Untitled 71

Pastel on Sennelier LaCarte, approx. 3" x 3.5".

Battling the migraines again. Two nights ago was the worst one ever, and that's saying a lot. :(

Loriann asked me to talk a bit about my process with this Strata series. 

I first cut a square or rectangle of LaCarte, which is still my favorite pastel paper (though PastelMat was great for the cloud paintings). I then grab whichever color calls to me. Some days it's a neutral, some days it's something highly saturated. I put down that color as one of the two main blocks. Then I grab a second color, whatever seems to be calling me. It may be similar to the first, or very different. When it's quite different, I often think it will end up being more of a challenge to make the painting work, but that's not necessarily the case at all.

Really, I just go on like this. Once I have the two main color blocks, I again grab whatever feels the most appealing at the moment, or whatever it feels like the painting needs. I try not to think about it. When I analyze or take time to ponder, it kind of kills the color magic for me. I'll make a thinnish or thickish line, and then again my hand hovers over the pastel boxes until something calls out, or I'll look at the painting for a while and realize it's asking for a certain color... 

This process goes on until the painting feels complete to me. Sometimes I'll love it, declare it done, but then can't resist trying to add just one more tiny little line--and ruin it completely. Other times, I'll think it's done but then some random crazy impulse seizes me and I grab a color that actually feels all wrong--it's surprising to me that this ruins the painting only about half the time; an additional quarter of the time it has a so-so effect, and a quarter of the time it just makes the painting in a way I never would've expected.

While I'm working like this, putting down a line and then responding to it by deciding whether to add a new line and if so, what color and how thick or thin, I start noticing that the painting has a definite feel to it--serene, say, or vibrant. If it's too serene, I might add something vibrant, or vice versa. Or just let it have its head and see where it might go. If I kill the freshness by going over lines too often (many of the lines you see are the original line, though sometimes I go over parts of lines), the painting dies immediately.

I probably have success in perhaps one in seven of these Strata paintings. Since they're small, I don't feel too bad about tossing them if they don't work. I don't rework pastels, unless it's a very occasional tiny piece of a line. I seem to have some sort of belief that if it doesn't work, it wasn't meant to work, and there's no point belaboring it; better to start afresh. In the same vein, I never try to copy myself. Yesterday I made one I absolutely loved. Of course I tried to add just one more tiny line...and the painting instantly expired. Sigh. But I don't try to go back and fix it, nor start a new pastel using the same colors. If I start a new pastel, it will genuinely be new, with no lingering thoughts (hopefully!) about the painting that just died. I try to be zen in that way.

Some of these look geological to me (hence the series name Strata), some look like landscapes or waterscapes, some just feel like pure color exploration to me. Some end up with just a few lines, or really a lot of lines, some with broken lines, others with intact ones. Some end up feeling calming, others provoke excitement. I feel that each piece I begin knows what it wants to be, and it's my job to midwife it and try to not to squelch its identity as it grows. I'm having fun.

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Mojito (aka the Moji Monster).

It's so boooooring to wait while your little brother has his bath.

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At the weavers' center, Hyderabad, India.

$295.00 - Untitled 71 (Framed)

More art on my website: jalapfaff.com