

Another influence is music. It is rare to find our home in silence. Whilst I’m not the musician of the house, and there are definitely times I seek solitude and safe haven from a novice 6- year-old drum enthusiast, I do have my go to artists and Spotify playlists. I love to paint to Folk and Jazz, and in particular contemporary artists that are blending genres. The likes of Chilean Camila Meza, also Robert Glasper. Even Queen and groups like Imagine Dragons, who are mixing folk with electronic rock, pop rock with R&B. I’m responding to music that is not one thing. The common thread being artists who are blending, as this connects with my process and style. 

Obviously, there are botanical references in my work. And I very definitely started this style of painting with time in nature, parks and gardens paying close attention to leaves, blooms and seed pods. This then extended to birds and then to moths. With a view to try and free myself up and capture movement and flight. I’ve also recently looked a little at Japanese wood-cuts and kimono fabric designs.

And when I paint I am in almost constant conversation with myself. Not aloud, but reflecting on how I feel, what I think and considering imagined scenarios to the happenings of my world.

All this makes me sound like a crazy lady, but painting does provide an outlet. A place for honest expression of emotions and intuitive response to things that are in focus for me at the time. These might be deeply personal, or wider. But I have found that painting enables me to let go of much of my ‘head stuff’ by putting it into a work instead of carrying it around. The result is less self-talk and more work.

Some specific examples...

Emerge, 2019 Vicky Lord Art

EMERGE – is my personal reflections, my frustration and small wins of parenting a child on the autism spectrum. Capturing moments in time, and aligning or arranging these to examine and appreciate subtle shifts in personal growth and development. 

Finding Light, 2019 Vicky Lord Art

FINDING LIGHT was my response to the Christchurch terror attacks of March 15, and a recognition of the peace and growth that followed with the community wide grieving and support for each other. 

IMAGINED LANDSCAPE (pictured below) is a visual capture of opposites – with forms that seem to float and others that are heavy and weighted down. Light vs dark. Foreground vs background. 

Imagined Landscape, 2019 Vicky Lord Art

One of the formula I’ve included is for gravity theory and the other explains how differently weighted objects will fall at the same rate within a vacuum. So, this work for me anyway, was about making sense of things that don’t immediately make sense, and trying to understand how to respond to something that you are not able to influence. It is about finding balance when imbalance is presented to you. I heard the stunning voice of Ny Oh a few weeks back sing the lyrics ‘dreams are a soft place to land’, and I immediately connected those words to this painting. By day I can feel like there are many balls to keep in the air, forces pulling or pushing past, moments of float, pause or leap, and at night all the opposing forces seem to soften and settle into their natural place.

And the cluster of geometric works (Above: Light Dance One, Complex Arrangement & Light Dance Two) look at moth flight paths, and in particular research into the evolution of some moth species and changed behaviour patterns as a result of increased artificial light sources, and what that will mean for our nocturnal pollinators. A little sideline fascination that got me thinking and distracted on the internet for a bit.

Clearly my work is not just one thing. But the style and the process used to create them is the same, regardless of the outcome.

The blue keeps showing up. It’s a favourite. Originally inspired by Frida Kahlo’s home in Mexico called Casa Azul. I fell in love with her Mexican courtyard and desperately search around trying to find the perfect blue so I could emulate her garden at our own property and paint the back wall of our garage to be a colourful Frida’esk courtyard oasis. And I then had a number of test pots left over. 

It is also reminiscent of Matisse’s series of blue cut-out female nudes, and clear blue-sky days. So, the colour has stuck. As a general rule, I don’t shy away from colour. Our home is eclectic and colourful, and I love to dress and accessorise with colour. I paint in colour because it makes my heart sing.

It is not unusual for artists to borrow from their sources of inspiration and to mix inputs together in the pursuit of a unique creative solution. And that is exactly what my process is about. It is a bending and blending of techniques and styles, in a way like Jazz music is. I’m working freely with very random mark making, but also with control and precision when selecting and applying the solid colour areas. There are harmonies and tensions within works, there is an energy created by colour vibrations and layering. And a sense of calm that comes when you step back to take in the whole view.

And that is what I unintentionally create. I’m learning to let go, and let the works be. To let them speak for themselves. 

Where to next…

Right now I’m pausing to breathe following a more intensive painting time preparing for this show. But engaging most days in something creative is vital for me, so my pause will be short lived while I regather myself. 

And whilst I’ve put my brushes down for the moment, in recent weeks I’ve continued to explore the idea of negative vs positive space with paper cut-outs. Not only does this relate directly to the inspiration and influence of Matisse, but it provides a medium to create visual narratives in simple, 2 dimensional and highly contrasted form. For now, I’ve called this new project: Beneath the surface, and I’m wanting to visually tell stories from underwater worlds and I’m playing with light and shadows as part of this exploration. 

I’m new to paper cutting in this way, so the challenge is refreshing and frustrating in equal measure, and that tells me it’s worth exploring further. 

And I’m going to dedicate more time to my facilitated arts-based workshop business (called Make Your Mark) which is essentially about using creativity as a tool for improved well-being, and helps workplaces harness the power of creativity to cultivate change.

Many people think they can’t draw, or claim to be devoid of creative abilities. The truth is that all human beings are creative, we just stop trying. Usually between the ages of 8 and 10, when we have enough vocabulary on board to express ourselves with verbal and written means, we become acutely aware and concerned by what our friends think and with a focus on competition and success, begin to compare our abilities with our peers. Our education system also channels our thinking into narrower, more traditional fields in order to standardise outcomes and produce productive units for our economy. All this is before we’ve even begun talking about the influential role of technology and media on our creative problem-solving development. 

So as adults, we find ourselves separated from creativity as a tool for effecting change in our lives. Now creativity is being touted as ‘the’ wonder fix for all things in our lives and is a common place headline in the media (it’s replaced sustainability and green that was washed over everything 5 years ago). But what we don’t have is the facilitation to move from awareness to action, and that is the space that I’m called to work in.

These quick and easy reads by Austin Kleon (picture above left) are great for anyone looking for tips on how to create, or keep creating. And I use my website and social platforms to provide ideas and insights. They say it takes 28 days to make or break a habit, and my vision is to encourage as many New Zealanders as I can to actively engage in a creative outlet. To make their mark, find their voice and share the best of themselves with others. In doing so, they will improve their happiness, health, innovative and productive capacity and enrich the social fabric of our country. I often come back to a quote by Oliver Wendell-Holmes, that is a favourite of mine – “One's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions.” 

So that is me. This is my work.

I’m more than happy to answer questions if you have them, but equally happy to let you explore the show. Thanks for listening to me and I hope it provides some context.

Enjoy the Taranaki Arts Trail if you are visiting the work spaces of our local creatives this weekend. Enjoy your visit to Kina. And enjoy being curious and creative. 

Nga mini. Kia tau te rangimarie ki runga i a koutou.

Photography credit: Photographs are c/- Kina Gallery and Katie O'Neill Photography. Photographs were taken during a visit to my home/studio in the lead up to my current exhibition: The Colour of Light. On now at Kina Gallery. See more here.

For future updates you can check back here on my Curiosities page, or follow my Instagram account, click here

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