Learning to Imagine: Academic Creativity and the Therapy of Art

Art classes never really worked well for me. At school, with one teacher, they felt like home for a while, because we were given some degree of freedom. I’ve always liked to draw, even as a small child, and those first GCSE art classes gave me some sort of release in the general boredom that were my schooldays. Then, the next year, we had a different teacher, and she was fresh out of training and full of her own ideas. To me, that’s no good for art. I don’t want to listen to someone else ideas, I want to work on my own. I came out of that course with a B over the A I might have attained in other circumstances.

I’ve never liked being told what I can and can’t do.

At art college, I very nearly failed fine art entirely. I remember the first class we had, we were working with oil pastels. I had used oil pastels before, and so I was working into the piece, creating something. She came by, and told me that I was doing it all wrong. That the way I was using them was the incorrect way to work with oil pastels. My response was not entirely polite, as you might expect from an over-opinionated 18 year old. We largely left one another alone after that, but she put the idea into my head for years afterwards that there was such a thing as a ‘right’ and a ‘wrong’ way to make art.

I think that’s why I initially gravitated towards photography, choosing to specialise in it in the second half of that course. At beginner level, when you’re just learning what the different chemicals are for, and how to manipulate light, there’s a simplistic beauty about photography. It’s science but it’s art. It’s something that, to an extent, you can learn via a step by step process.(That’s certainly not to say that photography is not art, or does not require an eye for detail and a creative touch, because I do not believe that for a moment, and I was defensive enough over the subject to write my dissertation about it. However, that is a lengthy and highly charged topic for another day entirely.) There are numbers involved, times, recipes and specific technique which can be easily replicated time and time again. I found sanctuary and calm in those classes. There are a great many people who get plenty out of a formal art education, but I am not one of them. Nevertheless, I pressed on with a photography degree, scraping through graduation just barely. With hindsight, I think that I might have done a lot better academically if I had chosen a course in something science based. It would probably have been more use, too.

It used to be the case that I would have an idea, and then I would go off to research it before I even considered beginning. Had it been done before? How had it been done before? I imagined that I was searching for inspiration, but actually, I was searching for validation, some sort of guarantee that I was on the right track, that I was doing something correctly, that I wasn’t going to be laughed at for trying it. I was so afraid of failure that I had trouble even trying. I rarely shared my work with anybody, and only then if I was certain of a positive response.

What a ridiculous way to think.

Mistakes are lessons which you can not learn from anybody other than yourself.

I know now that for me, personally, the very act of sharing my creative output is an integral aspect of its completion. Not only do I like to hear feedback, but the sharing of something which I have created feels like there’s a point to its existence. I paint for myself, I write for myself, but once those things are done, once I feel that whatever therapeutic benefit I’ve gained from painting a picture is complete, why keep it? Why not just gesso over it and paint another picture on the same canvas? I could do that. But it’s not the right thing for my personal process. That’s not to say that the same is true for everybody, or that art should only be created to be seen. I do have some pieces which were created for me and me alone; things which I can go back to, look at, remember the lessons I learned when I made them. But arguably, even in those cases, I’m still sharing them. I am not the person I was when I made them. My role in the process has shifted from artist to viewer.

I am a lot more comfortable with myself and my own thoughts these days because of this openness with my work. I am at peace with the fact that anything I show might elicit any response from the wonderful to the cruel, and I am perfectly prepared for that to happen. Nobody is ever going to do something which appeals to every person on this earth. The only reason I need to do something now is that it makes me happy. Any validation I need comes from the fact that I am emotionally and mentally healthier that I ever was throughout the years of worrying what other people thought.

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Simple Scanning of Negative Film Without a Film Scanner

Having finally gotten around to developing the steadily increasing pile of film that had been amassing over the past year of general creative apathy, I was stuck with no longer owning or having access to a film scanner, so I turned to Google in the hopes of sourcing a DIY solution. I don’t need amazing quality, I just wanted to see what I’ve got and maybe share a few on social media.

The first thing I found was something I’ve seen before. It looks like an open sided sandwich box, and can be used to get a standard (non-backlit) flatbed scanner to scan transparent media. I had a try, but with no luck. It’s possible that I’m not positioning it correctly somehow, or that my little all-in-one printer scanner isn’t quite up to the task, but if anybody is interested, there’s a detailed tutorial right here.

A second option, and one which I have only briefly tried (with slightly better luck than the cardboard adapter, but still not fantastic results) is using a smartphone or tablet to provide backlighting on the scanner bed. Petapixel detail the process here. I suspect that my attempts might have involved too much screen brightness, so it’s probably worth experimenting with that. I whacked mine right up, and the resulting scan was just way too bright, creating a nearly black image once it was inverted.

Now, on to what I actually have found works for me.

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