Chanson de Lapin

Procrastination and the creative process; a list. Here are some things that I think 'must be done' before I can get on with my painting, as noted on Thursday in an attempt to avoid the pitfalls today:

Checking emails and Facebook, twice

Washing clothes

Feeding and cleaning cats and their litter tray

De-furring rug and sofa

Weeding front path border

Finishing chapter of book

Putting new albums into itunes

Trying on a selection of clothing

Making shopping lists (two)

Sorting contents of handbag

Shopping for food

Debating dinner menu and preparing

Changing and washing bedding

Moving things about the studio

I know full well that if I just go for it and settle down straight away that I can work flat out for hours, but once I get into my little routines it can eat into hours of precious time. I remember reading that Steinbeck could only write on file paper with a certain type of pencil, in an isolated writing room; I can fully understand the little ways of creative o.c.d as it is deeply embedded in my phsyche.

The original (and successful) purpose of my 'Kick-ass boogie' playlist was as a kind of work trigger; put on a succession of super fave upbeat tracks and work follow obligingly behind like the metaphorical donkey. I always imagine, maybe wrongly, that Picasso would have been spared this neurotic tendency; his prolific output and confidence make me think that it came easy to him, but this could of course be totally unfounded. Who knows the workings of another mind?

Steinbeck's pencils lead me to comparing my own drawing superstitions and preferences; it took me years to find a sketchbook that suits me totally and I could never manage to draw in a habitual way until I did. Before that I would skip from pillar to post using different books and papers on different days in a haphazard way that was positively irritating when later trying to locate an idea or sketch. I am only on book two of my chosen ones, which goes to show how long it took to settle upon them - and still I fill the back page with pieces of paper and till receipts that I have used in the absence of the book.

Biro versus pencil is my other ongoing battle; sometimes I prefer the former, sometimes the latter and usually manage to pick the wrong one for the job at hand. I did a lousy sketch yesterday that I laboured over for half an hour, then rattled of a wee gem in two minutes later in the day. I guess a forced sketch is doomed to failure, as I know so well; reminds me of school homework for art, which involved such inspiring ideas as 'draw a sink'. I am annoyed with the teenage me for not seeing past the obvious and setting up something great to bring it out of the ordinary, but I remember the half hearted effort I turned in only too well.

A friend had a similar experience recently in a drawing class she has been taking to refresh her skills and bring back the enthusiasm for it; after maybe twenty years she found that the quality of line she had been hankering after was the product of a willow twig. Simple when you know but sometimes it can seem like a lifetime before the fact is unearthed. I remember very well the moment when I realised that 'things' do not actually have outlines. Might seem simple, even childish to you, but it was a real 'lightbulb' moment for me and meant far more than the simple statement would imply. In many drawings, frustration occurred when I had been trying to render a 3d object, usually the face, as a series of outlines. How much easier it became when I started to see it as a series of interconnecting planes and painting straight on the board without an 'outline'.

In the quest for materials that fulfill my needs and suit my drawing style I am sure I am not alone in becoming a hoarder of pencils, pens and other creative paraphenalia ; it is always fun to find a long lost crayon as it can suddenly be exactly the line you were searching for. For some reason this tendency also materialises in me as an obsession with collecting scissors. We have lord knows how many pairs in the house and a box set in a shop window literally sends me a-quiverring... I have failed to find a name for this condition, but it must have one. Freud raises an eyebrow slowly...

Oh, and the title. I once did a deeply unsatisfying painting based on the very lovely title 'Chanson de matin'. I was thinking of it today with regards to finding a new painting to fit the title when I chanced upon a sketch for a potential angel pic of the mohican angel holding a toy rabbit. Yup.