The Creative Process - Wonder of Wonders...

Have you ever been so swallowed up in a project that time is forgotten?

Maybe it's connecting with an incredible novel or sitting at the sewing machine or taking apart an engine.  Regardless, you look up at some point and hours have disappeared!  Gone!  Poof!

The first time I was acutely aware of being lost in space I was working in the darkroom as a freshman in my first photography class.  (Yes, pre-digital, film.)

I would go in figuring I'd spend a couple of hours and by the time I emerged it was midnight and I'd forgotten to eat a meal or two!  What happened?  How could I have not been paying attention to the time?  I always had other homework to do, other obligations waiting and still was so absorbed in the process of creating photographic images that time became irrelevant.  I walked into the darkroom and embraced a new time and space.  

That is what the process of creating is to me--I simply lose myself when I begin to create--whether it's writing, chipping stone, mixing pigments or playing with clay.  Now I am involved in creating art with found sticks from the banks of the Cache la Poudre River's fall and spring flooding--and loving every lost minute of it!

First, I work best when I have a space that I can designate as a "studio."  

(To me, the difference between studio and say, kitchen table, is that I can set it up, use it and walk away without having to put everything away everyday.)


My "stick studio" is in our screened-in gazebo, which has proven to be a very conducive place for creating art.  I can work,  enjoy the soft summer breezes blowing through as I listen to both my IPOD music and the birds trilling at the pond.  Most importantly, I (and my work) are protected from the brutal afternoon sun.  I commandeered our outdoor dining table as work space along with another bistro table to enable me to have plenty of room for stick sculptures in their many stages of development.  

How to start?  Isn't that always the trickiest first question?  How many times have I looked at a blank page or empty canvas and thought, where do I begin?  Even when I've designed it (or thought I had) in my mind there is still that pause when I need to step back and trust the process.    

And, how exactly does one do that?  I'm not sure.  To me, it reminds me of that invisible demarcation between awake and asleep. How does one fall asleep?  Ask anyone who has struggled falling asleep and you'll hear, "If I knew then I'd have done it hours ago!"  But, those nights when your head fits perfectly on the pillow and sleep comes gently and almost immediately, it seems so easy, so effortless.

That's my best definition of trusting the process.  Just step into it--apply paint to the canvas, sand the stone, hold the clay in your hand, write the first words.  The most important word here:  BEGIN. 

I'm a big fan of revision, editing, sometimes even taking it all apart to begin again, to "fail forward."  But, first one needs to BEGIN.   

In creating flood stick sculptures, my first challenge is to create the armature, the structure that will hold the whole she-bang together.  So...I browse my palette of sticks to select just what I'm looking for...

With these sculptures I'm including found relics or objects so that has often given me a hint as to the shape.

But, it's my choice--do I want smooth or textured?  How thick? How heavy?  How tall? How many? Is it strong enough to support the weight of other sticks?  Is it so light or delicate that I must set it aside to use later?  Is it so intriguing in shape or texture that it should be a focal point? 




         

For this sculpture, "It takes a crooked stick to float a crooked mile," I was attracted to the fact that I had two right-angle sticks to play with.  That was my start.

As I laid it out on my table, the armature began to take place.  I used a jute twine to attach the main connections and then used wood glue for the top layers.  

I devised my own plastic-bag sandbags to provide the weight needed to insure my glued attachments are strong.

Plastic bags of sand add the weight needed to insure my glued attachments dried tightly.

After several additional sticks were added I was ready to attach the found relic  -- a slightly rusty circular metal piece, very thin and missing one spoke.  Since this piece was composed with delightfully crooked sticks, this metal piece almost seemed the perfect "compass" for a composition of crooked angles and directions.  

I attached my thin metal "compass" with a loop of thin metal tin.

Here is the finished piece, "It takes a crooked stick to float a crooked mile."

Do you see my original right-angle sticks?

Be sure to check out my Whimsy Calls blog to see how great art influences affect even 3-D flood stick sculptures! And, to see more wall and 3-D sculptures please go to:  www.tobybakerart.com