Ive been noodling around with the idea of lenses and filters and how that connects to communication. This was the seed of a body of work I’m putting together for an upcoming show.
Over the last year, I’ve played with these filters. A drawing of the word “knot mind” in blue ink and “not mine” in red ink overtop of each other so they’re unreadable. Then a red acrylic sheet filters out the red text so you can read “knot mind.” Switch to a blue sheet, and now you can read the red text instead. It’s a fun interactive concept. But as I sat there trying to think up enough phrases to fill a collage style gallery wall, it quickly become a stretch. Thinking about the viewer’s experience, I could imagine the novelty wearing off pretty quick. It didn’t seem like it has enough “umph” yet. (If you want to see what I mean by this, check out the Instagram page.)
I also started having second thoughts about the materials. My initial tests used the riso machine, and while I love that process, I am pretty limited by size. And, only using red and blue ink on white paper to make the filters work might read a little more patriotic than I want at a glance.
When One Door Closes…
So, I dug into my art supplies to see what else might be interesting. My go-to is layering up watercolor, oil pastel, color pencil, and a final outline layer with a black crayon. This layering style was an easy connection to the layering in our messages that the filters speak to. So, I was onto something with the materials, but it didn’t solve the “umph” problem.
For that, I dug into old journals and notebooks for inspiration. I forced myself to really think about what I wanted to say with this series. What are the layers coded in messages that I’m trying to get at? What is it that I’m mulling over currently that ties all of this together? I had those questions in mind as I sifted through my journals and took new notes. And suddenly a lightbulb clicked. One that keeps the playful invitation to engage before finding the heavier message underneath. I’m not ready to share what that is yet and that’s not the point of this post anyway.
Another One Opens
With that, I had enough to get back to experimenting with materials. I can’t run oil pastels through the riso machine so that means I needed to get the watercolor layer down first. The riso ink doesn’t dry on transparency sheets, but I read that vellum might work. Except watercolor crumples the vellum. This is starting to sound like a math problem.
I made a quick sketch on the different materials and started printing things off to see what worked best. As suspected, the velum didn’t take to the watercolor, and although it does hold the ink, it just seems too much of a hassle to try to keep going down that road. It also still didn’t solve the sizing issue. With this new style, my brain is started seeing these images pretty large. The other thing I learned was the riso underneath the oil pastel is too obscured to make it worth it, especially as this scale.
So, what I decided by the end was to scrap the riso process for this filter piece and maybe use it to make a smaller zine people can take home. Use the watercolor/pastel/pencil style at a really large scale for some specific pieces and keep a few of the red/blue filter pieces in the mix.
I feel pretty good with how the working session ended. I have the larger theme that feels strong enough (for now). And some real insights into how the materials will work. No final answers but that also wasn’t the point. It was a session to research and experiment, to inform my next set of questions.
The Permanence Trap
Here’s the part I want to sit with for a minute though, because I don’t think it’s just an art thing.
I could have locked in that first filter idea seven months ago and forced it to be the show. Committed to it fully, defended it, built the whole wall around it, so I never had to sit in the discomfort of not knowing. That would have felt like progress. It would have felt like relief, even. But it wouldn’t have been right. It would have just been final.
That instinct (the need for a decision to be the last one you have to make) isn’t really about the decision being correct. It’s about being tired. It’s wanting to be done deciding, not necessarily wanting to have decided well. I see this constantly in the entrepreneurs and business owners I work with. You pick a business model, a pricing structure, a service offering, a hire. Some part of you wants it to be permanent because you don’t believe you have the capacity to go through the decision-making process again. So, you defend version one long after the studio, or the market, or your own gut has told you it needs to shift.
That’s exhaustion wearing commitment’s clothes.
Where I Go From Here
My next step in this actual process is to start doing thumbnail sketches of the ideas I jotted down while reviewing the journals. Most of them probably won’t make it to the final show. But each step informs the next.
This show isn’t for another seven months, and it might seem excessive to start now. But this theme is on my mind, and as someone with a creative practice and a business that serves others, I know I need the time. Some days I need to dig into this work and make. And sometimes that doesn’t get out of my system in half a day. If I have to get right back to looking at an Excel sheet when my brain wants to make, well, that makes me feel a little mentally constipated.
What This Means For You
The idea that you’re supposed to have it all figured out from step one, that the first version of your business, your services, your team, will still look the same five years later, is kind of laughable. If that’s the case, you’re not stable. You’re in stasis. And that’s basically like being constipated.
The work isn’t supposed to arrive whole. Neither is the business. Let the idea morph as you learn more about what you’re actually making. You’re not being indecisive. That’s the process working exactly like it’s supposed to.
If you’re still in the exploratory phase, check out our interactive research tools.