Intrusions – The Language of Painting

Reading time: approx. 4 min

In my view, the language of painting is entirely its own. Anyone who thinks you simply pick up a brush and smear something onto a surface is mistaken. I believe that anyone who has ever tried to paint a picture has been confronted by many inner voices. Most of them likely come from a critical inner voice that constantly butts in, saying things like: 'This is going to be so bad, you can't do this, you might as well stop now, this looks like shit, what will others think, it looks like it was painted by a child.'

By the way, if you are familiar with that last point—'it looks like it was painted by a child'—I can only congratulate you. Because in my opinion, you then had a moment of connection with your inner child. Besides, I find children's drawings wonderful because they are completely unabashed, honest, and very expressive. They may not be anatomically correct, they may not be particularly harmonious or classically shaded, but so what? What is the beauty of visual art? That you represent something without using words. The clearer the message within it, the more impressive I find it.

Many are familiar, for example, with family portraits painted by children. The largest person is usually the most important or the decisive person in the family. In my drawings, my mother was always the largest figure, followed by my parakeet, then my sister and me, and finally, my father was very small at the end. A picture like that says more than a thousand words about a child's view of their family.

The Process of Creating

Thus, the language of painting says a lot about a situation or a person. Perhaps also about a theme, but always paired with the inner life of the person who created it. You have to learn how to handle these inner voices during the process. With this painting here, which I affectionately call 'Hecklings,' I managed to very consciously perceive that one moment in which the inner voice wanted to sabotage the painting process. Well, sabotage sounds a little harsh, but I'll let it stand, because I actually do feel it is intrusive.

A moment arose in which I felt a block. Fear welled up inside me. Fear of ruining the painting. Voices came up saying: 'If you do it like that, you'll fuck it up. It will be shit, no one will understand it or find it beautiful.' A few minutes passed in which I just sat there, unable to continue in any way. Until I felt a clear, brief moment and realized that this is not about the outside world at all. It is about me and about the part of me that wants to keep going. About that innocent part of me that simply wants to be, to create, and to express itself. Period. And so I thought to myself: "Just do what you want, try things out, do what you feel is right."

The Precious Gift

This was how I was able to break free from that paralysis and finally continue. In that moment, I truly didn't care what would become of the painting, because what I had gained was a much more precious gift: trust in my own honesty with myself and self compassion. A compassion that doesn't want to change or improve anything directly, but is simply there. I took myself by the hand and gave myself what I needed, instead of listening to what other voices were saying.

I know that such statements are often written off as totally clichéd these days. But is the topic really so worn out because we are all already living it with such wonderful lightfootedness? Honestly, I don't think so. I believe we fall into this trap many times a day, following other voices instead of our own. That we are hard and strict with ourselves. And when we finally do learn to listen to and respect ourselves, a guilty conscience might arise—one that tries to convince us that we are being too selfish and that the world doesn't work if everyone only thinks of themselves.

I disagree. I have been allowed to have different experiences. Every time I first made sure that I was doing well, that my boundaries were respected, and that I felt comfortable, I was also able to give something of myself much more lovingly and generously. I could consciously give what I wanted, and that was and is qualitatively so much higher in value than simply doing it "because that's just what you do." In my opinion, you are then much more connected to your environment than the other way around.

It is exactly the same with this painting. I look at it now and think how wonderful and perfect it turned out. It is exactly how I wanted to realize it, without having a plan or a goal for it. In this way, much more was allowed to emerge within it than if I had engaged with those other voices. A beautiful and fulfilling discussion expressed in colors and shapes.

Thank you for reading!

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