What Lingers Reminds Us

One of the reasons I’ve never been able to follow the advice that artists should choose a “niche” is because I have too many ideas. The good thing about that is I’m never bored — I’m always working on several projects at once. The bad thing is that there is never enough time or energy to actually complete everything I want to do (and maybe that it could be confusing to others, when you’re on the outside looking in). I’m constantly making tradeoffs and changing directions, figuring out how I work best, and where I can best contribute.

I know, from years of managing projects in the corporate world, that prioritization is hard for most of us. When I became a mom, the time available to me to pursue a growing list of my own interests became even more finite. It became harder to get everything I want to get done, but at least easier to say no to things I don’t want to do (when they aren’t a necessity).

I’m still left with a LOT I want to say yes to. I hate that by saying yes to one thing, it means saying no to something else that I think could be really great. I have ideas for completely new businesses I may never act on, a non-fiction book and community that aren’t obviously related to anything else I’m doing, plus 2 other non-fiction books that are all just notes in my “idea log”. I’ve very loosely started thinking about a novel, working towards it in the fringes of my days — jotting random scenes down as they pop into my mind, without dedicating any specific time to it. I always have paintings in progress and poems or half written song lyrics lining my notebooks. I try to remember that saying no to something now doesn’t necessarily mean saying no to it forever.

Other times, I’m afraid that it does mean exactly that — that I’ll never get to it, or that someone else will get to it first. In "Big Magic"*, Elizabeth Gilbert writes about how an idea works — hint, it’s magic. She believes ideas are their own energetic life forms, driven by a single impulse: to be made manifest through collaboration with a human partner. She writes, “an idea swirls around and when it thinks it has found somebody — say, you — who might be able to bring it into the world, the idea will pay you a visit. It will try to get your attention. Mostly, you will not notice…. The idea will try to wave you down (perhaps for a few moments; perhaps for a few months; perhaps even for a few years), but when it finally realizes that you’re oblivious to its message, it will move on to someone else.”

Maybe that’s true. Maybe someone else should bring them to life, so they don’t stay just a scribbled note I may forget all about. Maybe a new one will take its place. Or maybe the ideas I’m not oblivious to — the ones I log in my list or start to bring to fruition — will wait for me. I like to think that they’ll keep trying to wave me down, that starting on them is enough. That what lingers reminds us.

The other reason I’ve never been interested in choosing a niche is because each of my artistic mediums feeds into another - my photography inspires my paintings and vice versa, my paintings inspire my writing and vice versa. I can’t paint expressive abstract work without listening to music and singing... I don’t know how to do one creative pursuit without the others. This leads me to the artwork I’m sharing today, a piece that only exists because I was working on both a painting project and a writing project simultaneously.

I recently came across a writing prompt to create “blackout poetry”. The technique involves taking a piece of writing (say, a newspaper) and using a marker to cover up most of the words, leaving visible only a few that really resonated for whatever reason. Those words become the poem. Austin Kleon, who wrote the blackout poetry book "Newspaper Blackout"* talks about the history of the technique, which spans back to the 1700s and subsequently inspired various artist and writers, in his TEDxKC talk "Steal Like An Artist".

When I came across the prompt, I was in the midst of a new painting series (which I will write about soon). I’ve also been wanting to incorporate painting on antique frames, inspired by artists like Sarah J. Schwartz, and thought I’d merge these into one project.

I took a few sections of words from notebooks filled with my own random thoughts and draft poetry and journaling, and mixed various pieces together to make a new paragraph. I then copied it onto mixed media paper using watercolor and a small brush and used the blackout poetry technique using the watercolor brush in lieu of a sharpie. The words that felt meaningful to shine through: what lingers reminds us.

I started painting over the other words, in line with the visual theme of the work I'd already started (so, this piece and more like this — minus the poetry and gold frame — are on the way!). In the spirit of my no buy year, I repurposed a frame I already had. After more effort than I’d expected (prying out staples with a screwdriver, ripping the cardboard backing apart, trying to remove the glass only to find it was glued in), I reassembled the whole thing with my partially painted over poem, and then continued painting on top of the frame and glass.

The original piece of writing (the part that was mostly covered up) was about dust — the bits of ourselves that we have already shed. Because I know where the words came from, I think of them in that context. What lingers reminds us…. of who we once were; of who we still are, or always have been; of who we could become. Taken out of that context as a new piece of writing, it could mean something else entirely.

What lingers reminds us… of what we’ve overcome; of our history, how it repeats itself; of those who came before us; of what they gave, and what we gained; of what we’ve lost; of how much there still is to lose; of what really matters; of what’s worth fighting for.

What lingers reminds us… that we know what is true; that it isn’t too late; that love is love; that we each have a role to play; that the Earth is resilient; that people are resilient; that hope is contagious; that a spark can be enough.

What lingers in you?

What will it inspire you to do?

*I am an affiliate for bookshop.org, where each purchase supports independent booksellers. Purchasing the books mentioned in this piece via my links results in no extra cost to you but provides me with a small commission. No other links on this page are affiliate links.

Beyond the Studio with Jocelyn Elizabeth is an intimate behind-the-scenes look at my creative practice and life as an artist, writer and mom. Here, you can expect to find visual art, personal essays and poetry. My work explores the question of what it means to be alive from the interconnected lens of our human experience and the natural world, and I am interested in how we can live differently and better alongside the earth and each other. My portfolio and more information about me can be found at www.jocelynelizabeth.com.

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Jocelyn