This happens often enough, especially with many emerging artists. We're trying to mold our style while simultaneously trying to gain experience with new techniques. And the hardest thing to realize is how to separate oneself from those long hours lost on a piece that just isn't satisfactory. We stand there at the scrap bin with work in hand, reminiscing of everything that was put into it. All that hard labor. Thoughts flow through your head:
"I can fix this"
"Just...maybe some minor adjustments"
"I can't just toss this aside...I put 12 hours into this!"
These thoughts will perpetually circulate, and it's good to have them. But it's also important to know when to trash it, revise it, or re-do it. Learning new techniques comes with plenty of mistakes along the way and it's more about what was learned and less about what was made.
One of my greatest works have come from the piles of artcrap. I was working on a box for the Alice Elaine series. We had learned how to chase and repousse earlier that semester and was feeling pretty confident with a pricey sheet of 18 gauge silver. And so, I started pounding away. Three solid workdays of chasing a lid for this box and finally when it was "done" I was mortified with the outcome. It just wasn't working with the rest of the piece. Without a moments hesitation my mind was made up. I had to trash this and did so in a pretty crude way: by sending it through the rolling mill. All the large divots that were so meticulously hammered out had flattened and sunk into themselves. It was gorgeous! Like the craters on the moon! Still didn't work well as a lid. But it was a fantastic texture that I used for many other great projects. Such as this:
There were many hours lost on coming to this realization that what I had...wasn't working. Sure it's heartbreaking having to toss it. But it's even worse to continue with a crummy piece out of obligation. Trashing a work is the most difficult thing to do because it says "I failed." But failure can come at the wonderful price of having learned something great. We understand a little bit more about what a piece needs. It teaches humility in the respect that we can't blindly throw new techniques into something just because we can.
Revising a work is considerably less tragic. We can learn our mistakes along the way and think of ways to improve the outcome. Nothing is tossed aside, but our ideas mold and change based upon how we slowly construct something. Maybe we realize that a certain type of hinge isn't the best option. Oops! went a little to far with chasing and now there is a hole. How do we creatively work out these problems? Nothing a little revision can't solve. This is a creative engineering process where we figure out how things work and what steps to take.
Working with earrings in my studio, I quickly learned when and where to embroider first so as to have a tidy earring back without exposed threads. Sure, the first pair took an agonizing 5 hours, but 12 earrings later and I've cut that time well in half. Up until recently, I've never worn much jewelry and I had no idea how earrings should function. I've had to adjust angles and lengths so as not to be constantly poked by the earring wire. There was a necessity to add an extra ring so that the earring can be seen from the side and not just the front. Often times the end result is never what we originally intended but are pleased with the results just the same.
Re-doing something implies that the idea was there but perhaps next time we make it, we'll have a more deft hand. In my case, I recently had to re-do a torso for the Clurichaun. The original piece was made out of three separate chunks of wood glued together. I searched high and low at Woodcraft for a solid piece of wood in these dimensions, but to no avail. Over a week of work was spent on this. Carving, chiseling, and making the joints at the hip. It looked good, but it wasn't great. This probably would have slid by had Matt not given me a chunk of basswood he found at his mom's. Perfect dimensions. I started re-doing it right away. Now, this went considerably quicker. I knew where the arms had to be, how the belly was going to be shaped. Even those tricky hip joints were resolved. When something is re-done, the knowledge has already been established. This coincides with making multiples of jewelry. We sit at our benches taking hours to figure out a piece. The next time it's made, perhaps only a couple hours. With every piece, the minutes slowly whittle away from the original time as our mind and hands are trained. We reach a point where we can stand back and say "yes, the time it took to make this is now in accordance with what I charge."
Within any one given piece, it's possible to go through a range of trashing, revising and re-doing. It's all a part of the learning process as both a student and an artist. Because even once we get comfortable with the techniques we've learned, there will still be more adventures out there with new tools, materials, ideas, and yes...even more techniques.
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