Cookies On The Couch

Come On In! Take a Seat

In The Breadcrumbs Home I offered up a wad of my favorite quotes as I related them to creativity. I sure threw a lot at you! There were many more, to be honest, but I thought those specific quotes best distilled the points I thought you'd find most helpful. And the great thing about quotes is that people are creating new ones every day!

So I wonder now if you can indulge me with some ideas of my own I've blurted out over the years. I'd like to think that all my years doing this can condense into something perhaps helpful to you at the right moment. So come on in, the couch is comfy, and let me share with you some nibblets I've learned....

Here—Have a Cookie

"Don't get lost in the creative process."

You need to finish what you start, again and again and again. In doing so, you'll complete many pieces rather than fiddling with one for ages, spinning your wheels. Indeed, one of the big ways learners plateau is to futz with their piece indefinitely when they should be saying "done" and moving on. Each new piece presents new challenges, thought processes, and concepts that push you farther and faster than any one piece ever could. Seeking perfection is a great thing, a necessary thing for the technical nature of our genre, but getting lost in it is a problem. Perfecting your piece isn't the same as perfecting your skills. So go ahead—meander in the creative process on a piece...noodle, ponder, fiddle, and tweak, but know there's a point where that period is needed on the end of that sentence. 

Yet also understand, too, that this period could mean the trash can. Yes...sometimes a piece just...well, it needs a fresh start and so Version 1.1 needs to go bye-bye. That's okay though...it happens. The point is, know when this point has been reached so you aren't spinning your wheels faster and faster, getting ever more frustrated and disillusioned. In this case then, know when to fully stop and truly start over with a fresh new sculpture or a new layer of primer.

"Listen to your collectors, not the clatter."

Some time ago, a dear friend of mine observed, "If you notice your critics usually aren't your collectors, are they?" Nope. They aren't. And they have no real vested interest in your work other than bashing it. Being so, it's also unlikely you'll ever win them over. Haters are just gonna hate. It's just how they derive their life force. And some people are just deeply threatened by the success and happiness of another because of their own damaged baggage. That's on them then, not you. So leave them to their outrage and indignation—you don't need it in your life and it'll only distract you. And hey...if your haters made you stumble, they win, right? So chin up, eyes forward, toss those curls, and stride forwards confidently. You got this. Instead, focus on your collectors, those engaged with you, in support and encouragement. They're the ones you should be listening to, they're the ones who deserve your attention. If you're going to pretzel yourself then, do it for your collectors as they're the ones with a genuine vested interest in you.

Likewise, don't forget about your peers. Like-minded colleagues know the shared challenges as keenly as you do, they're in the same boat. Indeed, most of my lifelong friends come from this community, for good reason...we speak the same language. And make no mistake: That kind of belonging and comfort can mean the moon and sun! Because gosh sakes knows, the world out there is inordinately brutal to artists, especially in this community. So lean onto your fellow artists and allow them to lean onto you...we're better together rather than divided, right?

That said, learn to ignore the comments section...to pretty much everything in our venue. Seriously. Don't even go there. See, our community has a terrible penchant for thoughtless, even malicious commentary regarding our art. Much of it is misinformed and a lot of it is downright mean. Honestly, the icky wake generated by a single new debut can be really off-putting as a look for our genre, even devastating for the artist. Too many people just seem to think that their needless opinion should be put out there, but no...not all opinions are created equal and not all opinions are worth blurting out. Yet our community does nothing to police this and so until we revise our toxic social contract, bad behavior will tend to set the tone. So artists...learn how to weather it even if that means avoiding such places where this poor behavior is rampant or simply staying offline for a while after your debut. Your sanity and your joy are infinitely more important! (And check out my blog post, The Critic In The Creative Space for more insights on fielding criticism.) So that said, again...it's your collectors and colleagues who should have weight to their opinions in your view. They're the ones with opinions that count so keep your focus where it needs to be, on them.

"Be bold!"

"Each piece is practice for the next," Ed Gonzales wisely told me years ago. And truly, that's a great way to frame things that lessens the pressure we put on ourselves. Relax. And learning is a continuum with no end and with so many tangents, so careen if ya wanna. As long as you give yourself the opportunity to grow with each piece, you're doing it right.

But think about this, too: Approach some pieces with a purposeful, daring rethinking of accepted convention, especially your own. Don't be timid! And just because a whole bunch of conventional types are yelling at you to do it their way doesn't mean they're right or they understand your vision. Rock the boat! Break from what's accepted, what's a formula, what's dogma, what's a rule. If it's realistic and doesn't depict harm, it's game! So what can you do differently on this piece? How can you make it more novel? What's some unexplored territory you can wander into? What could you learn? What can you innovate? What could you poke at and challenge? Truly, if I don't feel like I'm absolutely going to fail horribly while I'm working, I know I'm not pushing far enough. So if you want to sculpt a Hackney in an unconventional phase of the trot—do it. If you want to sculpt a flippy tail on a jumping horse—do it. If you want to express muscles realistically but beyond accepted formula—do it. If you want to portray an esoteric breed type—do it. If you want to put a rare pattern on a breed where it's disfavored by some—do it. If you want to put flipped back ears on your halter horse—do it. Follow your gut even if that flies in the face of convention. Chance novelty with each piece, chase innovation and new ways of thinking about the subject—it's good for you creativity and it's fun! Sure, you'll get blowback, sometimes a lot of it it. But who cares? You'll have "dared greatly" and probably created a piece that'll really stick out in a crowd or resonate with someone. "No one ever achieved greatness by playing it safe," observed Harry Gray. 

What's more, believe in yourself and your power to create wonderful things. Bust out of those walls that tell you "I can't do that," or "that's too scary," or "that's just too much for me" or "people will criticize me for this." Try to dump the fear and shame. Because while operating outside the box may be risky, the payoff is huge! You'll have "said" something, you'll have established a new horizon for yourself, and you'll have prodded convention along just a little bit more. And know it or not, our genre has a very strong tradition of conventional thinking because so many participants haven't actually Looked at horses well enough or know how to. As such, their expectations are often too safe, are factually wrong, are stylistically biased or artistically stifling, or they haven't evolved with the current science or methodology. And conventions are meant to be poked at, I think. Questioned, rethought, and changed when needed, and the only way we do that is by poking them. In fact, I think some of them should be smashed! Bam!

"Don't sculpt dead horses."

Now you can sculpt figurative dead horses if you wish, but that's not what I'm referring to. What I am talking about here is the need to keep anatomy charts as baseline guides rather than latching onto them as dogma. Horses don't move like articulated paper doll anatomy diagrams. Now yes, the skeleton does of course, being rigid, but the living flesh that's packed around it doesn't—it morphs, squishes, stretches, jiggles, ripples, pooches, flops, wrinkles, pocks, and distorts with each fleeting "living moment." That means those tidy muscle configurations in a diagram change, often considerably, as muscles goo in and out of prominence, even distorting into something unrecognizable from their standing forms. This is what I refer to as "organic chaos," those physical things inherent in living reality yet entirely missing from static anatomical illustrations. Why? Because illustrations are created from dead horses! Living anatomy is entirely different from illustrated anatomy.

What's more, a major physical component is typically lacking from anatomy charts because it has to be stripped away to reveal the muscle groups: Fascia. This is what envelopes everything in some form, lending texture, support, structure, and mechanics to the entire system, tying it all together. It also creates in part the delicate hide and skin textures and effects on the body, those little "imperfections" or fleshy details that are a part of anatomy too. So if we don't reinstate fascia back into our considerations, we can end up creating a sculpture that looks more like inert polished metal than living flesh. Now this is perfectly fine if this is part of your style—and there's plenty of room for loads of styles in realism—but if we want to sculpt actual living flesh, factoring fascia back into the equation is a start.

Likewise, it also means that if we lean on those static illustrations too much, we're going veer towards a more formulaic rendition of anatomy and away from an organic one. Again, this is totally okay if that's part of your style, but if you want to go beyond it, you're going to have to let go of those orderly diagrams as literal interpretations. And, hey—it's fun! It makes sculpting more like playtime rather than "sculpting by numbers" plus your Eye will start to pick up on all of life's little fleshy eccentricities which add so much novelty and realism to your piece. 

What's more, it also means considering physics in our work, those physical forces that change flesh, too. The horse is a big, heavy, muscled, gooey, hairy athletic animal and that translates into a lot of wiggling', rippling, and jiggling' fleshy stuff going on and loads of passive mechanics with the mane, tail, and feathers. Really, hair is easily one of the most difficult things to sculpt partially for this reason as passive physics are difficult for the human brain to randomize. There are also inertial and weight issues on the body as well as mass is propelled upwards, forwards, backwards, or downwards, or lifted into lightness or compacted in tension. And on and on. But an anatomy chart doesn't relay any of this information and so we need a lot of observational study to learn to infuse it into our clay.

"The truth is in the work."

When all is said and done, when taking stock in our body of work, when pondering where our guiding star now calls us, or when we're fielding critics, we'll learn one thing: The truth is in our art. Everything we are is right there, in our art. And everything we need to know—about life, ourselves, our purpose, potential, and priorities, about our subject, everything—lies in our art. Our art always speaks the truth, how things really are despite what we may insist or think otherwise. But that's what motivated arting does—in its own way, which is different for everyone, it makes us dig deep and peels away artifices to get to the heart of things. We cannot create our art with honesty by only going halfway. So what does the full extent of this effort bring out in us, what does it reveal about us? In all this then, we learn more about our ourselves and our motivations and so our Truth. 

Adding to this, we're depicting an animal—one who has little agency in our human world—so our choices in his portrayal reveal a lot about us. We like to talk about humane treatment of horses, but what does our work actually say? Are we depicting problematic horsemanship? Are we duplicating questionable practices? Are we portraying outright abuse? Are we choosing dicey conformational structure? We can be advocates for this animal so what does our work say about how we really think and feel?

What's more, when others raise the bar, how will we respond? Does our art likewise evolve in scope and skill? Or does it stagnate and plateau? And what does that say about our attitude? If we talk a good talk, can our work walk the walk? It'll speak for itself, and louder than we ever could. And we may like to think that our skills and media are so good, are timeless, but only our art will challenge Time to prove if that holds true. Following this, what other people, including judges, think of our work now isn't a good reflection of posterity. Only the far future gifted with hindsight, will prove where we stand now. So it's our work—and only our work—that will travel forwards and speak for us in the future. 

Even so, our art will guide us towards that destiny, the truth of what we'll be, whatever it is...which can end up being quite a surprise! But listen to it. If it causes you to veer towards a new direction then—listen to it. If you're compelled to focus on something myopically—listen to it. If you're struggling, the work is trying to tell you something—listen to it. If your work is feeling tired and wants to bust loose—listen to it. Absolutely, your work will speak clearly about where you need to go, it'll speak your Truth—but only if you listen. So always...always...stay open to what your work is telling you. It always tells you the Truth.

"Be kind to yourself."

Perhaps all this culminates in the need to be gentle with ourselves. Aren't we our own most horrible critic? Yet we face deep challenges in this art form, many even psychological, so learn to give yourself second, third, fourth, twenty chances to process and meet them. Learning takes time, effort, and failure. And you will fail. Every artist has "bad horse days" and we'll make plenty of mistakes—that's actually how we learn. Perfectionism can be a relentless taskmaster all by itself, too, so learn to show yourself compassion and give yourself space to be human. Realize, too, that there will be times where you'll be frustrated, often when your skills don't match your expectations, so be patient with yourself. Also some of us have our mental health to manage, asking for even greater self-care. Find serenity, make peace, and extend yourself generous amounts of altruism. You and your work will be better off for it.

Showing kindness to ourselves also tends to make us kinder to others, too. It helps us realize that everyone is struggling in some way, much of it invisibly fought. Indeed, how much do you grapple with daily life and hide? Well, others are doing the same. So while they may seem totally on top of things, successful, popular, happy, gifted, famous, [insert the awesome], the truth is they're struggling with their own challenges, too. Give everyone room to be human, frail, and vulnerable, or at least the benefit of the doubt.

Now yes—some folks are just awful. There's always "that guy" in every crowd, isn't there? Yet I believe that human evil derives from fear, that instinctive, unthinking, knee-jerk, primordial fear. Not from bolting away from a hungry tiger per se, but that other kind that generates anger, hate, suspicion, resentment, envy, violence, prejudice, retaliation, beta aggression, lashing out, all those negatives. So deep down, awful behavior is usually due to being afraid. Yet, kindness—particularly reflected back onto ourselves—can become a beautiful armor hate can never breach. Haters can say anything they want, but self-grace will always deflect it.

"Stay curious."

Nature is full of curve balls and the moment we worship something as dogma, it'll often blast that apart. The natural world is packed full of wonder, magic, possibility, eccentricity, variety, and discovery so stay open and hungry. New things can come from any direction, too, some totally unexpected. Curiosity and staying a learner will serve you well in equine realism because embracing discovery rather than defaulting to convention keeps our work exploratory and honest. Indeed, black and white thinking won't serve us well when expressing life. Really, knowledge isn't so much about regurgitated information. A computer can do that. Instead, actual knowledge is understanding and imagining how to creatively and resourcefully apply facts while also questioning them and playing with them, of knowing that truth is always evolving as are the answers. It's more about adaptability and creative thinking than about blurted out dogma, and here curiosity plays a pivotal role.

Curiosity doesn't just have to do with knowledge bases or skill sets though. It also entails the nature of our work—how we explore our subject, how we rethink our work, what ideas we explore, the narratives we choose, and how we go about doing all that. If we're tweaking and remaking our knowledge base with each piece then, we're practicing curiosity, too. 

Because the moment our curiosity leaves us is the moment our work stops evolving. We'll also probably become less enthusiastic compared to someone who has kept theirs, messing with our motivations and sense of self-worth. Try then to avoid the idea that "I know enough." Trust me—no one does and that's a wonderful thing. So much more to explore! 

"Arting has a common language."

Remember that the artistic and psychological struggles of other artists are often similar with our own—we're all in the same boat. We have a kind of kinship, an "arthood" of sorts. It's wonderful to know that someone might understand what we're experiencing so thoroughly! It does mean this as well: Other artists have their own struggles, too, ones we may never see. So be glad for them then when they succeed...congratulate, encourage, and support them. They probably surmounted some pretty tough obstacles, many of which may be invisible to us, and that's definitely worth praise and admiration, right?

In addition to this, art speaks to people in different ways, but it does so through the same conduits: Love, aesthetics, stirred thoughts, memory, emotion, humor, and our human need for connection. If we can light up just some of those pathways then, our art can speak directly to the soul and create an amazing synergistic connection. That's what language does, and art has a language everyone can relate to in some way. Art is a kind of mother tongue of the soul. 

Going further, we're focused on an animal, a subject with their own very peculiar reality, motivations, agenda, and perceptions. In this, we can speak with and for them, using the common language of art to translate theirs. What are we saying with our art then? Is it something we want to say?

"Help rather than harp."

Very often we'll hear someone beg, even demand certain things of organizations, shows, hosts, and volunteers. It's understandable—there may be a problem that needs addressing. However, here's the truth of it: Anything we demand we should spearhead ourselves to completion; otherwise be satisfied with the status quo. Why? Well, those folks are already overtaxed, worn out, burned out, stretched too thin, traumatized, and resource-depleted. So help rather than harp. 'Nuff said about that.

"Life is messy."

I admit—I'm a "grey area" person. I prefer ambiguity, mystery, and uncertainty over absolutes. Not to say that absolutes don't exist—an elbow can only bend like a hinge unless it breaks—but you know what I mean. Fudge factor. Wiggle room. Space for organic, mercurial, unpredictable nature. Because just when someone seems to lay down dogma, nature chucks a curve ball right into the glove. 

Equine color genetics is a classic example as new mutations and new discoveries are rewriting what was known about the involved mechanisms as well as forcing colors conventions to evolve. New science is making discoveries that challenge a lot of traditional assumptions, nomenclature, and concepts, too, so black and white thinking here can literally wipe out colorful reality...and isn't that unacceptable?

Same with equine physiology as new ideas and tech are finally unraveling the mysteries of equine biomechanics, biology, and behavior, and as such, a lot is now in flux. And all those neato anatomy charts we all love? Tidy, neat, delineated? Well, in actual nature—not so much. It's an organic mess full of variation, variety, and the unexpected! Do an actual dissection and you'll quickly develop an appreciation for those who tried to make any sense out of it at all in a tidy diagram! 

The horse themself is often unexpected, too. Their anatomy manifests in ways well beyond what we'd predict, well out of formula, well past what we think it "should" be. Sure, it follows biological rules, but still, it'll always surprise us. Their conformation can vary as well, and even change with trends and tastes. Individual variation—just like with people—also adds so much possibility with infinite physical eccentricities. Now add in physics, the invisible forces of nature that reveal themselves only through their effects on his body, constant and fleeting, and then we have a really wonderfully messy equation. Then the magic of the moment injects its own effects that make that "snapshot" so completely unique. What a changeable, fascinating, always-inspiring setting in which to express this marvelous creature! Point is—trying to cram this animal into a box of our own making will only bust the seams.  

"Huzzah!"

You'll hear me say this in response to all sorts of things, but essentially it boils down to this: Acknowledge and celebrate your moments of accomplishment or revelation! And even "bad" things can warrant a "huzzah"! So don't hold back! This art form is hard enough, fraught with failure and criticism, so when something great happens—huzzah! When you leap over those obstacles and realize your vision finally—hazzah! When your peers place well in a show—huzzah! When you fall on your face but get back up to start again, better armed—huzzah! When you discover something totally surprising you were wrong about—huzzah! When your new media is really giving you a run for your money—huzzah! When you've had to make the nth correction to get it just right—huzzah! When you've had an unexpected artistic epiphany—huzzah! When you got last place but figured out why—huzzah! 

There's a lot of great reasons to huzzah so don't be stingy! Celebrating your moments of triumphs, discovery, effort, courage, learning, and failure lends balance to an otherwise taxing art form. No small measure of progress is actually small—it's huge! You did it! Something exists now that didn't before because you pulled it out of the ether and made it real. So be chuffed about the whole endeavor, failure or success, eager for more. Huzzah!

"Embrace the past, relish the present, forge into the future."

Never forget where you came from...humble beginnings, getting lots of help and support, and being confused, starry-eyed, intimidated, scared, overwhelmed, wildly inspired, and wow-ed. You were a beginner once, too. When we remember this, we stay better grounded and perhaps find more meaning to our arting. But keep the past in the past. It's gone, over and done with. Fixating on it can just cause undue grief or distraction, and that can lead to a lot of negatives. You can still look ahead while remembering the past, pulling from it what's useful but just keep it in perspective.

As for right now, you've worked hard to get here, so savor your successes, accomplishments, and especially your failures. They've all taught you something. Value your peers and colleagues and collectors, always. They're part of your support system. Hold close to heart your new challenges and struggles. They're your pathways to your destiny. But don't get stuck in the present. Yes, we need to be mindful of the now, focus and rethink. But we need to look to the future, too. There's no way to get where we're supposed to go by staying in one place. So try to avoid static thinking like, "I don't need to change my work," or "I'm as good as I'm ever going to get." Even despondence like, "everybody is getting better then me so what's the point?" Reach for more with every piece, no matter how meager the effort. It's cumulative.

And so, keep marching forwards even if you fall flat on your face. Everything adds up to where you're supposed to go. And know your goals, even if they're simple and modest. Understand too that things will always evolve and change and so should our work, and that's exciting! Yet still be patient with yourself—things happen in their own time. Your march into the future won't be a constant rhythm of footfalls and there will be times when you're pushed back a few steps. It's okay, it's normal—that's life. Just keep marching forwards, even in any direction.

"Create from your he-art."

Heart and art, two things that go better together. Listen to your gut then and follow it, wherever it may lead. It knows the right way to go. 

And work to put soul into each piece. Don't just create "a new piece," think about sculpting a new soul, too. Explore the heart of this animal because they're so much more than what we do with them. They're more than a utilitarian thing. An object. A representation. They're an autonomous creature with a rich inner landscape, with their own reality, perspectives, and motivations. And though not always to our liking, these things are valid from their point of view. 

And put your whole self into each piece. Throw yourself into it. Give it your all. You'll develop faster, find a lot of satisfaction in the hard work when you're done, and discover that you can surprise yourself in wonderful ways. You have so much potential in you, but only if you give it your full he-art.

"Hope is a lighthouse."

There's the term "fog of war" in which the soldiers have no clue what's around them as they advance—the fog—yet must continue nonetheless to persevere in battle. Or, for example, in Dungeons and Dragons, a DM may actually put down some paper to obscure where the players are going on the map, pulling it back as they advance. 

Creativity is exactly the same way. We may have a mission, a goal, but getting there means we go through the fog of uncertainty because anything can happen getting there. And it's hope—and only hope—that keeps you going. It funnels gumption, determination, discipline, innovation, problem-solving, hard work, rethinking, inspiration, and everything else that generates the happy outcome of a finished piece. Without hope, we stop and we despair. Without hope, we don't believe in ourselves, we don't believe tomorrow can be a better day in the studio, that the next piece can be closer to our expectations, that we can figure it out despite the challenges. The fog is a bleak, oppressive place if you don't have something brilliant pulling you forward, keeping the promise alive. And you don't have to have a lot—just a little bit will do. You only need a speck of light to fumble through the dark one little step at a time.

And here's the thing, the more pieces you finish, the bigger that light becomes, calling you forward brighter and brighter. Many call this "confidence," but I like to think of it as simply more hope. Obstacles become challenges, despondency becomes incentive, uncertainty becomes puzzles, intimidation becomes courage, fear becomes curiosity. Hope simply flips the equation and changes the narrative, creating an exceedingly powerful force within you.

"When you need to learn, teach."

The adage, "He who can, does; he who cannot, teaches," (George Bernard Shaw) is so wildly wrong, I don't even know where to start. Instead, I believe the idea, "Those who know do, those that understand teach" (Aristotle). Because you want to know where your knowledge gaps are? Teach. You want to know where you're wrong? Teach. Want to know the most current research, ideas, and theories? Teach. Want the benefit of a socially-induced pool of knowledge? Teach. You have to really know your stuff to teach because someone else will always take things sideways, which is a good thing. 

Teaching also clarifies our own ideas, processes, and knowledge base for ourselves, something valuable as we amass more with experience. But it doesn't have to be extravagant! Just getting out there and casually talking about how you do things, what you've learned, what your ideas are, even just showing what you're doing can be enough to generate an impromptu classroom. Social media is a goldmine for this, but don't forget blogs and videos, things also relatively easy to do. Some have even ramped it up with books, seminars, and workshops! There's plenty of ways to create a learning circle for a win-win. Knowledge really is best shared rather than hoarded because we're a social species that accomplishes amazing things by sharing information. Indeed, the more brains that work a problem, the more solutions and options there are for everyone.

"The horse is the best teacher."

On that note, even so, when all is said and done, it's still our subject that has the last word. They're our example, our standard, and our revealer. Have a question you cannot find an answer to? The horse will have it. Want to test information? Refer back to them. Don't understand how something quite works? Study them more. Learn directly from the horse because they'll never give you a wrong answer.

What does that all boil down to? Lots and lots of study. Field study, photographs, illustrations, charts, diagrams, books, videos, or anything that draws from the actual horse can provide the foundation and the clarifications. The best of these however is field study. The more of it you do, the better your work will become. There's no substitute for getting up close and personal. The second is high quality video, and hit the freeze or rewind button as many times as you need. After that are high quality photographs because they freeze key moments. In this, comparison study is a powerful tool for a deep understanding so stack up those images to study their commonalities, differences, subtleties, and tendencies. It's amazing what this alone can program into your brain. Printed text or illustrations are also handy, and sometimes the only way to practically relay the information. For example, anatomy illustrations, data on color and pattern, breeds and their variations, and other things like that can be easily learned from high quality text sources.

What's the real point of all this work? Well, not only to absorb the data, but to also generate a deep mental library and to expand your knowledge base. This is precisely why the more pieces you finish, the faster these two things grow as a natural byproduct of having to tackle so many challenges. It's also why established artists create things faster—they're drawing from a long-earned mental library and knowledge base that fills in the gaps more efficiently. 

We also need to refine our way of looking at the animal into a savvy Eye. There's a huge difference between seeing and Seeing, between looking and Observing. In this, it's not enough to just know information, we have to decipher and translate it effectively, as well. We have to apply it. So train yourself to see beyond the obvious and take nothing for granted. That's to say, work to develop X-ray vision and the Eye of a laser scanner. Every detail, movement, ripple, jiggle, squish, shift, bump, twist, rotation, stretch, flicker, expression, or any other tweak counts. And there's really no truly "neutral" position with a horse since even a standing one is still moving in some way. It's a lot to process, a lot of data to absorb to be sure, but even if we acquire just a teensy bit more with each piece, we're progressing.

So this is where artistic exercises come in to hone your Sight. For example, as you study, think about sculpting or painting that area too—really doing it with your tools. How would you do that? What are the positions you'd hold your tool? Your swiping patterns? How and where would you soften or crispify? What hue of pigment would you use? How would you mix it? How much pigment would you have on our brush? What kind of brush would you use? The more you pin down exactly how you'd do it before you do, the keener attention you'll pay. In this, think of your piece as a blank canvas that you have to "fill up" so how do you do that? For example, think about using the cut-out technique of training your Eye. Take a sheet of white printer paper and make a hole or "frame" in the middle then lay the sheet onto a photo, revealing just the portion inside the hole. Now you can really get in there and study what's actually happening without the distraction of the larger image, without the "noise" of the peripheral visual. What we're actually doing with this exercise is tricking our brain's pattern recognition response because when we look at the whole photo, our brain defaults to "whole horse" and we can lose sight of all the finer details. But when we remove "whole horse," the brain is forced to find new patterns, which it'll do within that paper frame in short order. So, say, for an 8x11" photo, make a  1" hole cut in the middle of the white paper (and scale up or down with respective photos). Then shift that over the horse in the photo. It's amazing what will pop out at you now!

Your Journey Home

Well, that's it. Wrap it all up and you've got some cookies to take with you and your breadcrumbs to follow home. I hope some of these tidbits will fortify you as you find your way back. This art form is so hard sometimes and the blowback even harder, but even worse, we're hardest on ourselves. But with just a small perception shift, a bit of insight given at the right moment, everything can change, especially in how we treat ourselves. Because what an artist needs most perhaps is perspective. To stand on a cliff with that breeze blowing on a clear day, gazing out over the vast expanse to take in the big picture. We can too easily get caught up in minutae and overthinking. So "stay on target," "follow your bliss," "the horse is the best teacher," and "find your way home" and you'll be just fine. Art on!

"I live in my own little world. But it's ok, they know me here."

— Lauren Myracle

Cookies On The Couch