This is where the idea of the void or emptiness is relevant. For some, it's a vast black hole; for others, it's a space pregnant with infinite possibilities. We start with a blank sheet of paper and it becomes a novel. Pieces of cloth and thread turn into a wall hanging. A figure emerges from an undifferentiated mass of driftwood. A mound of clay transforms into a vessel. Prose remarks, "It's as if the magician had no idea how the rabbit got into his hat."
I can recall an experience that speaks to this mystery. A talented friend was kind enough to teach me a technique for creating circles with several fabrics. I found myself selecting only batiks from my stash of textiles. I couldn't have said why; I simply chose what I was drawn to. Once I accumulated a slew of them, I moved them around on my design wall until eventually the composition felt right. As I stood back to view them, I suddenly realized that I had unconsciously created the atmosphere of living on the Pacific coast. Daily I witness the sun rise and set. I also watch the phases of the moon. There on my wall were the changing colors that I notice in the sky and the ocean. For me, this is the alchemical process Prose refers to. Can I elucidate what happened internally? I don't have a clue. Nevertheless, it's what imbues art-making and the surprises it yields with a magical quality. However, while it's possible to see what's behind a magic trick, I don't know how to explain what's behind the magic of art. And I don't have a goddess or god to cite as my inspiration. How often do we think we know what we want to create, yet what emerges is unexpected, like a dream?
Do you feel that your art is something that comes out of nothing? How does the rabbit get into your hat?
What are your sources of inspiration? Have they changed over time or do they remain constant--nature, a place, a person or an animal, emotions?