The Electrical Life of Any Artist
This week I have a consolation post for any artist!
We start from a movie and then let thoughts fly from top to bottom and come back up.
The Movie – The Electrical Life of Louis Wain
Just a couple of days ago, I watched an inspiring movie called The Electrical Life of Louis Wain. It’s a story about the illustrator Louis Wain (1860-1939) who got famous for his cat drawings. Louis Wain’s life was full of misery, he was poor, responsible for five unmarried sisters, lost her wife to breast cancer soon after the marriage, made bad business decisions, and suffered grief and mental illness.
And yet, Louis’s cat drawings were fun illustrations full of liveliness and details.
The Two Undertones of Any Day
The movie felt strangely therapeutic. Maybe partly because it expressed so well what I had been thinking lately: how life has both melancholic and uplifting undertones and how important it is to recognize and make room for both of them.
For Louis, life had two separate sides – the harsh reality and the wonderous world of imagination. I think that many of us can relate to that even if in our lives, the melancholic and uplifting undertones would spread more evenly. If I think about my artist life, there have been so many rejections that where I am now is a small miracle. And if I think about the future, more small miracles are needed to move forward.
Here’s a short video about my journey so far.
This video was published on my Instagram account first, so the proportions were optimized for that.
Those Who Believe in You
In the end, you only need to have one person who believes in you as an artist. Many times you can be that person for yourself. Like Louis, the world of imagination has the power to keep the uplifting undertone going.
But for me, there have been times when a small miracle has been needed – that someone else brings me up. When Louis found supporters in the movie, I thought of mine. They are a part of my electrical life story. Who could be yours?
It wasn’t easy to contact any of them – ask, apply, and reach out just after losing the belief and energy, but doing that has pushed me forward. Sometimes they have been friends, but many times strangers who have given me a chance to connect with their audience. In the art world, and especially in the fine art world, people are hesitant to accept outsiders. But once you get one door open, some others will open up too. The number of your supporters will grow step by step.
Opening Up for Small Miracles
In the beginning, art was something I did in secret. If I didn’t believe in my art, I simply stopped creating for a while. But the more I created, the more I wanted to find connections with other people. First with others who create, and then more publicly. After going public, stopping is much harder because you start to see wider: There must be someone who says yes.
I see that the melancholic and uplifting undertones are wrapped around each other like two plies in a yarn. By expressing both of them, not only a person but also her art becomes stronger – more touching and captivating. It’s then easier to make small miracles happen – have positive electricity as Louis Wain would put it.
What do you think? Have you seen the movie?
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How Your Personal Story is Related to Your Art
This week, I share how my newest painting was born. At the same time, I talk about how the artist’s personal story affects the outcome.
My paintings usually reflect the current season. But now, when there’s a fall in Finland, something springy appeared on my canvas. I call this one “The Spring of Dreams.”
Observing a Flower – Engineer’s and Romantic’s Approaches
Last spring was beautiful. The apple and cherry trees were blossoming.
And with the early summer came wonderful irises.
I often take photos in the garden and examine the plants. As a former engineer, I try to see how they are constructed. Not how the petals are attached and such, but how the light constructs the flower, adding its own brushmark to it. As a romantic, I try to see a face of a flower. I look at it like it would be an animal or a human – like it has a name and a history. I am not searching for its eyes but trying to sense its needs and dreams.
This way, I don’t need to copy photos but can paint freely and intuitively. Then when random shapes begin to look like a lighted plant, I try to give it what it wants, even if it’s often a species that doesn’t even exist.
The Fight Between Too Stiff and Too Messy
However, the painting process is not always as straightforward as it sounds. Often the engineer adds something stiff, and the romantic wipes it off. Then the romantic makes a mess, and the engineer tries to clean it.
The engineer in me likes to build things with a brush: “There’s a chair, look!”
The romantic in me likes leaves and swirls more.
Artistic Direction and Setting Guidelines
To stop the fights, I gave an artistic direction that set challenges for both of them: “We will be making a dreamy floral that has purple. The painting should fit a modern, feminine home that has some rustic elements as well.” Both the engineer and the romantic understand had a common understanding of style when picturing a space where the painting should fit. When I use this method, I choose a location in my home or a picture in an interior design book, or a photo found on Instagram.
When I was studying industrial design, these kinds of simple and concrete guidelines were called design drivers. Design drivers are different from design principles. Design principles are general guidelines to make your image more expressive and aesthetic. Design drivers are project-based and loosely define the outcome.
Design drivers prevent me from painting this and that, but I try to make them so general that I can get creative and freely express myself. For example, the requirement to use purple in a painting is not a big limitation.
Personal Story and Art Projects
Behind design drivers, there’s a more general foundation, an artistic vision. My paintings always lean toward the past and have a historical feel. As an artist, I want to combine the past and the present in an uplifting way, creating a fantasy of immortality for the interior space. Because I lost both of my parents at a young age, I never thought I would live old. This way, my artistic vision, and personal story are connected.
I claim that art-making has many layers. It’s not only about the process, techniques, or assignment. The artistic vision and the personal story matter as well. You always have a chance to bring them in, whether you are painting or drawing. For example, if a course sets the starting point, the creative challenge is how to include your artistic vision and story in the projects. This time, rather than listing things you love, go deeper and think about your struggles. How do they define what you want to achieve in art?
Adventurous Art is Like an Action Movie
This week, I show you my newest painting and talk about the adventurous side of art.
I am not a big fan of action movies. I love their beginnings when the sun shines, and everything is fine but leave the sofa when something terrible happens. Then things get out of control, cars get faster than they should be, people lose their relaxed look, and the life that appeared so organized first falls apart. Some fly up towards the darkness while others fall down. Nothing is like it should be. Everything requires movement and action in that disturbed world.
However, when I paint, I always end up in an action movie. So for me, a painting can only start by facing fears. It’s like carefully opening the curtain and trying to adjust the mind to tolerate the rough surroundings first, then find the beauty and spirit in them.
Facing the Fears – Starting a Painting
For years I searched for my artistic voice from things I loved. But ironically, I found my tone in the things that feel appalling. So, like a young man who sits down and picks the next action movie from Netflix, I go to my studio, fill the palette and hear the opening notes.
Unlike the man, I have never wanted to be an action hero, and still, I sail against the storm with only a few brushes as my companion. Before the first high point of the movie, the man thinks he should do something different, clean the dishes, or read a good book. And similarly, I question if this profession of mine is sensible at all. After all, it’s only the paint that I maneuver when the others keep the world going.
But then, like the man, I get immersed in the adventure. He is no longer a young bloke without the skills of an action hero, and similarly, I am no longer a middle-aged woman. There’s this dangerous jungle, and we are on a mission to clear the mess and make justice.
Telling the Story Under the Surface
Like in an action movie, the violent and cold setting hides another layer – vulnerability. The story behind an action hero is always heart-breaking. He has lost or left a loved one or protects someone he values.
At best, the painting is not only full of action but brings up what’s behind the sharp strokes.
Dealing with Distractions
Just when the movie reaches the climax, something mundane happens.
The young man’s phone rings, the washing machine peeps, or the dog wants to go out. “Just when everything began to unfold!” I shout with him.
But sooner or later, we return to the movie, enjoy the freedom, and finally reach the happy ending. When the adventure is over, our minds are a bit empty, but that is what action movies do. They take you to another place and reset your mind.
Creating Adventurous Art is About Producing Too
Being a painter is still a little different. Instead of only passively watching, you are also actively creating. While enjoying the freedom, you also produce it. You design the environment, act on all the roles, and direct the plot. It takes time to learn all that.
However, I feel that the best adventures are revealed by painting.
When flowers can then be the actors, not just silent models, a flower painting is far from boring.
What do you think? What does adventurous art mean to you?
Butterfly Art and Beyond
This week, I have some butterfly art, stories from the past, and plenty of inspiration for art-making.
Here’s the newest spread of my colored pencil journal. I think it’s a little different than the pages so far – more detailed at least! You can see most of the previous spreads in this video; tell me what you think!
With this butterfly fantasy, I want to take you more than a hundred years back in time – to the end of the 19th century when a famous Finnish artist Helene Schjerfbeck (1862-1946) painted Violets in a Japanese Vase in 1890.
Although Helene wasn’t as famous back then, she had traveled and studied abroad. And now, she had just got back home after spending a year in Paris and England. After painting people, Helene was now drawn to make nature-themed pieces. It felt refreshing to change big and challenging portraits to small landscapes and still lives. Flowers became Helene’s consolation pieces. When she was sent to St. Petersburg to copy Russian masterpieces and thus bring educational reproductions to Finland (“here’s how the masters paint”), she painted flowers for her own joy in the evenings. (See Helene Schjerbeck’s later style and my adaptation for colored pencils in this blog post!)
I can relate to Helene. My main work is big oil paintings – abstract florals or landscapes – but I also make art that soothes and maintains rather than breaks through. While the first pieces of the new series are drying and waiting for their next layers, I feel drawn to the boxes of pencils.
At the beginning of the week, after painting the whole Sunday, I wanted to draw something just for me. “Butterflies!” my inner child asked.
Here’s how far I got in one evening. This was before I traveled back in time to meet Helene – and another artist called Torsten Wasastjerna!
Fantasy Art in Villa Gyllenberg
In the middle of the week, my husband and I visited Villa Gyllenberg in Helsinki. It’s a museum that used to be the home of Signe and Ane Gyllenberg in the 20th century. The house was built in 1938, and it has a wonderful location near the sea.
A part of the museum is a furnished old home with an extensive art collection, including Helene Schjerfbeck’s violet painting.
Just recently, Villa Gyllenberg got a new extension for art exhibitions. The new space has high walls and plenty of space, but still, there was something too big to fit there straight!
This is Torsten Wasastjerna’s oil painting Falling Leaves, made in 1897. It’s 550 cm high and 370 cm wide, one of the biggest Finnish paintings ever. My husband agreed to model beside it so that you get an idea of how big it is.
Inspired by Torsten Wasastjerna
Like Helene Schjerbeck, Torsten Wasastjerna (1863-1924) got an education in fine art and studied abroad too. But his consolation was fantasy. He did commission portraits to pay the bills but loved illustrating fairies and angels. He even wrote books. The first one was called Dröm och Värklighet – Dream and Reality.
Torsten Wasastjerna’s fantasy world wasn’t as surreal as mine, but it felt close.
When I got back home, I was inspired to work on the butterfly piece with much more detail than I first had planned.
I added a person, a butterfly girl or a boy, to one of the wings.
Butterfly Art and Beyond
I am impressed by how dedicated Torsten was to his fantasy art, even if it was not valued by others.
It made me think that I, too, can create “butterfly art” that goes beyond the butterflies – that challenges both my imagination and dedication.
So, I spent more hours than normally with this spread, adding details and then adjusting their shapes and colors.
It felt like my pencils reached a new level, getting closer to my heart than before.
The world that is naturally and effortlessly born in my paintings fed the more illustrative work too.
All this makes me think about how important it is to go to see art and use that for inner discussions: how am I different, what are my consolation pieces, and how do I show my dedication to art? Then butterfly art can go beyond butterflies in the same way as Helene’s violets are not just “violet art.”
What do you think?