If you are a regular reader of this column, you will know a few things about me and my relationship with art. You will know that, as well as predominantly being a painter, I am an avid photographer in 35 mm and 120 format film (often using expired stock), employing a plethora of ancient cameras and developing my rolls in coffee; yes, coffee! You will be aware that I had a former career as a classical concert pianist and, related to this, you will know that I strongly believe all art forms and their outpourings are indivisible, that they are all borne of the same wellspring of creativity.
You may also know that I regularly flee to my happy-place of Brighton, where I 'moving-meditate' – in the form of walking many, many kilometres per day – where I reflect, watch and listen to the sea, indulge my passion for street photography, and write poetry. No, I never paint there. Why would an abstract painter attempt to imitate the inimitable?
I do write poetry in Brighton, though; very often I do this with a glass of wine in front of me at a favourite music venue close to the beach. I toy with words amid the white noise of quotidien hubbub and listen to the live music.
In the genesis and content of today's article - by the second of 2025's guest writers - photography, poetry, music and painting will all combine!
One evening last summer I settled myself down to watch a particularly fine singer whose punchy vocals and vibrant stage presence made me reach for my camera. I timidly approached and asked whether I might be permitted to take some action shots.
The singer was Neve Sarti. After retrieving the scans of my negatives I posted some of the results on Instagram, and Neve and I started corresponding. I learned that, apart from being a fabulous singer, she is is also a highly individual and thought-provoking artist.
Additionally, Neve writes extremely well despite what she states below; and is very quotable on top of all that! So, a guest spot on this blog had to be agreed!
So, thank you Neve, and over to you!
MAKING THE MOST OF THE MEDIUM
I’ll preface this article with an apology - I’m not very good at writing. I can say exactly what I mean only if I’m not actually saying it. It seems I can only express myself in roundabout ways; I’m like one of those bridge-guarding trolls that speak in riddles.
I love writing song lyrics because I can get away with saying pretentious stuff like ‘don’t know where I’ll go / if I die with the sun tonight / new roads will glow / deep down above the starless sky’ and somehow it’s about embracing the uncertainty of life.
I love making collages because I get to pick pretty pictures that other people have conveniently photographed or drawn for me. All I have to do is intuitively put them together until they create something new - and for a chronic over-thinker, that’s a nice break.
But words on paper? Oh God. That’s terrifying. You mean I can actually conjure up any image or concept through language, no limitations, no rhyme schemes, no knowledge of proportions needed, no limited options of images to choose from? That feels like a scam (If you are a writer and you are reading this, I’m sorry. I’m just jealous. Teach me your secrets!).
To me, art sprouts in the borders of limitation. It’s a mutated creature growing in a wasteland, its features warped to make the most of the polluted air and lack of nutrients: used to living in the shapeless non-euclidean void of the imagination, when a creative idea is being brought into reality, it needs to adapt to its new environment and to the limits of its creator. It needs some direction to channel its shape into; because of this, having too much of a blank canvas can be daunting.
I was trying to find pictures of my art to attach to this article, which has led me to a procrastination-driven deep dive into my old sketchbooks, and I’ve noticed that a lot of my older art is more interesting than the projects I’ve been working on recently.
I think that, back then, not having yet unlocked a set of skills had forced me to come up with creative solutions to concretise my ideas into art. I couldn’t draw, so I did collages. I didn’t know how to make objects stand out against the background, so I left the background as a sketch while I drew the objects in front of it with greater detail.
I also experience this with songwriting: I am a singer, but I can’t play any instrument well. Something about wanting to be great at things instantly has always discouraged me from learning. But having to write melodies on a simple bass line, or on the few chords I can play on the guitar, makes me come up with more interesting melodies and forces me to focus more on lyrics (and thankfully, I am friends with talented musicians who are willing to put my incoherent ideas into music - this way my songs can reach their final form despite my lack of skills).
Now, I’m not saying that once an artist gets good at their craft they stop making good art. The beautiful thing about the human experience is that perfection is something we always strive for, but never achieve. No matter how good you are at your craft, the way creative ideas exist in your head is never going to be perfectly transposed in your creations.
And this is truly a blessing in disguise!
Another beautiful thing about making art is that you don’t need to know what you want to say. You can just say it and figure it out afterwards - or sometimes not figure it out at all. Images come to me before their meaning. For most of the songs I’ve written, I have come up with the title first, and then figured out what to write about.
I think collage is a powerful tool to practice this. Finding an interesting picture or text or pattern and thinking, ‘I want to do something with this’, and then gradually compiling other pictures or text or patterns that fit, not knowing where you are going, but ultimately trusting that you will end up somewhere (oh, now I get what my song is about!).
A similar exercise I do involves going to the art store and buying something that looks like it would be fun to use. Connecting to the sensory feeling that captivates me in that moment, whether it’s the smooth strokes of a brush pen, the softness of watercolour pencils or the way bleach expands on fabric (I am yet to try this one). Going home with my bounty, sitting at my desk and letting myself enjoy that feeling, trusting that it will lead to the creation of something.
I’ve been rambling for too long; if you want to take anything away from this article, let it be that limitations aren’t your enemy - whether they lie in your current skill level or in the specific medium that you are using.
I have recently re-watched the show Arcane (I am an animation enthusiast), and the thing that really stuck with me isn’t the technically perfect and visually stunning design, but the way the animation style changes when showing flashbacks from different characters, going from watercolours to charcoal drawings to collage, and the way it reflects the tone and personality of the scenes. When used the right way, simpler styles of drawing convey more emotion than the usual hyper-detailed style. That’s making the most of the medium, and it wouldn’t be possible without the limitations that it poses.
MAKING THE MOST OF THE MEDIUM Copyright Neve Sarti 2025 and Haydn Dickenson* 2025
*First eight paragraphs only
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