I love Instagram. Love it! It’s the most productive of all the iPhone time wasters. I made it to level 74 of Candy Crush about 6 months ago before becoming afflicted with sudden onset virtual diabetes.  Games are mesmerizing and nominally relaxing but all the benefit ends the second I stop. Instagram gives back. I enjoy it even when I am not doing it. In fact, now I am never not doing it because I think about what I am going to post next all the time and what I am going to post next is art.

In the last year or so I’ve returned to making more two dimensional art on paper and sharing it on Instagram. It’s great because the little grid of posts is like a mini art studio where I can contemplate my themes, interests and techniques. This is a familiar place but one I haven’t been in for nearly a decade. I gave up painting somewhere in my daughter’s preschool years as the intersection of parenting and documentary video editing ate all my time. I never completely stopped, I kept drawing in little blank books, but I ceased actively reviewing my work in this arena. I lost consciousness of my body of work and it ceased to flourish.

Thanks in part to Instagram and in part to my recent overwhelming need to make abstract art, the creative beast is out of hibernation. Drawing woke it up and Instagram offered it art salmon. Or drawing gave me a lot of stuff to post and Instagram rewarded me with ego biscuits. Getting likes is motivational. I love seeing my posts add up. The more I post, the more inspired I became. Since my main art goal in life is to make as much as I can before I die this is a really helpful tool. By keeping me conscious of what I have been doing, the Instagram grid of posts puts me in a never ending dialogue with my work.

I follow a lot of artists on Instagram. I pick them because I think they make interesting work. If I see a picture I like, I click the person’s homepage and look at their grid.  I am attracted to attractive grids (how’s that for a sentence that couldn’t have been written in any other era). If I like that, I switch to the linear mode and look at each post separately. Beside the art itself, I am attracted to posts that make sense in relationship to each other. Does the artist bring the same eye to their dog photos that they do to their paintings? It’s not that I need or want every post to be brilliant, whatever that might mean, but I want it to be curated. Is that fair?  There is nothing inherently “fair” in optional actions, right?  It does make me ponder how others judge my grid of art. That’s an issue with Instagram. There is the individual post and the totality as seen in the grid. To me, I want them both to be satisfying. It’s challenging. I’ve wondered if my grid is it too eclectic? I make several different kinds of art.

If I only posted my abstract work, my grid would look like this.


Instagram Grid_082215_1


But I also like to post my old surrealist paintings, banana faces, pencil drawings, shadow photographs and other things. So my grid looks like this.


Screen Shot 2015-08-22 at 2.10.56 PM Screen Shot 2015-08-22 at 2.13.15 PM


You just don’t know what kind of art you are going to produce before you produce it.  You may think you know but it’s only in reviewing it after the fact that you can say, oh, so that’s what I make, that’s my style, those are my concerns. To me it’s the most interesting thing to do and gives life great joy and meaning. It’s the opposite of consumerism, an antidote I need to stay sane.

Currently my Instagram account is occupying a lot of mental resources.  I can spend more time considering whether two of my Instagram images look good next to each other than I can considering where are we going to live when we retire.  That’s probably not good but it’s keeping the artwork flowing.

You can check it out for yourself at:

Little Book of Abstracts

I always have a little blank book that I do stuff in, write notes, draw pictures, tape photos.  They tend to be very visual but there are no rules.  I can do anything with them I feel like.  It’s a place to keep track of the now, make art, spend time with myself.  Here is a two minute video I made of one of the books a few years ago.  I give all the books names and this book was called Don’t Speak.

A friend of mine, Mick Kubiak*, also does this.  In addition, she has two specialty books that are only for art and each one has a theme. Trucks was completed some time ago and Circles is currently in process.  Every time I visit her, I ask to look at what she had added in the Circles book.  It is a great pleasure to see this body of work as it is being born, to witness the process, to see how previous drawings influence future drawings, how the drawings change over time, to see new breakthroughs in her technique.   I just adore her art work.  It really inspires me.

When I was in London last year, I bought a 5 1/2 inch square black hardcover blank book from a magical art supply store called L. Cornelissen & Son.  Their shop is on Great Russell Street, close to the British Museum.   At the time of purchase I was already working in a purple leather bound book titled iPhone Dynasty.  It’s named after the 2nd page in the book which is a drawing of an iPhone.  If you are interested in seeing the drawing, I posted it on June 9th, 2014 in my entry Enter the iPhone. Over the course of 2014 I started doing a considerable number of abstracts in iPhone Dynasty such as:


It started to occur to me that I could use the British book in the same way Mick does and make it an abstracts only book.  It would be cool to have an art only book, something I could show people without censorship.  However, I didn’t like the idea of giving up my “freedom”. What if Andy said something funny and I wanted to write it down, where would it go? Olive couldn’t draw in it. I couldn’t just whip something off or do whatever I felt like.  It would have to be “good”. How was that going to be fun?  The imaginary pressure was intense.  I mentally hemmed and hawed.  I didn’t do anything for a while.

Then I ran out of pages in iPhone Dynasty so I made a drawing in the new book. I didn’t like it very much and felt irritated. I made another drawing and liked it a lot.  I felt excited.  I made another and another and another.  I showed Andy and Olive.  Olive loved one of the spreads and insisted I not touch it again. Then Olive did some abstract work, an unprecedented departure from drawing ponies non stop. Andy did some abstract work.  What was going on?  I fixed the bad drawing.  That gave me a new rule. All drawings must be good!  We will work on everything until we like it!

With each addition, my desire to do more grew until I found myself where I am now, thinking that working in this book is the current great pleasure in life.  It reminds me of when I was painting.  It’s very satisfying to be adding to a body of work.  There is a feeling of sublime accomplishment.  It’s not just the output but the quivering harmony of surprise and ownership that one feels when viewing something you made from nothing.  How did I do that?  I really don’t know and yet I really did do it.

It’s a benign addiction.  What marvelous thing might I make next?  Of course this delight is intermingled more or less continuously with disgust.  How will I ever make THAT work?  Why did I make the background puke pink?  Did I just draw a hole through the paper?!!  That edge of disgust and delight is fascinating terrain. In my experience, that is where originality comes from.  I am not saying I am all that original but as an artist, I have to know how to get ideas.  I have to be good at it. This is where I sharpen my knife.

In the future, I am going to post photos from the drawings in this book and talk about them.  So stay tuned if that’s your bag.

Thank you to Mick for the inspiration.  Nothing gives others permission more than your own actions.


*Mick Kubiak is a talented therapist, writer and musician.  You can visit her blog at: