Typically, I write about my paintings within days, if not hours, of finishing them. But not with this one. I painted You Can’t Make Me Do It, Damn It! in early October, and now, five months later, I am ready to talk abou it, I think.
This piece was born of anger, frustration, and defiance. I had just finished my first art show season, completing eleven shows in four months. I was exhausted and energized, defeated and hopeful, sad and happy, and most of all, confused.
My main objective in doing such an ambitious show season while maintaining my full-time book design business was to determine the viability of my art. Although I received many great comments and praise from many art show patrons, I was still unsure where I stood with my art at the end of the season. I tried to bolster my confidence by reminding myself I sold originals, prints, and more throughout eleven shows, but that did not make feel much better about my art. I needed a much more significant definition of success (more original sales) to propel me forward and give me the confidence I was so sure I needed.
Then, days later, I paid my “mentor” to review my work and give me her opinion and guidance. I thought, “Now this is what I need!” to point me in the right direction and provide the answer I sought.
She recently reviewed my body of work and gave me her opinions:
Then, she showed me a Google search of “interior design trends” and pointed out that all the trends are neutral. In her mind, this was the proof I needed to see as she told me to paint what people want (or what she thinks they want), and all will be good.
My initial reaction was rage, but I did not let that show during our Zoom meeting. Once the meeting ended, I began my stewing process. The rabbit hole was nearby. I could feel its presence.
And then I painted. I wanted to express my rage and heartbreak on the canvas so that I could understand it and, eventually, heal my shattered heart.
As with most of my paintings, I feel rage when I put down the first layer of paint. Expressing strong feelings onto the canvas, knowing I am not hurting anyone in the process, is quite cathartic. As I started to put down the first layer of acrylic paint, the words “You can’t make me” kept replaying in my head.
I don’t like to be told what to do. I don’t think many of us do, but for me, it’s visceral. I’m unsure where my defiance comes from, but I know I strongly prefer doing things my way. If you want me to do something, tell me not to do it. Or ask me to do it. Never TELL me to do it. And if you do, you’ll activate a DEFCON 5 level of defiance.
But there are times when I am told what to do, or it is suggested to me what I could or should do, and I have a completely different reaction. I comply. Not because I want to comply or even remotely think I should comply, but as a way to punish myself for being someone that is so disrespected that others think they can tell me what to do. Shame on me for being that person, is the thought process. So, I comply, despite myself. Yeah, I know, quite masacistic.
My mind was split into two as I continued to add the brown—yes, I said brown—paint to the canvas. My rage and the somewhat violent manner in which I was adding paint to the canvas were my defiance, but my choice of color was my compliance and my punishment. It was a delicate dance that had the potential to blow up into something horrifying or coalesce into something that resembled healing.
When I got the rage and punishment out of me and onto the canvas, I stepped back and assessed the situation. I was calmer and more focused and began to plan my next move. I wanted to continue my punishment a bit more and reached for Mars Black. I added some brown and white to the black and put down another layer in a less violent manner. I was starting to settle into painting, and although I was more in my head, I was also less in my emotions.
As I continued, the emotions began to fade, and I contemplated my revenge: color. But which color? How many colors? I could feel the excitement grow the more I pondered my options. Maybe as a way to keep a foot in both camps, I chose Yellow Orche, one of my favorite colors. It is bright but not too loud, and although it could be construed as neutral, at that moment, it felt expressive and bold.
I added some white, some more gray, and when I felt it was just right, I paused to ponder my “pop” color. I saw teal in my mind and knew this was the way to go. Using a bright teal, I added express marks and stenciled shapes onto the canvas. Oh, it felt so good to see the brightness stand out among all the brown and black. I could feel vindication overflowing my body.
I sat in my “ponder chair” and asked myself if I was done or needed to continue. The answer went back and forth for a few minutes, and an idea sparked in my head. A few months earlier, I was inspired by another artist’s use of letter tiles (like Scrabble tiles) and ordered a bag. I love word games and writing, so the letter tiles seemed perfect for me. I had no idea how I would use them, but I knew that someday, somehow, I would.
Today was that day. When unscrambled and combined with the title of the painting, I wanted to add a word to describe my intent and mental state when creating the piece. I picked out the letters and began to adhere them to the canvas with a heavy matte gel medium. I scattered them around the canvas, some upside down, some not. I added small amounts of paint over and around the tiles to help them blend in.
As I returned to my ponder chair and stared at my work, I knew I was done.
I don’t want to take the fun out of finding the tiles and unscrambling them away from you, so I will not share the hidden word, but here are the letters if you cannot find them in the image above: i a t d f e n.
My mentor is no longer my mentor, and although her words were not what I wanted to hear, I used them to grow and expand my art and mind. I am proud of myself for taking what I perceived as harsh criticism and turning it into something positive and good. I could not have accomplished such a feat in the past.
Thanks for being on this journey with me!
Victoria
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