One thing you hear tossed around a lot in the creative world is the concept of “finding your artistic voice”. Often this is defined as a consistent style that is unique to you. A visual signature of sorts. It’s also often linked to this idea that you artistic voice is a visual manifestation of your inner truth.

From what I’ve observed, it can take artists a long time before they actually land on a style of working that reflects their voice. A process that involves creating a lot of work that may appear varied or feel disingenuous.

Judging from my own work over the past three years, other artists would probably say that I’m on the journey to find my artistic voice. And perhaps I am.

But there’s also something a bit sad about that phrase.

In it, there’s an insinuation that all the work done along the journey isn’t “truly you”. And as such, it’s less than. And once again, we put the end goal on a pedestal and completely discredit what’s created in the process.

I don’t know... When I look at the paintings above, I see energy. I see variety. I see struggle. I see hope. I see frustration. I see someone searching for something, but they're not sure what.

I definitely don't see a consistent artistic voice. But I do see my voice. And isn't that the point?

​In my current series, In Memory, I'm trying to cultivate a sense of calm and simplicity. Keeping the colour palette limited to two or three pigments helps create the energy I'm going for, but it also means I need to be extremely selective with the pigments I choose. And that means taking the time to experiment and explore. It's definitely a process.

Typically, I know I’m getting somewhere when the colours spark some sort of memory. In this case, I’m reminded of cross-country road trips and the beautiful drive across the Canadian prairies. I’m a sucker for wide open spaces and always found that leg of the journey so inspiring. There's still some more playing to be done, but this colour combination is certainly stirring up "the feels".