Ceremony and the Artist
If my life was a three legged stool, one leg would be my rowing, one would be my husband Craig, and the third would be painting. They all feed each other, and I have rituals and ceremonies around all three. Ceremony, for me, is just a means of reaching a place where you’re present; when all of a sudden nothing else matters except what you’re doing. Your body reacts - you’re breathing deeply and fully, and you’re relaxed. It’s about being reminded of your humanity.
Ceremony is a daily practice, full of ritual. I’ve never been able to meditate really - I feel that the meditation comes through in my life in different ways. When I'm rowing or when I'm with Craig, I'm in the moment. When I’m painting, when I’m in the flow, I can clear my mind. That’s ecstasy. That’s what fuels me.
If my life was a three legged stool, one leg would be my rowing, one would be my husband Craig, and the third would be painting. They all feed each other, and I have rituals and ceremonies around all three. Ceremony, for me, is just a means of reaching a place where you’re present; when all of a sudden nothing else matters except what you’re doing. Your body reacts - you’re breathing deeply and fully, and you’re relaxed. It’s about being reminded of your humanity.
Ceremony is a daily practice, full of ritual. I’ve never been able to meditate really - I feel that the meditation comes through in my life in different ways. When I'm rowing or when I'm with Craig, I'm in the moment. When I’m painting, when I’m in the flow, I can clear my mind. That’s ecstasy. That’s what fuels me.
Rowing is my morning ceremony. When you’re crewing with three other people, you’re following the stroke seat. You’re mimicking not just the breadth and timing of their stroke, but their breathing, their shoulders. It’s a silent telepathy. When the boat runs and you hear the bubbles underneath, you know you’re doing it right. That’s the reward. The relationships I have with the people I row with are incomparable. They’re lifelong friends, and I trust them with my life. There’s a lot of danger involved, especially in Coal Harbour where we’re often invisible to other boats. We have these rituals that keep us safe, and they keep us connected. We bring the boats off the water in very specific ways, washing them down, turning them over, and putting them away. We’ve done it the same way since the Rowing Club began in 1886. Rowing, and the rituals that accompany it, is imperative in my life.
With Craig, we have our evening ceremony. I arrive home and make sure the lights are on, there’s music playing, and I cook our meal. The senses set the tone for our evening rituals – when I cook, I use lots of herbs and spices, making sure that I rub rosemary between my hands before I throw it in the pot, filling the air with its scent. When Craig walks in the door, it gives him such joy to come home to light, music, and the smell of dinner cooking. We sit and talk after dinner, often outside on our deck, sharing what happened in both our days. It’s a small and joyful life, and it’s meaningful. For me, it’s heaven.
I couldn’t live any other way than coming into the studio and throwing myself into joy – and then making that happen on the canvas. That’s what I do. I paint deep emotion – the joy and the darkness. I throw myself into the canvas and get lost in it. I’m watching my hand move, but it’s not me. I step back and something has happened – it’s its own thing. If I need to, I’ll take a step back, lock the door, and feel it.
I have this privilege of working in enough space that I can leave things out and work alternately between my acrylics, my oils, my collages and see what inspires or informs my next step. I try not to judge myself, and I try to be as authentic and un-self-conscious as I can. It’s not always easy. Everyday I come up against different challenges. However, when I have a goal – especially when I’m working toward a show – I’m at my peak efficiency. I’ll come into the studio, change my clothes, and not a moment is wasted. It’s automatic. It keeps me up at night and it’s what drives me. In my entire life, in all of my experiences, that’s the peak of my spirituality.
I love working with collage because it’s the most apt means of expression for the times we’re living in. Our lives have become fragmented bits and pieces of issues, and things are constantly changing. If we can create, especially through ritual, the opportunity for people to think or see differently, to relate to the person sitting next to them, then we can create a place to feel. The next part of the equation is the response I get. Seeing little kids pointing out things they see in my paintings and squealing with delight – that’s important to me. I know that I’ve been able to trigger something inside them, to stimulate them in some way. That’s my privilege and it keeps me going.
Spiritual belief has always been a part of my practice, and yet, it’s not often talked about in the world of conceptual art and in the art school pedagogy. Since I’m an autodidact, being self-taught, I come from a different place. I guess that’s what I love about my latest work – there’s a sense of a spiritual quality without really naming it. Judging by the responses I’m getting, I know that I’m on the right path.
About Tiko Kerr
Based in Vancouver, Tiko Kerr has earned high-profile recognition for his artfully liberated visual explorations of landscape and figuration. His latest body of work explores the politics of identity as we find ourselves in an almost surreal landscape where perceptions of one another can tend to be generalized in swift, inaccurate strokes.
About Tiko Kerr
Based in Vancouver, Tiko Kerr has earned high-profile recognition for his artfully liberated visual explorations of landscape and figuration. His latest body of work explores the politics of identity as we find ourselves in an almost surreal landscape where perceptions of one another can tend to be generalized in swift, inaccurate strokes.