Sometimes it fails

One of the enduring mysteries of making art is that no amount of skill guarantees success. Sometimes a piece feels alive, while others feel merely competent. This one I worked on for some time, and it never felt like it was working. It is the second time this has happened since I restarted.

For me, a work of art "works" when every decision seems to belong. Composition, color, value, gesture, symbolism, texture, and scale reinforce one another rather than compete. This one just seemed to compete at every turn. The rhythm, the tension, harmony, and meaning all seemed to lie flat. I know I'm not the only artist who goes through this, but this one felt important.

Currently, I feel I don't need to negotiate with the painting itself. Every mark changes the possibilities of the next mark. Sometimes unexpected relationships emerge that are richer than the original intention. Other times, the work becomes increasingly constrained by earlier decisions. The painting develops a logic of its own. And I guess I did recognize when it took a turn or failed to happen because I didn't follow the feeling. I guess I tried to impose a predetermined outcome.

Maybe this is what separates art from craft.

I'm finding my new work reveals itself rather than being forced into existence. This one, I think, I perhaps over-explained to myself, overworked, or was overly cautious, as though every problem had been solved except the most important one: whether the work possesses a convincing inner life. This one died.

I have always believed that without the possibility of failure, there would be no possibility of genuine discovery. But now, if the emotional, formal, or conceptual relationships never coalesce, the painting feels inert, which in my opinion makes art one of the most powerful means of expression that exist.

Art survives because people need meaning, not because they need decoration.