Who’s your inspiration?
When I was young, I copied paintings from Robert Bateman books because those were the coffee table books we had in the house. The internet didn’t exist, and then when it did, I didn’t know how to use it. Also, I wasn’t smart enough to know I could ask for library books about artists, so a lot of my exposure to other artists came from famous painters on calendars and agendas. Classic! 13 year old me would name Bateman, Van Gogh and Renoir.
Bedroom in Arles, 1888, Vincent Van Gogh
I do wonder how I would have been influenced differently if I’d grown up with internet and instagram and many of the world’s artists a key-word-search away.
I took a few high school art classes and truthfully, I don’t remember that much about the history we were taught. I remember it vaguely, like one vaguely remembers the math behind parabolas. But, history indeed there was, and like most text books it heavily features a lot of European men, and it’s a lot of facts about standards classics. As if there’s only one way to teach art.
You start with the Greeks, you move on to the Romans, (with extensive discussions about functional and decorative columns) and then you wind your way around medieval art, embroidery, architecture (specifically churches and mosques) and then a few hundred years later there’s some art about wars and Christianity (and racism). You get some paintings about fertility using fruit bowls. And finally, if you are lucky enough, you get to learn about impressionism, and people the who try, on purpose, not to paint realistically. And that really is the formula for how most people understand art today. There’s a standard path to understanding art.
I’m sorry to be so reductive. Obviously, there are some truly amazing gems within this canon (and seeing them in real life is an incredible experience), but as a whole it seems so ubiquitous, porous, linear, and one-sided.
And so, unless you were lucky enough to go to galleries, or you had access to the internet, or a library, this was the platter from which to choose your inspiration. I’m not saying this is a bad place to start per se, but I am saying it lacks imagination and inclusivity. When Emily Carr is a foot note, what kind of hope is there?
I don’t remember learning a lot about women artists, or basically anything about the large number of contemporary artists that are/were still alive. But- I do remember learning about Mary Pratt – an exception to the rule.
Silver Fish on Crimson Foil, Mary Pratt, 1987
I was not a realistic painter in high school, but seeing her incredible attention to detail and her ability to make reflected light sparkle was inspiring. She hooked me with her fish on tinfoil. All those defined edges and folds and light. I remember looking at those paintings, and how patient, studied and detailed they were and thinking, I can’t do that. (Still correct). Also, every time I look at her paintings, I feel like I’m cooking a meal in a kitchen with a south facing window – slightly hot, and earthy smells. I now realize that what I loved is how she paired stories and emotions with a bonkers technical skill.
I recently went to a gallery showing Prudence Heward and I was absolutely ashamed and angry that I’d never seen her work before. This is what I live for – going to galleries to be faced by my own ignorance. I loved how she painted women, they’re beautiful, but it’s unflattering. To me, there seems to be something hardened and unapologetic about the women she paints; they’re strong and substantial. I love the incongruity of making a ‘beautiful painting’, but where the subject isn’t twee or pretty.
The Immigrants, Prudence Heward
Seeing her work for the first time in real life, in a gallery, was kind of like hearing a beautiful piece of music, for the first time, live. I will always remember the moment when I saw her work, with no real context, and feeling totally floored.
And finally, we’ve got good old Alex Colville. I’m not naming him on purpose. I think the style that I’ve discovered matches his to some degree. The more this was pointed out to me, the more I looked at his work. And what I love the most about Alex are the way his compositions feel freeze-framed. Logically, his figures are in motion. But in my mind, they are in a still diorama. I love feeling of a forced full stop.
Traveller, 1992, Alex Colville
When I first started painting watercolour, I liked to zoom in on a small and specific piece of an image. The more partial-feeling the image the better. I find that he did this in a way, he’s omitting part of the story.
I’m also I awe of how dark the values are in his painting of the horse running down the track. (Horse and Train, 1954),
So for now, those are my top three, an all Canadian cast! I expect it will shift, and would be disappointed if it didn’t. Or at least the list will grow. I did wonder what the difference is between loving an artist’s work or being inspired. Isn’t that close to the same thing? I think it might be. Being inspired doesn’t mean incorporating or changing paths; it means thinking. It’s beyond “That’s beautiful, I like it!”; it’s “That moved me, stilled me, actionned me, why?”. At least for now.
Below are three more artists whose work I’m in love with so if you want to give them a good ole’ google I’ll list them below:
