Unlocking 2021
Somehow, after benefiting from making art journal pages off and on for nearly three years, I let it slide.
Working on writing a science fiction book became the focus of my creativity, and it still technically is the most time-consuming creative outlet I have. But life got in the way, too. I went through the bulk of my gender transition. I moved a few times. Began a new career. And maybe I was intimidated by the thought of making art again. It had helped me through such a difficult part of my life, I think I was just a little put off by the thought of going “back there”.
And then: lockdown happened.
It's been amazing to see everyone get so creative over 2020. I was more of a spectator, because my life was actually busier in 2020 than it was in 2019. This current temporary stay in rural Virginia is, to me, what lockdown was like for most people last year.
In effect — I've been bored out of my mind.
On a trip to the dollar store (one of the only stores close by), I impulsively picked up a sketchbook, some pencils, and some oil pastels. Sure, they were cheap, and what I can make from them is limited.
But the point was to make marks again. If all it is, is an angry scribble, then so what? There's a part of all of us that needs a place to do something non-productive, sideways, self-indulgent, that ends up communicating truth that doesn't fit into the grid of the world.
2016 — A Brief Opening
These two art journal pages, made in the same notebook as I'd begun in 2015, are a bit different from my usual approach.
They are more spiritual tributes than classic journal pages. I made them in the fall of 2016, during a breather in that roller-coaster of a year. 2016 was (heretically) an excellent year for me, and these two pages were an attempt to sew together the material reality of an art journal, with the deeply internal and esoteric path I'd been walking.
They are essentially a thumbprint, deliberately placed on the clay pot of the year.
Then I went back to my writing.
2015 — Later in the Year
And another year came to a close, one that saw more changes than any other in my life — except the following year. I knew I was in a good place. I felt ready for whatever the fuck it was. And I was ready...barely.
This was the last art journal spread I created in 2015, and the last page of any steady series of pages, until this year. At the time, my fiction writing had burst back into motion, after four years of heartbreaking writer's block, and it became my creative outlet for the next half-decade.
But I love these two spreads, because there is a gratitude to them. I knew even then that things had become so much better, and I was finally conscious of the role creativity had played in hanging in there and making the necessary changes to my life.
That realization hasn't left me yet. I doubt it ever will.
2015 — Halloween
I have to refrain from reading a ton into these two art journal spreads.
After all, it's easy to look back and guess what your subconscious was trying to say, once you know your own subsequent decisions. But that's cheating. What I can say is, after years of feeling burdened almost to oblivion, I spent the Halloween season of 2015 experimenting with not caring.
I chose images randomly, splashed paint, didn't care if it stuck to the opposite page. I scribbled, wrote the lyrics of the song that was stuck in my head, played hide-and-seek with part of the page.
And told the truth.
Some things are very nearly too personal to explain. I died to one life, willingly, without knowing I was heading towards the real one.
2015 — Spring And Summer
Somehow, it was starting to work.
I knew I was still in the middle of a mess. But it's like I could breathe more openly. Something had loosened up — or maybe failed to take root in the first place, this time.
I was honestly beginning to call on allies that have never really had names, that are in nature, or the forgotten corners of our minds.
It's no accident that I got back into pagan practice in the summer of 2015 as well. It was the true beginning of a series of homecomings — to New Orleans, to realizing I was a guy and starting transition, all the way to now.
It's about knowing you deserve to leave a mark, trusting that the mark you make will be a good one — giving it a shot, analyzing whether it worked, and moving on to the next try.
2015 — Waking Myself Back Up
This time I felt more confident, more quickly.
And it was a good thing, too. Life was playing rough.
These spreads, made in the home office I agoraphobically hid in, reflect a determined self-reminder of who I was, and what I was capable of.
There was an unflinching honesty here, even if the pages themselves aren't what I would call beautiful.
“Take a handful of night. See it through.”
2015 — Art Journal Restart
I won't mince words: the beginning of 2015 was a fucked-up time for me. Without going into too many details, I had several traumatizing experiences, centering on medical treatment, mental health, and relationships. The year got better — oh, did it get better! — but I think I was aware even at the time that I reached for my art journal to cope with the waterfall of egregious bullshit raining down on me.
I think, without the “secret confidence” that 2014's art journal practice had built in me, I might not have taken this step. I may not have realized I deserved better. As it was, “better” was still out of reach, months away.
What I credit 2015's artmaking with giving me was trust.
I had a gray Fabriano EcoQua staple-bound art book, purchased (I believe) from the Utrecht store in Tallahassee, Florida. The paper is thin, and it would probably be better for non-bleed markers or dry media like pencils. But it's high-quality and fun to use, even if heavy applications of glue or paint make it a bit wrinkly.
One thing I did at the outset of this journal was to give myself permission to make very simple spreads. One or two things, maybe some details. I set the bar quite deliberately low. This was a great idea, because it made the barrier to restart feel close to nonexistent.
I did have fun experimenting with how much I could say with how little ingredients. Later pages became more complex, but I think it's smart to set a precedent for yourself that simple is also enough. There will be times you want to make art, and have less energy. What you make is still art.
2014 — November
And then it was November, and even in the South, cool weather was setting in. I'd gone through two entire seasons with the art journaling challenge, and I felt a contraction happening in my heart.
I wasn't burned out, exactly. And I know now, from working on fiction, that these expansions and contractions are a normal part of the process. It was more like I felt a desire to turn inwards, to see what was within me now, after all this change in real life.
In addition, I moved house in November, and the break I took from the art journal challenge to get this done, unfortunately stretched through the holidays, and then became permanent. The online art journal group also changed its foundational structure in a way that appealed less to me. I'll always be hella glad I took part in it — it changed my life, had huge knock-on effects — but it was time to do a new thing.
2014 — October
October was the month where I felt like I made the “best” art, that my handle on the ideas I came up with, and on the materials I was using to make them, was the strongest.
What's interesting to me in hindsight is that what I wanted to say felt more blurry, as though it were disappearing behind the sheer process of artmaking.
It was still there, but I had to listen harder.
It was the month I probably pushed the hardest in terms of trying new tools and materials. The vintage typewriter, and the gold liquid acrylic paint over masking fluid, made a great spread together.
At the same time I was volunteering as a docent at an art museum, so I had access to a lot of in-person inspiration. There really isn't anything better!
I wouldn't have realized it at the time, but the pushing I did in my art journal gave me the confidence to reach for substantial changes in my actual life that month — in where I lived, in my work situation, even in who I was hanging out with.
Art matters.
2014 — September
Art is always in some way about the artist, at least a little bit, no matter what anyone says.
By the time my fourth month of the art journal challenge rolled around, I was feeling comfortable enough to start consciously making art about myself.
Sometimes it was through a straightforward visual montage.
Sometimes it was a determined attempt to capture an internal self-portrait.
I don't know if I “learned” about myself at the time from making these spreads, at least not in the classic sense of having any sort of breakthroughs. But I do know these were about the most joyful pages to make, and were my favorites instantly.