New beginnings, feeling finished and Howling Bells

It's rare for an artist to feel that 'i'm finished' feeling in a way that's resolute.

Usually, or so I find, a painting doesn't so much have a clear cut end point than it does a fade to black kind of feeling. I consider myself finished when I no longer feel I can add anything to what I'm standing in front of, so I may as well put the brush down and step away from the canvas. But I don't exactly feel a big sense of satisfaction at the end, it's more like a feeling of someone leaving me. Inspiration and I danced a good dance, but now it's over and it's back to reality. It is normally a sad feeling, because like a bright and fiery relationship - it was good while it lasted. Sometimes I'll feel the need to go out running, or dancing, or something energetic in an attempt to avoid answering the question: so, what next? I need a rest really, a good lie down and sleep. But my brain has other ideas, and would rather I deal with a sparky cloud of thoughts about everything from what I'm doing with my life, where I want to be and what matters.

I've just this second finished a painting. Today's method for fighting the post-painting crazy is a combination of Mogwai, blogging and vodka.

When I'm working on a painting I keep it covered between stints. If that sheet wasn't thrown over the work in progress I'd never get anything else done. An unfinished work is a constant visual hook, it forces me to look for the next mark I'd make, which bit needs my attention first. When it is finished, I still feel the need to hide it away out of sight for a while. It's as if there is some invisible lingering connection between me and it, and some time needs to go by before that connection can evaporate like smoke.

But in this case, the painting in question is a portrait commission, which is why I haven't already shown it off here. The patron gets first dibs on the 'big reveal' of course. The fact I've been requested to paint a subject close to someone else's heart has made for a very different connection. In a way, I thought it might be easier, because perhaps logically I'd be less emotionally involved with the subject, so could be more objective. But actually I found the experience just as all consuming and at times pretty intense. Painting to please yourself is one thing, painting to please someone else is another basket of kittens. It took me a while to detach myself from the worry of not being able to create the life in the face of the subject that the patron would be looking for. Eventually I stopped being an idiot and over thinking things, got busy and had that break-through moment where you know it's gonna work out. In the end, I was able to tune in to the character I was painting and capture them.

At least I hope so, if I don't write another blog you'll know that they hated it and I killed myself.
*Kidding*.

I started work on the commission just as I felt finished with university life, so it wasn't the calmest of times to introduce a new beginning into the mix. I made the call to student finance the other day, which was the last thing I had to do on the list of 'things to do once you've decided to chuck university in'. As anti-climactic withdrawing from uni had been, the reality of what I was doing had started to sink in. I think it really started to sink in after a recent gig in Camden to see The Howling Bells, with my mate S.

We had booked the tickets ages in advance. The Howling Bells were pretty new to me, much more S's thing, but I like their sound so was willing to give them a go. But when the night of the gig came around, I didn;t exactly feel in the partying mood. How had I earned a night out when I'd just quit a 3 year course of study 1 year in, and had nothing much to show for it? But, I donned my sequins and got my ass out the house, telling myself that some loud sound might be just the jolt my brain needed.

The train into London was crammed, so S and I found ourselves sharing a table for 4 with a suited commuter type. This guy, sadly I didn't get his name, sparked a conversation with us (initiated by my blindingly bright sequin top I might add) that was weirdly the beginning of my feeling just a little bit more like 'Tori the Tattoo Artist'. He asked us what we did for a living, 'I'm working in graphic design right now but I'm looking for an apprenticeship to become a tattoo artist', I announced.

It's my belief that the more people you tell your plans to, the more real they become. An idea kept to yourself could vanish into thin air easily, but share that idea with a million people and some of them are going to ask you how it's going now and then. Stating your intention to other people affirms it to yourself, it makes it just that bit bigger, brighter and stronger.

Ok, I'm starting to sound like a Daft Punk track.

But chatting to this total stranger about my goals and dreams did feel good.

The second big contributing factor to my feeling that bit more like 'Tori the Tattoo Artist' was talking to S about it on the late train home, over our deliciously greasy dinner fit for a Burger King. We both really enjoyed the gig, well I enjoyed it, S was 'blown away', which I was glad to see. (I'll leave S to write the gig review...).

We swapped similar stories of feeling of being a little lost life-wise. Both with ideas for big adventures and new beginings, both trying to get over that intitial starting hump, we seemed to be at a point in our lives where everything was set to change. But just as I've every faith in S's ambitions, he seemed sure that I'd make my inky dreams happen, and offered up some skin for the future, of which I'm greatful.

Telling strangers your dreams can be beneficial, but telling those who know you can really spur you on. If you want to shoot for the moon in this life, you need to keep a firm grip on your self-belief. No one else can do this for you, the buck stops with you, but that being said, having other people believe in you also is like noticing the stars in an otherwise dark sky.