The Vertigo of the Blank Canvas
Standing before a blank canvas brings a specific kind of vertigo. For a “female abstract artist,” this space is for psychological excavation.
Recently, I returned to the words of David Bowie. He wasn’t just a rock star. He was a philosopher of the creative soul. In a 1997 interview, he shared advice that belongs on every studio wall:
“Never play to the gallery. But you never learn that until much later on. I think it’s very important to know that any art I’ve ever done that has been successful is when I’ve done it for myself… If you feel safe in the area you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth.”
The Manifesto of the Deep End
You can watch him speak these words below. Notice the conviction in his eyes. He is talking about the survival of the creative spirit.
The Identity of the “Female Abstract Artist”
Choosing abstraction is a radical act. Historically, “Great Masters” were framed as aggressive, masculine figures. Think of Pollock or Rothko. Women were often expected to stay in the shallows. We were told to paint the decorative or the literal.
When I lean into abstraction, I reclaim the “deep water.” I am saying my internal state is worthy of the canvas. My chaos and my resilience deserve to be seen.
The Ritual of Inner Peace
I cannot dive into deep water with a cluttered mind. My morning routine is the key to my studio. Before I touch a bottle of paint, I practice stillness.
I engage in a quick chant or a deep meditation. This time is sacred. It helps me find my inner voice. In the silence, I hear the emotion that needs to be manifested. This spiritual path gives me the peace to face a large-scale canvas without fear. I am painting from a centered, spiritual core.
The Anatomy of Risk: Finding Magic
Taking risks is terrifying. A voice inside often whispers, “Keep it safe. People will like it more if it stays this way.” I have learned to ignore that voice. I tell myself, “Let me find the magic here.” Magic happens where physics meets intuition. For me, experimenting with art means letting go of perfection. Perfection is a cage. It stops the “pour” from being honest. When I let go, I reach a place out of my comfort zone. That is where growth lives.
I recently had two collectors give me their total trust. They chose the colors, but they gave me the freedom to find the magic. This is where the work becomes a dance. I am obsessed with the viscosity of the paint. I ask: How much medium makes the pour flow like a river?
The Flow: Colors bleed to create “veins” of emotion. I could never plan these with a brush.
The Composition: Magic is about balance. Where does the eye of the viewer go? I create a path for them to follow. They rest in a soft wash, then get pulled back into the work by a deep pour.
Large-Scale: The Call to the Universe
My work needs room to breathe. On a small canvas, you use your wrist. On a large canvas, you use your entire body. The magic needs scale to manifest.
“Calling in collectors for one major, large-scale commission each month. I’m ready for the work that pushes my boundaries and requires my whole spirit.”
Validation and Tenacity
Studio life can be lonely. It is hard when family measures your worth by monthly sales. They don’t always see the “good” I am doing.
But today, an art consultant gave me the validation I needed. She loved my website. Most importantly, she loved my commissioned works. She saw the passion in the pieces I thought were just “jobs.”
This is my “Brother Theo” moment. Vincent Van Gogh had his brother’s belief, even when he sold nothing. As a “female abstract artist,” we need that support. We must remember the “Late Bloomers.” Louise Bourgeois was 70 at her first major show. Alma Thomas was 80. They didn’t ask for permission to experiment. They just kept going.
The Soul of the Fragment
Taking risks in art isn’t always about bold, loud gestures; sometimes, it is about the quiet bravery of absolute vulnerability. I have always been deeply moved by the work of Hannelore Baron, a female abstract artist who fled Nazi Germany as a child. Her raw, delicate collages made of torn fabric, frayed threads, and ink on paper resonate with me on a profound level.
Not just as an artist, but because my late husband was also a Holocaust survivor. I understand the weight carried in the silence of those who survived, and I see it in Hannelore’s work.
She risked everything by laying her trauma and her spirit bare on the page, proving that art can bind together the broken fragments of our worlds. It is exactly that kind of whole-soul devotion I am bringing to my own canvas now.
Conclusion: Letting Go
Do not be afraid to be out of your depth. Fear is just the threshold of discovery. By letting go of perfection, we open the door to Bowie’s magic.
Money comes and goes. Family questions persist. But the work created when you are centered and brave? That is the work that lasts.
Stop playing to the gallery. Start playing to the soul. Manifest the magic.
Joan Mitchell often worked in multi-panel formats, like diptychs and triptychs, which allowed her to push her vibrant brushwork across a truly expansive physical footprint. She loved the challenge of massive scale because it allowed her to immerse both herself and the viewer completely inside the feeling of the landscape.
A fascinating aspect of her process is that she rarely painted directly from life. Instead, she would spend hours sitting on her patio or walking through the countryside in Vétheuil, France (where she lived near Monet’s old estate), taking in the memory of the trees, water, and weather. Later, in the quiet of her studio, she would translate those stored emotional memories into these wild, gestural masterpieces.
I am deeply grateful for these challenges. Manifesting these massive commissions is something I truly desire, and I completely see myself creating for hospitality art consultants and grand international spaces. Now, with this new project on the horizon, I can’t wait to hear the good news that it is officially mine. To be honest, I can already feel a little flutter of anxiety in my heart—the good kind. The kind that tells me I’m on the edge of something magnificent. So, where do I start? I start with the foundation. I need my two custom tables ready, my paint stocked, and my emotions completely open to the process. Ultimately, that anxiety and the anticipation of how I get to create is exactly what drives me.
