Miniature Existentialist Graffiti

This project started as a free form production of tiles which I wanted to then cut up, rearrange and position in layers to create something unexpected. I produced a host of these using the gelli plate and cardstock ‘fodder’. I constantly have extra papers and card next to my main art board, and if I have extra paint on my palette, brayer or brush then I’ll apply it randomly to these surfaces. I also add any extra ink from stamps or excess colours from mark-making tools such as sponges or kitchen implements. This all adds to the process of accidental discovery which I find particularly motivating because you never know what it’s going to throw up. Sometimes ‘throw up’ is an apt description of the products this process produces — as if someone had swallowed a few tubes of paint and then gone through a biofeedback incident!

One particular set of foundational cards resulted from taping down a number of gessoed cards and treating the resulting array as a single piece. (see below).

I used a combination of modelling paste (applied through stencils with dry-brushing on top, scumbling, marks from indian ink and subtle wallpaper stamps. Once done and dried, I removed the tape and treated each card as a source of collage pieces. Again, this creates new possibilities by changing the borders and even rotating the individual pieces into nes positions. Some, I simply cut up, choosing the particular micro elements that appealed to me.

My foundational surface was a piece of MDF reinforced with pine beading. The base layer was prepared using pages from an old needlework book. Very little of this actually shows through in the furnished piece, but the act of pasting these down always initiates the process and gets me over the ‘blank canvas syndrome.’

The initial influence for producing the next layers came from Daniel Ibottson’s work and additional works I saw on Pinterest which appealed to me. In the end, the finished work looks nothing like the artworks that acted as initial inspiration. Such is the journey that these pieces follow for me.

I was also struck by a giant mural/collage I saw in the waiting area of Carlisle Infirmary Cancer Centre, which I was frequenting a lot in December 2023 (that’s a whole other story). Anyway, I liked the idea of collage elements extending beyond the strict dimensions of rectangular space afforded by the MDF base. I’d wanted this to occur in all directions, but realised after a while that, practically, bits of fragile card sticking out all over the place might not survive transportation and installation, so I restricted the ‘tendrils’ to the bottom of the piece. These were placed before the upper components so that subsequent layers could overlap. The black marks on the tendrils are made using distress ink stamps.

Then came the fun part, organising the different pieces I’d produced in an overlapping mosaic. I treat these elements as complex brush strokes, in the same way that an oil painter might employ particular sweeps of the brush or application of a palette knife. Another parallel is perhaps how guitarists such as Ritchie Blackmore or Jimmy Page perform extended improvisational solos made up from scales and runs on the fretboard they have previously used. This took quite a long time, choosing which parts to cover up, which pieces complemented each other, and which acted as a contrast. I find a parallel in this with editing a novel. Sometimes you have to ‘kill your darlings’ and sacrifice one layer in place of a subsequent one, creating a ‘greater good’ in the finished product. This can be especially nerve wracking when you have already spent a long time creating particular base layers. Still, the notion that only I am aware of what lies beneath, and that this sacrificial offering has meaning, has a certain appeal.

Once completed, I trimmed the bottom tendrils to make them less uniform, and then engaged in further layers of mark-making using a variety of tools and techniques e.g. tonking, white gel pen and mixed colour sponging. This last one I discovered by accident, and has a special attraction for me. I put two dollops of contrasting acrylic colours next to each other on a tile, and then soak them up on a circular sponge, allowing them to merge at the centre. Once fully applied, the sponge can be applied with a slight twist on the ‘canvas’ to produce the moon-shaped motifs you see interspersed throughout the piece.

I had various possible titles fermenting in my mind for this piece. I consider the naming process integral to the overall impact of the artwork, and my working title was ‘Out on the tiles’. On my extended list were a number of other possibilities:

Speaking through another

Slapstick remedy

An appropriate response to reality

Not necessarily stoned, but beautiful

A world to look through

Straining against fate

Explore your dream’s creation

Dreams transport desires

Force into flow

Careless of consequence

It’s easy enough if you don’t laugh too loud

Nothing’s what you thought it would be

Miniature Existentialist Graffiti

Boldly going nowhere

Exchanging graffiti with a disembodied race

Cutting corners, going around in circles

I keep long lists of possible titles in a notebook app, so I often consult these when considering possibilities. In the end, the phrase ‘Existentialist Graffiti’ jumped out at me, originating from (yet another) Neil Peart lyric. After researching the phrase, I found that other artists have used the idea before, albeit on a large scale — walls, the sides of buildings and other urban environments. Although this is a larger piece for me, I can hardly say it encompasses the dimensions of these artists. I therefor added the word ‘miniature’.

As usual, I had to call time on it, and eventually abandoned the piece after 12 hours, conducted over many sittings during a fortnight.