I often wonder what it is about abstract art that has always pulled me. The easy answer is that I can inject my own meaning into what I see, rather than being spoon-fed the subject.

But there’s so much more to it, and judging by how popular abstract art is, a lot of people feel the same way. It’s a subconscious reaction. It’s instinctual. It’s visceral.

When I started my painting journey, I felt a need to learn realism. It was a desire to capture the subject in a creative way, and to give the viewer a glimpse of how I view the world. But the “need” to paint realism was also the easy thing and the expected thing.

For so long I thought I was supposed to do that. To prove that I could.

I think I was trying to prove it to myself as much as anyone else. And in a way, it’s addictive. That thrill of capturing a subject realistically, knowing you can make it even more perfect if you do -just.one.more.brush.stroke- is like a game with a clear winner. Whereas abstract art has no beginning, no end, and no rules.

Yet along the way, I never completely pushed away my desire for abstraction. Bold colors, heavy texture, and something unexpected always found it’s way into my work.

It was really only in the last two years that I started to fully embrace the desire for abstraction. Lately it has been the only way I enjoy painting. Combining heavily abstract elements with a glimpse of landscape fuels my pursuit!

The only reason I’m even mentioning any of this is because I know there are other artists out there that struggle with expectations. Whether they are self-imposed or coming from an invisible critic. We are all on a journey of self-discovery, and we shouldn’t have to apologize for that or make excuses. But we often feel the need to.

I think social media is partially to blame, because when we share things, we get a LOT of opinions about it. They can influence us to chase threads that deep down we know we shouldn’t. Praise is like a drug, and in retrospect I can see I really liked that drug.

I was happy painting, and getting praise, and selling a decent amount of work when I focused more on realism. However there was always a voice inside me saying “please let me out.”

That voice was something I ignored as often as possible, but sometimes it got so loud I couldn’t ignore it, and I would break out a big canvas and grab my brushes and palette knives and make a big ol’ beautiful mess.

That sense of play, of seeking a way to turn myself inside out on the canvas, is far more thrilling than sitting down and painting a realistic woodland scene.

They are both valuable. But one is me, and the other is just something I can do.

My final thought on this is that I honestly hate how a lot of us feel the need to label ourselves as one type of artist. “Abstract Artist.” “Impressionist.” “Contemporary Realism.”
I know that these labels come in handy when it comes to differentiating artists in galleries, media, and committing someone to memory.

However it puts a real burden on us to pursue one thing and not stray too far. That can be really damaging to growth if we go so far as to ignore who we really are inside. Ignore that thing that pulls at us. That screams for freedom from within.

So my own journey can serve as advice: to turn inward. Learn how to hear those inner voices.

Don’t feel guilty about doing what you love. Do it your own way.

The world needs less copies and more originals.

We need your voice.