Joan Desmond - Fine Art - The Artistic Process

THE ARTISTIC PROCESS

Abstraction is somewhat uncertain, it’s working on the edge of the unknown. When I look at the visible world it translates into abstractions for me. Landscapes inspire me. Yet when looking at a landscape it’s not a mountain or a tree I see. Everything is shapes, textures, colors, movement, and the forces within the shapes. Did I mention patterns? There are so many patterns, between things, within things.
This explanation, which is over-simplified, does not satisfy an audience very well. So let me share part of the process and see if it makes sense to you through illustration. My work can speak best to you through your imagination.

The other day the dog and I are out walking. I notice there is a migration of turkey vultures overhead.

Ok, classic image of a turkey vulture probably comes to mind. Big baldheaded, slit-eyed bird, sitting on a dead tree stump somewhere in the desert looking over carrion…
But no, that was not the moment at all.

More so, the dog and I are walking, mostly concentrating on what new coyote signs are scattered about on the ground. Coming up the road onto the ridge, there’s a sense of something going on. Scanning around I see huge shapes soaring level with us over the lake. At first I think ravens, since a group of them have been doing a mating dance over the canyon lately. No, bigger. Hawks? No, too many and these are even larger than that, and then the wing tips are fringed so…then looking up, there’s more, maybe 25. Wow, so many. Then from the East another bunch, another 20 or so.

So here I could do a painting of 2 lone, small figures, one person, one dog, on a ridge, mountains in the background with a grayish sky filled with huge wing shapes.
But no, that’s not the moment either.

The moment was…in the East many small black pinholes appear in the vast sky over the Piute mountains, so small…but growing and they are moving toward us, toward this ridge where we are standing, ourselves just little shapes against the light -vulnerable…the spots are becoming larger dots now, then wedge-shaped as they come closer, birds of course as I can makes out wing shapes. Something so grand, having such control of the sky-it seems to part in front of these countless black shapes. I want to think eagles! However, there aren’t that many around anymore… Within seconds they are overhead, vultures from the wing shapes but the features are not clear, so they could still be anything. What they are is a force, a phenomenon of nature coming wave-like from the Southeast to the West. Each group circles, as they come in over the ridge and the Canyon, sort of over us. Hey, we’re not dead yet! But the concern is not with us. They fly in intricate patterns overhead, a dance really it’s so rhythmic. I try to figure out the steps of it. I try to count the shapes. It’s fascinating how they move and not one collides. The dog is wondering why I’ve stopped again. Why is Joan spinning around with her head back following something in the sky? Now she’s stumbling, dizzy. The dark waves join together, fall apart, regroup; it’s all done gracefully, beautifully. How can vultures be so graceful? Then some move off to the West. Easily 120+ fly over the canyon, over us, within a 5-minute span. In the West some have already disappeared over the Sierras. More specks appear in the East. More? How can there be more? What if they all land at once?

There’s the cry of a raven overhead, two smaller raven shapes mix with the vultures, dive-bombing them. Ravens are territorial or perhaps would also like to fly great distances. The big birds are silent, only the ravens caw. Apart from that, it’s very still on the ridge. The day is cool and a wind moves the air, further up the gray sky hangs thick and heavy, yet nothing seems to affect this great existence overhead. I notice other things. The rock forms seem more massive in this light; they become a presence. A slight aroma from green sprigs of fresh spring growth; flashes of yellow and purple here and there signaling a few early wildflowers. All are part of this. I feel completely engaged with this experience, and realize I’m also part of this moment.

We move on. Finally! Pants the dog.

While walking I think of seasonal patterns in nature, the intricacies and more, with many ideas and understandings flying at me at once. Remembering also the time I wandered outside one day and found myself in the middle of a monarch butterfly migration, again from East to West, thousands swooping over the hill and then moving over and around me, some settling here and there for a while, surrounding me-incredible. Also, I recall that fiercely cold, windy evening when going outside with the dogs, I heard numerous geese calling as they flew over the canyon darkness. Something connects it all. That is, the sense of being given access to a moment of nature that could easily have passed unnoticed.

By the time we return home the sky is strangely empty except for the two ravens who regained their space. I feel full, filled with wonder. How to paint all of this -the way it felt, and how to include all the other impressions related to it.

Ok, since I’ve taken it apart, this particular impression may not get painted, as that’s usually not how it comes together. Usually the impressions aren’t verbalized. What often happens is that it becomes part of me, redefines itself within me on a subconscious level, while I think out how to give it an artistic voice, how to honor it. Then one day while working, I put aside the current canvas, start a new one, and paint, paint, paint. It’s spontaneous, intuitive, abstract, fluid brush movements of patterns, and colors on the canvas. It’s fully absorbing. When it’s mostly done, I step back and ask. Now where did this come from? Then part of me remembers –and understanding dawns. Oh yeah, that day in March on the ridge.

That’s how it felt.

That’s the moment.

For me, this is one way the process works.