As a nonrepresentational artist, I'm often asked where my ideas come from. In the past I would hesitate to answer because the origin of an idea is hard to explain, even to myself.
I’d be thinking… does this person really want to know the pedestrian nature of idea wrangling?
“I was waiting for an oil change” or “it came to me while I was eating cereal” seem insufficient responses, though not wholly untrue. Artists spend their time, after all, trying to make magic out of common ingredients; a kind of alchemy.
Finally, after years of stumbling over the answer to this question, it occurred to me that an answer may not be required. Inquiry can be a pathway; a flashlight beam cutting through the dark of a neighbor’s yard. Taken as an invitation it can simply be an open door to walk through.
From any point of view, curiosity is the cornerstone of the arts. It seems the more we encounter a thing, slowly unmasking its complexities, the more our feelings grow to meet what we know. For instance, the wine I liked when I was 35 is not the wine I love at 60. Familiarity has broadened my appreciation.
While you’re visiting my website or seeing my work at a show, you have two opportunities: I hope you’ll fall in love. I want you to take home a piece of art that makes you feel like the doors of the universe just swung open and all things are possible (art's job, after all).
I also hope you’ll take time to look at the artwork that seems less familiar. If we're fortunate enough to see each other at a show we can talk, and I get a chance to explain, to hear your thoughts and exchange insights. It’s a little harder online, but still possible.
But growing to appreciate a new art form or style does not always require that kind of dialogue. Just looking, with genuine curiosity, is a form of communication. Wonder itself opens new doors.
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