Beki Borman

I love the way these smaller pieces are going. I think the scale of the piece works well with the scale of the mark making. Also, I could not easy achieve these thick, creamy surfaces on a larger scale without using a different approach completely. There is an intimacy with the paint here. I think it is evident in the few larger works I have posted recently that this style does not translate well large. As I paint these, I experience a very physical connection to the medium. I push and pull at the paint, sculpting shapes, lines, and transitions through the edge of a painting knife. I very much look forward to showing this series.

There was definitely some frustration in my studio today. Ever have one of those days where nothing turns out? Yeah, sometimes I think my head just is not in it. Sometimes I think I paint aimlessly and get lost because I don’t know what I want. I am working on figuring that part out. In any case, I worked on a few different pieces today, and this is one of them. Not done yet because I am not really happy with it. My abstract landscapes are evolving. I have yet to decide what is next. With these thick oil paintings, I can only do into them so many times before the surface is too think and textured. If I don’t get it in the first few shots, it is often a lost cause.

I had a nice three-day class in Door County. I taught “Painting Without a Brush” at the Peninsula School of Art in Fish Creek. The focus of the class was on direct painting methods with a painting knife. I feel I always learn as much as I teach while doing these workshops. Everyone did really wonderful work and it was a beautiful time to be up north.

This image was done from photograph, I was demoing using a painting knife to paint a landscape. I am happy with how this piece turned out, and it may influence the direction my current work will take.

It can be a very difficult thing to throw a painting away. Once I have made a serious commitment of time and materials to a piece I never want to quit. I have struggled through some pretty miserable paintings and have found success in the end. The more I push and the more paint I apply, the harder it is to give up. I understand intellectually that the time and energy are never wasted because the learning process is more valuable then the product. Emotionally, however, it is still a feeling of utter failure.

I came across this Wednesday. There is this painting I have been pulling out and working on for a month or so. I kept changing my mind about everything and it just refused to meet that indescribable place in the creation process where I go “yes!” Such a moment exists by the way.

The paint on this thing was getting horribly thick, so thick I couldn’t reasonably paint on it anymore. After 2 hours I made a quick and sudden decision to end the suffering. Without thinking too long or hard about it I jabbed my pallet knife through the canvas, tearing the piece down the center. Oh the freedom. I had to physically destroy it to prevent myself from ever returning to it again. I felt sad, and frustrated. It was not so much about the wasted time as it was about the wasted paint. I mean, we are talking about a lot of paint. Despite this, I felt very good about myself and my ability to make that decision. I trust that I know when I have a painting worth saving and when I don’t. I got over the loss quickly, but the confidence and relief remains.

This image represents a series of graphite drawings that I have been doing between paintings recently. I will use the drawings, like others I have posted, as reference for paintings. These drawings, I admit, are a bit indulgent and therapeutic. I get lost in the simplicity of line and value. This is a very different approach then the colorful paintings. I get a very different satisfaction from the line of drawing then I do from the contrasts of colors.

Yesterday I watched a documentary about British environmental artist Andy Goldsworthy, called “Rivers and Tides: Andy Goldsworthy Working with Time.” I think the documentary really captures the sense of process. The viewer gets to watch Goldworthy meticulously build site specific structures out of rocks, twigs, leaves, etc. Like a deck of cards, each structure if fragile and subject to factors in the environment. Sometimes,after hours of work, the piece will crumble before completion. However, a finished piece will inevitably be lost to the forces of nature as well. This, as Goldsworthy describes, is part of the art. He sees this end not as destruction, but as a continuation of the creation. What struck me as most fascinating was the dedication to time and knowledge, rather than product. Even if a piece failed, Goldsworthy said that at least he understood his material a little bit better.

Today I walked to my studio only to realize that I had left my ipod at home. I usually listen to audiobooks or news podcasts while I paint. The silence, however, proved beneficial. By working in silence I was able to think about the paintings as I worked. I made clearer decisions and stayed focused. I think that the painting was better for it. I confess, I still intend to go back to my ipod while working, but I think that a break every once and a while is necessary. I was forced to talk to myself (in my head) about the work, instead of painting passively by listening to the latest novel or news item. It was an eye opener.