The Joy of Painting by Jeffrey Pratt
I cling to the notion that painting is a Buddhist practice. For starters painting is not about making money: painting helps me find, on a good day, a place where I’m feeling fully integrated with my world, my eco system - eco not ego – setting up and painting directly from life short circuits the ego very often.
Ego and art don’t mix: for me any whisper of expectation, need, hunger, demand for certain opens the door for ego to slither in. And don’t be fooled. Ego is a Gollum-like creature capable of amazing cunning and wheedling.
“Oh Jeffrey,” cries Ego over my shoulder whilst I paint. “Oh Jeffrey – now that’s superb, unquestionably £2000 worth.”
With luck I’m so happily engrossed in the nowness of clouds overhead and shadows cast by bales or holding my big palette steady on a gusty day, my easel already heavily weighed down with rocks against freak gusts of wind, I don’t hear. But oh heaven help me if I hear Ego’s whispers even for a second and believe this could be a good work. Then, in a moment, three or four self-conscious strokes later, the painting’s ruined.
Maybe I should explain. My homemade self-taught technique, always with oils is based on clean colour, and nature observed but not copied – poet compression almost.
So I’ll spend two or three hours mixing my colours: luscious freely running paint on a very big palette – big blobs of paint and I use big size ten or twelve brushes. Then I sort out the composition and go . . . go . . . go.
Go for 101 per cent concentration, Jenny, leave not one chink of space for ego or left brain interference. See colour and record it, observe, keep moving, work powerfully, confidently and hopefully.
Not hopefully for praise or money but hoping for a release of pent up feelings, hoping for a freedom from society’s expectations. Break rules – to hell with nature’s colours (if need be) whack in some red and blue, see them fizzle and crackle together and say: ”Thank you God for my drive and passion, for a wonderful world to inhabit, however briefly,” and have compassion for those thousands who slave away at work they hate or work that offers little or not scope for zest and inspiration.
P.S. (added three days later)
Since this letter I’ve been painting like mad, under pressure,
with expectation of quick results because my gallery urgently needs
five paintings to complete an exhibition. Result? Almost zero and huge
exhaustion and frustration because I’ve failed completely to adhere
to the spiritual rules; failed to move quietly with the creative flow,
working peacefully and with love for painting,
not the results.