A really wonderful painting with minimal technique is something to be sought (if technique is construed as “knowing the means of doing a thing”). The problem with the beginning is that you don’t know what you don’t know. Usually you don’t know what you do know either.
Generally people think of the beginning as being where the rookie is. What is less often noted is that anyone can be at the beginning in some context. Artists who do the same thing over and over, having mastered it (whatever It is), are arguably no longer at the beginning. They have achieved a mastery in the sense of being able to predictably repeat past performances at a similar level of difficulty with no loss in quality.
But if you’re the sort of person who wants to be doing something new because you distrust sameness then the beginning is a place you can enter again. It’s harder, though, than one might suppose. I can become a beginner if I adopt certain kinds of subjects that I have never portrayed. That might be great if these things were things that I want to paint. But lots of things that I never did consist of things that I never wanted to do. Doing those things now wouldn’t represent growth, it would just be stupid.
So instead the challenge about doing something new relates to doing something that you want to do but have never done before, and more particularly doing something that’s difficult to achieve even at one’s present level of skill so that the challenge really puts you out of the comfort zone. And THEN, not using one’s present knowledge to just think oneself logically through the technical problems, but rather using one’s ignorance itself as a tool so that you can dig, grab, flail your way along.
I think I would rather struggle with a new thing than to use what I already know to render the new thing into some homogenized facsimile of what I already know. Innovation — seeking and striving to get it — is more about immersion in a new experience than it is like coping by using all the old skills on new ideas. I don’t want to prettify the new thing with the contours of the familiar old things.
I want to confront the new thing in all its new-to-me-ness and fight my way through it just like I fought with subjects when I was a young artist. Is that why Bonnard portrays himself as a pugilist in the series of late self-portraits made in the bathroom mirror? Well, I don’t know. Bonnard’s intention and his thoughts across a hundred years is not available to me. But I want to find subjects that are hard in ways that formerly would send me to the fainting couch except that instead of retreating to the couch I want to stand and fight.
Art doesn’t have to be a fight. I’m not saying that. Art can be refined, easy-going. It can be a long walk. I’m just saying that if it’s a long walk, I want to walk somewhere I’ve never been before. I am looking for new experience, even in the things I’ve done again and again. I want to experience them in some innocence. I want to be overwhelmed by them. I don’t want to know what I’m doing. I want to figure something out as I go.