Much Ado About Noting

A twilight sky with geese flying in a V in the distance.

People talk in a precious way about genius, creativity, and curiosity as superpowers that people are born with but noticing is a more humble pursuit. Noticing is something we can all do.”

Jason Kottke

In a Shakespeare class in college, I learned that “nothing” and “noting” were pronounced nearly the same in Elizabethan times. Much Ado About Nothing — one of my favorite plays — is both about making a fuss out of nothing, and of the plot drama that comes out of noting, or noticing.

I pay a lot of attention to the little things: details in artwork, the way bees kiss flowers (and sometimes take naps in their petals), forgotten grocery lists. I’ve also kept a logbook for the past few years, keeping record of my daily life.

Noticing/noting; little nothings. Little notings.

A huge number of the photos I take are studies in composition, a way of noticing and appreciating the random, everyday textures and colors around me.

While an art form all in their own, small observed details can also be the spark for something bigger.

Pursue your curiosity: asking questions like “What do I like about this?” and “What textures, colors, and compositions could I borrow?” and “What if…?” may result in a surprising painting, an essay, or a entirely new way of working.

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Joan Mitchell

Sans Pierre, 1969
Sans Pierre (side view)

In May, I went to see the Joan Mitchell exhibition at the Baltimore Museum of Art; this weekend, I went for the second time. Most of Mitchells’ paintings are huge and full of energy, big strokes, and drips.

My favorite works feel deeply exploratory and focused on the process, not the outcome, and are a reminder for me to do the same.

When I am working, I am only aware of the canvas and what it tells me to do… I am certainly not aware of myself. Painting is a way of forgetting oneself.”

When I go to see artwork in person, I crouch and squint and look at it from the side, wanting to see the artist’s process. How did they use their brushes? Which layer did they add first? What is the balance of looser, watery elements and marks made with dry bristles? I took so many photos of details and texture.

I paint from remembered landscapes that I carry with me — and remembered feelings of them, which of course become transformed. I could certainly never mirror nature. I would like more to paint what it leaves me with.

I also loved looking at and comparing the two diptychs below. Both were painted in the same year, and I’m so curious if she created them around the same time. See how the top left both have vertical, solid colors, and the paintings move into smaller and more energetic strokes as she moves right and downwards?

No Rain, 1976
Weeds, 1976
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Details

Within each piece I make, there are scores of unintentional mini compositions. I love looking for the most interesting bits and studying how the layers, colors, and textures meet one another.

Each of the photos above is a snap of a small detail of a larger art journal page. All are mixed media — a combination of acrylic, oil pastel, wax crayon, tempura paint, graphite, and paint marker. Some have collage elements, too.

By studying what catches my eye the most, I learn more about my own style and gain inspiration for further art exploration.

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