Adventures in Finishing

collection of artwork by Cynthia Berg

I'm continuing to experiment with finishing - the less ‘intuitive’ part of making art. And I have to admit, fussing around with finishing is becoming an excellent way to avoid making new art.

More on that later.

The photo of the calla lily was my first gallery piece. I remember it took me at least a week to make a decent print, while I learned everything about resolution and color space and paper and ink and ten other printmaking mysteries I've forgotten because I will let the experts do it from now on. All I know is that I've never had a calibrated monitor. So it's basically hit and miss. I just keep making prints until I get it right.

I love a big fat mat, don't you? And the frameless frame makes it even more dramatic.

The fiddle leaf is an acrylic painting, though it looks a LOT like watercolor or gouache. It's floated in the frame so there's a space between the surface of the painting and the glass. If they touch, eventually they will stick together and create problems.

So I've used a spacer around the edges to create the gap. The paper is wavy and I may need to bring it to a framer to have it pressed. Because the paper is not grounded with gesso or any kind of background layer, it's subject to accidental staining if I try to get clever with water and heavy books.

And then the little guy is a mixed media piece on paper which I've mounted to a cradled wood panel. The panel is primed first (black gesso is what I used for this one). And the artwork is varnished with matte medium after it's been glued on with archival PVA and set up overnight.

Necessary exploration or excellent avoidance tactic?

I’ve noticed that when I don’t have a solid idea of what ‘finished’ means in my artmaking, it’s harder to begin. Isn’t that funny?

As a serious adult, I spend so much of my energy trying to be productive and achieve great outcomes that I feel lost when those parameters are fuzzy or non-existent.

And I really HATE that lost feeling so much.

Here’s an example of what happens in my brain:

Oh, I’d love to spend the afternoon making some messes in my studio. I wonder what I’ll make today?

I should figure out what size to make it, because what if I want to frame it?

Or maybe I should mount it on board?

I could always buy a custom mat if it’s an odd size.

But that’s expensive.

Maybe I should buy a cutter so I can make my own mats.

And compare the price of materials to the price of cradled panels.

And compare a few different suppliers to make sure I have the best deal.

But what if I use pastels? How will I make sure that’s protected? Maybe I need to float that kind of artwork under glass?

Do I have room in my house for all this finished artwork?

I need a bigger house.

But the price of real estate….

And the afternoon goes right on by while I suffer over the price of real estate. I don’t need to worry - I’m not making a whole lot of art, am I?

With a heap of self-compassion, I’m letting myself wander around in avoidance and enjoy answering all the inane questions. Maybe this is just all part of the evolutionary process.

No new house. But I’m getting a lovely new mat cutter tomorrow!

A little photography, a little poetry, a little inspiration to move your pen across the page, your brush over the canvas, a spark for your creative courage.

This is the MUSELETTER you’ll look forward to receiving.