Theoretical Density, 24 x 36 inches, acrylic on canvas, ©2010 Deidre Adams

Even with a rather full plate of graphic design work in the past couple of weeks, I’ve been very focused on getting some paintings done. I’ve settled into a routine: Wake up, go into the studio and contemplate what I did the day before, then put on some more layers. Then, while those are drying, go downstairs, get my coffee & cereal, and do design work for a few hours. Then maybe exercise on those days I’m not successful in talking myself out of it, and then after lunch, reward myself with studio time. The paradox for me is that the busier I am, the more I’m able to concentrate in the studio. If I have nothing much else going on, I tend to procrastinate and waste time on the computer instead of staying focused.

I’ve been feeling energized and excited about my work. I have lots of new paintings that I’ll be posting in the coming weeks. Now that I’m out of school, I’m momentarily free of being forced to say what my work is about, and this is liberating. I can just do whatever I like, continuing to explore and discover new things about how the paints and mediums and tools work, developing an intimate understanding of what it is I like to see in my own work in regard to form and process.

Theoretical Density (detail), ©2010 Deidre Adams

However, I belong to a Yahoo group of artists where the topic of meaning in art seems to recur on a regular basis. There are always those who say adamantly that a work of art has to have some kind of meaning, or it’s not truly art. I don’t agree with this myself, at least not in the sense that I think it’s intended. For me, a visceral response to a work of art comes primarily through my physical experience of it, and for purposes of simplicity, I’m going to say that’s visual, since that’s the kind of art I work with. If I don’t find myself engaging with a painting or an art quilt or a sculpture on a visual level, then the meaning behind it is automatically rendered irrelevant for me.

Of course, everyone experiences art differently, and this can be very personal for some. I’m curious to know what you think about this. If you disagree, please tell me. (By the way, Robert Genn of The Painter’s Keys wrote an interesting take on this in his newsletter, under the topic “The Bigger Questions.”)

I have a lot of ideas that go through my mind when I’m working. I’ve been reading and thinking about various aspects of physics, biology, and linguistics. There are lots of possibilities for context. Is it important to you as the viewer to know specifically what I had in mind when you see one of my paintings? Or can you be satisfied to experience it on a visual level, free to make your own associations?