Funnily enough, I haven’t asked myself why I love art that looks scruffy, but I do love art that looks scruffy. When I glance at art online (when I skim through my feed very quickly), the ones that catch my eye and make me stop and smile are the ones that look bold and skewed, like the artist got out of bed, slurped a coffee, and barely managed to get their glasses on before putting lines or wash on a bit of paper. (I also like other styles, of course, but that’s what grabs me first and lifts me up).
And I think it’s because in other areas of my life, I need perfection. When I write books, I go ape-sh*t when I see, in my own work, a typo or equally annoying error that could have been avoided. (Funnily enough, I don’t mind it in other people’s books—just mine.) When I say the above, I mean it gives me anxiety. My heart pounds a bit faster and hurts, and my stomach drops like I’m in an elevator. I don’t know why. I work hard to eliminate them all and I do also have proofreaders, and lord knows, I’ve seen plenty of typos in commercially published global bestsellers. Yet … it destroys my day a little when I find even just one in my own writing. (Other errors I might make in publishing also have this same, horrible affect on me.)
But in art, I feel a sense of beautiful peace when I see “mess” or even errors and when I create something scribbly myself—with colour and lines and thought, of course; I do think about what I’m creating. But I still don’t worry about perfection … and it’s bliss! It’s what art should be as far as I’m concerned (of course, art is different things to different people, and I know that—some thrive on creating perfection in art).
I take the creation of my books very seriously nowadays, but I don’t take my art seriously—I just simply love it and do not place any expectations upon myself when I make it. That’s how writing started for me when I was maybe eight years old and wrote my first “book” … and I still crave and perhaps even need writing like it’s a limb of mine (the five years I took away from it was sort of devastating), so I know I will always write fiction. But I can’t be relaxed about it. I place a huge amount of expectation on myself when I write and publish.
I’m not sure I can really change that—not if I want my stories to be good and get better, and for me to stay ahead in publishing. But my workaround is that I can be relaxed about scribbles, lines, colours and shapes, so I indulge in sketching, painting, and drawing whenever everything feels too serious with my books.
I share my art in the hopes it does the same for others, because we all need that outlet—that light-heartedness—wherever we can find it.
I also share it because creativity feels incomplete to me without giving the audience a chance to view and partake in the creativity, and even share it with others. That’s what feeds me. (And I mean that energetically and emotionally—it certainly does not feed me financially!)
Here is the most recent messy scribble: Among the Flowers
Lastly, I have a special offer running until Sunday: the Blue-Breasted Kingfisher on an 11 x 14” canvas for only £39 (and a few pennies) plus delivery. That’s a total bargain. Click the canvas below to view it. In the footer of the page, you can change your currency.
That’s it for now. I hope you’re all enjoying your week.
Dianna. xx