I post paintings on my Facebook page because in these often-trying times I believe that art affords a unique form of solace. I’m reeling from the Supreme Court ruling granting presidential immunity as are millions of people in this country and countless others around the world. And am in great need to solace.
Then I happened upon this incredible textile painting by Michelle Mischkulnig, an Australian atist. You can find information about her here, including her moving artist’s statement and more examples of her work. Consider watching the film she’s made, I promise it’s worth it.
And the layering she does reminds me so much of writing. It’s something I work on with my editing clients, because layering adds texture, depth, and resonance–for starters. Layering supports themes and gives characters breath, conflict breadth, and the whole intricacy. And this technique typically doesn’t happen in the first draft. I recommend you layer in needed details scene by scene after you’ve got the basics down.
Mischkulnig writes: My art is an expression of my life, full of happiness, joy, beautiful family, good friends, and laughter. My inspiration comes from warm winter sun, the sound of the ocean, first spring flowers and family holidays to special places of the heart….From the time of our birth we are surrounded by colour and texture. The softness of a baby’s skin; butterfly kisses laid gently on our cheeks. As we move through life colour and texture bring us emotive memories. They affect the way we feel.
This reminded me of a Flannery O’Connor statement that I quoted in my book Between the Lines:
The beginning of human knowledge is through the senses, and the fiction writer begins where human perception begins. He appeals through the senses, and you cannot appeal through the senses with abstractions.
If you gaze online at her many creations you can see the influences she mentions, but I’m especially curious about how her gatherings infuse her work. She also writes: I hand paint my silks, I collect threads, cord, paper, fabric and collect objects–I’m a bit like a bower bird (only my collection is a kalaidoscope of colours) I create layers of colours and texture, tearing, cutting, twisting, and fraying. I love the way silk absorbs and reflects colour. Each piece evolves as I am making it. I never know what will inspire me to go in a new direction, try some new direction, try some new ingredient, and push myself to experiment with something new. Creating is always exciting, like reading a new embracing book, when you can’t wait to turn the page and the next and the next.
So we’re circling back to writers collecting and noticing. In Between the Lines I’m reminding writers that touch is our most visceral, intimate sense. That layering in touch makes for a more immersive story. I wrote: There is the touch of velvet, like the feel of a newborn’s skin. Or the touch of a velvet cushion in a confessional or a silk scarf draped around a neck. There is a lover’s caress, light or insistent. The harsh bark of certain trees. Lemon juice in a fresh cut. Soft, thick grass under bare feet. Dried, parched grass during a drought. Oysters slipping down the throat. Touch is delicate, touch can scald. Touch is fog blanketing the skin, sand rubbing our toes. Sun baking us a midday. There is no world without touch, no life at all.
Keep writing, Keep dreaming, Have heart
PS Bower birds are chatty, often mimic other species’ songs and calls during mating season, and have a particular habit of collecting objects. Males use these objects to decorate their bowers–hence their name–to captivate and attract females. The pair mates in the intricate bower, but then the female leaves to raise her chicks in a nest. The guy below has blue bottle caps as his draw. Aren’t they fascinating? Oh, and the species has been around 15 million years.
Leave a Reply