The Joy of the Creative Chain Reaction
I was transfixed as soon as I stepped into the gallery. It was weird, to be so taken in by something that should be so familiar: I’d lived with this project for over a year–50 buildings to be drawn in coloring book-like line art: residential, commercial, recreational, religious–I’d spent at least 6 months inking those final lines, and before that over 6 months of sketching, planning and refining with the exhibit designers. It was a huge project and I thought I knew it, I thought I knew what to expect: people coloring 250+ feet of mural together; cool, right? Very! But the reality was so much better.
All ages were sitting, standing, wandering along the perimeter walls of the gallery, a jumble of humans coloring, discussing the buildings, adding themselves to the landscape (as well as cats, dogs, aliens, monsters and more). While other folks built on those spontaneous drawings, colors and patterns. It was rambunctious and joyous; a swirling conversation in color. Everywhere creativity mixed with personal memories and history. People tagged where they grew up, where they graduated, where parents and grandparents were born or worked. Those with no artistic experience dived in and got swept up in coloring and drawing the same as seasoned artists. And in the center of the gallery one could get face-to-face with several physical artifacts from the mural drawings: massive doors, sculptural features, iron, wood, glass, and that St. Louis obsession: brick. It was joyous.
Making experiential, participatory art is a choice you make purposely as an artist. Art is, by and large, a hands-off kind of thing, something that is finished, to look at, think about, but not to touch or add to. And as an artist who works in 2D: illustration and comics, doing participatory art, beyond the occasional art jam, was nothing I ever expected, or knew I could expect or want. But after seeing the joy and unbridled creativity on display, I have to say, I’d love to do more of this.
I still find beauty in the finished statement, the well-told story, the conversation of artwork and viewer response. I love making art like that, and there is great value in it. But there is also value in making art that takes a leap of trust in allowing itself to be usefully unfinished, that allows anyone to mix in and engage. And especially for fields like history and science–attacked as elite by anti-intellectuals and cordoned off by well-meaning and nefarious gatekeepers alike–trusting folks to experience learning them through art, play, and self-direction demystifies and creates real emotional, personal connections.
We needn't choose between fun and learning, passion and intellect; we find our greatest potential when we have both. Just as those individual works shared space and grew within this communal wall into something rich, spontaneous and unique. As I write this, I think about possible ways to make all sorts of art participatory and experiential, even art that’s printed on flat surfaces, like mine. Oh what possibilities lie ahead!
Near the end of the night I thought back to the process of developing the style and feel of the mural with the exhibit designers. I didn’t want to just recreate pictures of buildings, I wanted them to have personality, to feel familiar and warm, and the exhibit creators wanted that too. I think we all thought it was only accurate, as the real buildings these drawings are based on feel lived in, and alive, and if gone, missed. They are more than just plans and materials, and the longer they exist, the more like us they become–weird, askew, patchwork and patched-up–and the more of us we put in them: our history, hopes, fears, memories. Much like the ever-evolving space of the exhibit, we are not apart from anything, but are a part of it all.
♥Rori!
ColoringSTL runs from August 20, 2022 to May 5, 2024 at the Missouri History Museum, located at 5700 Lindell Blvd, St. Louis, MO 63112. See mohistory.org for hours and further details.