Incubation

Isabelle Gaborit

"You are getting the keys in two weeks."

This sentence, somehow trivial to most sounded like a alarm. A wake up call.

An unwelcomed deafening sound in the middle of the night, while you are warm and comfy, snuggled next to the love of your life, without a care in the world.

In two weeks, I am moving my encaustic studio in Connemara, a wild place located the furthest western part of Ireland. New location. New place. New growth. All that is familiar just dissipated.

Time to wake up girl! Winter slumber is over. Spring out of bed: Time to plant seeds.

Incubation time

For most of us, springtime is all about birds, more light in the morning, snowdrops, and growth.

In Ireland, we call this season “imbolg” which signifies in Irish “In the belly.” In the warm darkness of the womb of the earth, seeds are incubating slowly, waiting to grow and greet the sun.

In this Island, we are welcoming spring with open arms, pregnant with so much potential, but more importantly, we are waking up from the slumber of winter, the necessary incubation time and silence those seeds needed.

Under the earth.

Where life starts.

An underworld journey

When most people get their inspiration in the summer, where the sun and our personal energy levels are at their heights, I favour the silent, dark days and nights of winter.

I find comfort in its muffled silence. Its long nights and slower paced days. This is the time when the Muse and I get to know each other, or shall I say, reconnect.

Summer in the Wildfire and Wax studio is bursting with workshops, art retreats, mentoring sessions, and exhibitions. So many faces, so much enthusiasm, so many adventures and discoveries in many venues scattered around Ireland. I welcome them all wholeheartedly.

However, one cannot be active at all times, and just like the cyclical quality of nature herself, I welcome the slower months as a necessary time set apart for me, myself, and I, that is, my body, my mind, and my soul. Three of us reunited and given the opportunity to align once more away from the hustle and bustle of life. This brings balance in my life and in my artistic practice.

Inspiration does not come easy for me; she needs to be fed and the winter offers me the time to wander this Island and uncover her gems. There is no better place for me to go and find myself than the Burren along the west Clare coastline. Unapologetically wild, raw, and bare to the bones.

I close the door of the studio; my paints, pigments, and boards can wait. Now is the time to fill my cup.

Traveling to that special place resembles a pilgrimage, of when I drive through the layers of my personal history which are imprinted into the ancient landscape: a face, an event, a word, a song, a story, an emotion. Each of these memories remain there for me to reveal and savor them once more, one at the time.

My car knows the way and within 1 hour or so, I am wandering “boreen” off the beaten tracks, where nobody wanders, almost unwelcoming, yet curious. Yet, if you decide to push on, these places lead you to the most exquisite wells and ruins, haunted by the voices of the winds.

This land dwells in my blood and bones.

It is otherworldly and the light shines from within for those with the eyes to see. Let’s strip it back

Then you may ask… what happens next?

Having travelled regularly to this unique landscape has shaped the way I approach my own artwork with encaustic painting and my creative process. Once I am back in the studio can be the polar opposite to my meanderings in the wilderness.

Akin to the job of a gardener, my job is to make sure that those “seeds of inspiration” gathered during my meanderings via pictures and quick sketches of color swabs will receive the right amount of selection, care, and attention. This process requires no compromises and my approach to studio work tends to be very methodical and disciplined.

Not all seeds will grow. Not all seeds should grow and choices do need to be made to prepare the garden and tend the soil.

One of the recurring queries I get during my workshops and something which also applies to me and so may artists out there is how to select a colour palette. We all know that encaustic paints can be very seducing, and one can easily turn their artwork into an explosive colour bomb.

The way I have been selecting colors for years can seem unconventional, but has worked miracles for me and has become a little ritual I indulge into each time I start a new series.

Allow me to share it with you

The day I decide to work on a new series, I set half an hour to browse through gathered images and make note of the colours which appeal the most. I personally love browsing through Pinterest and selecting in a folder the artwork I like the most (based on colors, textures, and tones). I try not to think too much during this selective process and use it as a meditative tool.

After 30 minutes or so after this selective activity, I open my folder and look at the images selected and search for the recurring colours or tones. The “golden thread” as I call it. Ten times out of ten, these will reflect my likes of the moment. I do trust this part of me, call it unconscious or instinctual, and I do try to build my color scheme around my likes.

This little exercise can also be done while I go for walks or during my meanderings in the Burren. I take hundreds of images, not really thinking about it and apply the same process when I am back in the studio.

You may also discover with this simple process that your taste in colour will change according to your mood or emotions.

I once was more attracted to the flow of water, as I am now more attracted by the textures of the rocks and the geology of the area in a more monochromatic palette.

Estuary, Encaustic on birch cradled board, 8 x 8 in Featured on the Content pages

The physicality of art making

My experience of the natural forces and the cyclical nature of the land around me has also shaped my creative process and the physicality of art making.

I am particularly interested in the geological processes that have built up layers overtime, layers of the past that the harsh weather is slowly breaking down and revealing overtime. I think of my art process very much akin to those geological processes.

Like the natural forces that shape this unique and unwelcoming landscape, I approach each of my new work as a cyclical process. Each painting goes through numerous stages of building up, construction, destruction, growth, and decay.

As the paintings go through the physicality of what could be akin to an archaeological process, layers of pigmented beeswax are built up, scrapped back while cooled, scored, and shaped, creating highly tactile surfaces. The way I stand, the way I hold my brush, the way I use my whole body to make marks is also a huge conscious part of my process.

As the clouds and rain batter this coastline and shape it to their powerful willful force, remnants of what has come before are left as a new landscape unfolds.

And the cycle keeps on going.

Spreading the seeds of creativity

Sharing my experience of art making has been an integral part of my creative practice. Even though teaching encaustic painting requires the sharing and understanding of a particular and practical set of rules, techniques, and safety issues, a massive part of my role as a teacher or mentor is to give my students the time and the space to be inspired, to know how to “gather seeds,” and be confident and free enough to explore their creativity with focus and clarity.

I have been thinking a lot about the various teachers and mentors I have had the honour to meet along the way, and those who have made a lasting impression are those who have given me the time and space to be me. The real me. Our mundane lives are so busy and distracting, one of the best gifts one can give to oneself is self-care, the sacred time put aside when one can be oneself, without interruption or distraction.

One of my students who comes each week for a two-hour session, once stopped in her tracks while painting. She looked at me and said.

“This. This is what I was looking for.”

“Can you explain?” I asked.

“The fact that I have not had a thought in a while,” she replied.

I understood what she meant. She had found her bliss, her flow and was at one with herself and her creativity, away from the hustle and bustle of life, and she was riding that beautiful wave where all that matters is our connection to something that is higher than ourselves, a place of plenitude and peace, a beautiful garden, full of potential.

Neither Here Nor There, Encaustic on birch cradled board, 11.8 x 11.8 in