The hard things to admit

Pushing my comfort

To my friend,

I am working on a body of work that I thought was going to break me. It’s hard to admit and even harder to type.

During the past few months, I have been thinking intently about atmospheres. I am deeply intrigued by their qualities. Atmospheres represent space—a depth that I cannot always see. Other times, they are very present, carrying moisture, particles, and dust in the air. They feel like thresholds. A liminal space. They’re ephemeral. And they are illusive.

I first began exploring this subject with my film camera, snapping photos whenever I saw hints that reminded me of the very thing. I then moved into making monotypes where I thought I would leap and bound into an entire body of work—and then that didn’t happen.

This subject matter feels slightly different. Slightly new. And I had to learn to make new shapes that would turn into new compositions. Print after print. Problem after problem. I wasn’t achieving the imagery I kept visualizing in my head. The painted plate wouldn’t render. Ink wouldn’t transfer. Or it would transfer too much. I even explored printing on new materials—duralar, mulberry paper, canvas, cotton rag.

I felt frustrated. And confused. Lost. Upset. I started questioning myself and my abilities.

In many ways, it’s so much easier to express myself in writing. My words seem to be present and in excess. I can construct sentences, word by word, and build compositions in this way. I feel slightly awkward typing that. Admitting that writing is sometimes easier than visual art. Like I am an imposter. But I can’t help but embrace its accessibility. How easy it is to compose and type. Delete and backspace. Draft and edit.

Against all my wishes, curse words, and tests, I couldn’t stop obsessing over my monotypes. Countless nights, I lay awake painting images in my mind. Turning the problem over on its side, upside down, and back again.

This is the process though, isn’t it? Things aren’t always crystal clear. The way through the gap—where I am versus where I see myself being—isn’t always linear. Or successful. I can choose to view it differently. I can see it as play. As a way to keep my hands moving. And my thoughts engaged with ideas. Yes, it was frustrating. And I did feel confused. And I also learned an incredible amount about printmaking and my materials.

Just two weeks ago, I finally nailed a way of making that felt like it supported both monoprinting and my idea. I’m going to keep playing, and pushing my own comfort zones. I want to advance my skills so I can move through the threshold of this gap. I’m not done with the body of work. I am entering a new chapter. I’m only just beginning.

There’s so much process to continue finding. Being present in. And that’s where I find myself. That’s where I want to be.

talk soon xx

Lauren

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- Currently reading: Milk Fed by Melissa Broder

Listen to: the latest Viewfinder episode

If we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting—I’m Lauren Sauder, an artist, writer, and mentor. If you enjoyed this post, here are a few ways you can connect with me:

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• Get in touch with me directly—send an email to laurensauderstudio@gmail.com.