As an artist, I've been working on a theory. Well, I've noticed something, and now I am curious about it.

It seems like each canvas and palette belongs to its own identity, and my work as the artist is to align it, if you will, with the ideas and subject I bring to them. 

And they don't always match.  More on this part later.

So enters the 12 Squared Holiday Art Show at Terakedis Gallery in Billings, MT. The guidelines are  to create three or four artworks measuring 12" by 12".  When I saw the call for art on the Instagram page, @terakedisfineartandjewelry, the process of inspiration started to roll. 

I like rules. A lot. I like guidelines, too, and I like to find structure and creative problem-solving within a set of laid-out parameters. On the other side of that, I also ascribe to some latitude in working with said functions. My goal was to start out with a defined set of measurements and processes, and then to see where each canvas took the process.

I wanted to start with the same experience for each canvas so I could further understand whether each canvas does indeed have a direction it is meant to go. I decided to layer washes of color. As a purely visual experience, the layering of colors brings such delight to my eyes. What begins as a shallow experience builds and deepens, changing with each wash, sometimes fully and sometimes garishly. 

As I applied the alternating washes of paint, each of the four canvas reacted differently. Some showed more streaks, becoming almost wood grain-like in appearance. Yellows showed more prominent in some, while parts of the canvases wore thick belts of violet. The fluctuations in paint and adherence would inform my next movements.

Math and historical connections, both in human thought and geological nature, play significant roles in my work. In my mystified nature of studying compositional methods, and their furtherings found in nature, I started studying the role of the golden ratio when I picked up painting. I recall mentions in college, and with this little seed tucked into the recesses of my brain, I enjoy spending some time with the ratio in my work, most notably in using golden rectangles. A golden rectangle is a rectangle whose sides are related in the golden ratio, roughly 1.618. As this is not essay on golden ratios and rectangles and such, I'll leave my explanations there. I don't inherently know the intricacies yet, and so I am borrowing the knowledge and using the calculations in my artistic studies.  One of the fascinating alignments with this particular 12 Squared project, is that if a square (whose sides are the length of the shortest rectangle side) is removed from a golden rectangle, then the remaining shapes is a golden rectangle as well. And this continues throughout each remaining rectangle. Remove a square and be left with a golden rectangle. 

And here is where my vision and what the canvas wants to be are not necessarily in agreement. I wanted to paint this horse. I tried to paint this horse. But it looked wrong. Really wrong. I painted and painted, covering and recovering, the same areas, again and again to try to feel right about it.

It didn't work.

The paint didn't blend correctly. The colors were off.  It was too transparent. I was lost in the expanse of brick. 

All of my planning, measuring, and structure, gone on the first painting. 

Looking back, the painting wasn't bad. But the contrasts were too much. 

Hours and hours and days and days I had spent on this piece. I hadn't progressed, and my paintbrush couldn't find the right place to be. I made a drastic choice with my palette knife and loads of colors. In minutes, I had covered it with my free will. Gone were the pools of crimson and grains of yellows. In their place was a delightful blend of textures and color. I went to sleep, and the next morning, started fresh.

It came together as easily as itches and scratches. The flow was effortless. What I had perseverated over for a week coalesced into straight hours spent painting, this time with no exasperation and all joy.

The reminder that as much as I wanted it to be something, as much as I had prepped it to be, it had its own purpose; that is the essence beyond the confines.  With this first piece, I looked back on that which I sought to explore. Each canvas brings its own ...interest?... into the work. Is that even possible? 

The latitude to flex as needed, to move beyond the constraints, that became the center of this painting.

Trio.

Below, at, above.

Past, present, future. 

​Soil, Land, Sky.

What does this one say to you?

I will say, the lines have meaning. The colors have meaning. The movement of the horses, or lack thereof, each of these are carefully considered. 

The information that I read about the Golden Ratios is tied together in humanity, in life. In can be found in the different ways that people have either planned out art and architecture or in ways that people seek to understand works.  Many of the ideas are tied to history and the study from thinkers of the past.

In that spirit, I wanted the area that is equivalent to that of the rectangle I had determined (12 x 7.4) to be filled with studies, in this case, of movement and the meanings that the movement conveys. I wanted them filled with life and vitality, to show that the use of numbers and measurements from the past are still with us today. 

And lastly, came Remnant. All of the pieces from the others, the bits of knowledge, the connections, the weaves, the tight lines and specific figurings, they are reflected in this piece. There are exact references (the very nature of the textured squares were formed by pressing Kinesic against this one while the paint was wet) and loosely.

The horse appears to both embrace and be blocked by the reflections of the printed squares. 

Starting as white canvasses and progressing through the same steps and movements, and then branching into explorations of a concept, colors, and horses, created these four paintings. They are as much individualistic as they are tied to each other. 

The show opens on Friday, Dec. 6 at the Billings Holiday ArtWalk and is up until January 15. Zack Terakedis encourages viewer participation by offering a Patron's Choice Award to an artist. Visitors will vote on their favorite works of art, and the award will be announced following the opening weekend. Also, the show will be online starting Dec. 5 at https://terakedisfineart.com/ . Terakedis is offering free shipping for the duration of the show for the 12 Squared pieces! 

At the onset of a year, it stretches out before us. Seemingly endless, with all of the opportunities that time has to offer. And this year has offered much, albeit not in a way I forecasted. 

I initially sought to create an art goal that would both connect me to the horse community in my area as well as to build my skills in painting the individuality and essences of a horse, such that a person could recognize that horse, even if I used abstraction to expand on my current thinking. I came up with the idea of painting a different horse for each moon cycle. I found a lot of interest in myself for both watching the moon and its changes, as well as for cultural and astrological connections.

Art, for me, encompasses such a vastness. There's history in the actual practice of making physical marks to tell a story. Shapes, lines, and colors have enamored eyes like mine. Hands have blended paint and hues and struggled to represent what is in the mind. Tradition abounds through art movements and technical considerations. Composition, color theory, continual growth based on prior elements, all of these are elemental to art. Add in math theory, with all of the concreteness and absolutes to stabilize the flexibilities of the uncertain.

The moon, in all of its waxing and waning and newness and fullness, is already mapped out. What is not predictable is the weather below; the rains and snows and how brightly the sun will shine each day. 

On the path of my year-long project,I fell instantly behind. And all of the reasons, they feel like excuses. Like I haven't turned in an assignment, and I am trying to validate why it will be late. And perhaps they are excuses, and perhaps excuses are just reasons. I do know that the moon which I once loved and followed with such glee become a constant reminder of work I wasn't doing, of time slipping away. Of commitments set aside. 

All of the planning, the mapping, the time scheduled to work on my moon paintings were blown away by the storms of life. And perhaps I will get to that, in time, those storms. And storms aren't bad. Floods bring nutrients, new seeds. The rains water the grasses and plants, letting them come to fruition and bloom with all of the vigor with which they are destined. The snow, even the frigid cold that ices your breath and pricks your cheeks, allows for that great dormancy for recovery. And in that darkest of night, when the full moon rises, one can see with almost the clarity of daylight. 

What I do have is this:

*one finished painting, the February horse from the Snow Moon

*one partially finished painting, sitting in my studio, resting in its state of partial visibility, the January horse from the Wolf Moon

*one started painting from the March horse of the Crow Moon

And a pause. 

I'll need an umbrella of sorts for 2020, when I am to resume my project. A way to clarify my time and efforts for a project of this magnitude. 

But for now, a postponement.