Hatsukoi / First Love - Winter 2023

At the beginning of 2023, I wanted to undertake a painting project at The Philosopher's House in Johnson City, Tennessee. With the extra time and mental energy over winter break, I was inspired to contribute to one of my favorite artist collectives.

After a few brief discussions with the Teahouse Manager, I was offered a niche in a bathroom intended for a Japanese-style mural that had yet to be occupied. I immediately measured and recorded the 'canvas' to begin playing with ideas and exploring a new creative direction. I had only a week or so left during my winter break, but I produced a first draft as proof of concept.

In the blink of an eye, I was back in the thick of the spring semester and had to put this project on hold while I finished the school year. I would periodically revisit this bathroom and stare at the blank inset, mentally preparing myself to return to the project sometime in the future. As the months passed, I fell out of love with my first design and decided it had to be redrafted before I returned to work on it. Approximately six months flew by before I could dive into the koi pond; in that time, I learned how to use Procreate to better convey the visual in my head.

As the painting marinated in my thoughts, I realized the first draft would take a lot of work to accomplish with my usual medium of acrylic paint. I had played with the idea of watercolor and much looser methods of color application. Still, I ultimately decided to challenge myself in other directions. With a more realistic grasp of feasibility, I returned to the drawing board and produced a more attainable plan.

I shifted the challenge of this piece from color application to perception of depth. Now, I focused heavily on the shadows cast from the recess of the window opening. This work needed layers at different elevations to convey the perspective of deeper water beneath the koi and the lily pads floating above the koi resembling the water's surface.

The lettering was still a crucial part of my vision because of the koi pun created by the pronunciation of "first love" in Japanese. The space surrounding the pond felt empty, and I needed to spell out the joke.

To further explore the creation of depth, the fish needed to be three-dimensional forms able to cast individual shadows in place of a painted illusion. Before this endeavor, I had zero sculpting experience but am deeply satisfied with my methods and results.

I wrestled with these fish for weeks before sketching them onto the plywood board I kept in my art space; I scared myself into deep procrastination from the fear of failure. Luckily, I planned a girl's trip with a fantastic creative friend of mine, Ren Aimua, who pushed me into action. I brought the giant board and a few round canvases on our road trip and picked her brain every night to continue swimming forward with my fish.

By the end of our trip, the fish were beginning to find their painted forms. The lily pads were still subject to intense experimentation. Still, the color theory was delightful to play with for hours. I finally started to like what I painted and was ready to hone in on the details of shading to create roundness and the shape of the fins.

My next step would roughen the edges intensely, so I hadn't spent much energy polishing any aspect of my painting thus far.

I traveled back to Tennessee with my freshly caught koi. I separated the main masses into two roughly shaped bodies with harsh edges.

I'm sure my table & circular saw method wasn't the best or most efficient way to cut out the fish, but it worked. The cuts were extremely rough and potentially dangerous. Still, I needed to see the fish as separate entities before I committed to their shapes. I carried my jagged fish to and from the teahouse a few times to solidify my creative direction.

The fish were now physically in their pond, and I was ready to commit to refining the bodies. I used wood chisels to clean up the extra plywood surrounding the paint and meticulously sanded the edges. I could define a rough curve around the fish with the chisels, but took hours to smooth the edges precisely to my liking.

The sculpting step was messy and imprecise; I went back with paint, tightened the images, and added a much more finished feel to the look of these kissing koi. The fish still lacked the 'wet' look; I used a high gloss finish to seal the deal and make them sparkle in the light.

In contrast to the yellow-tinted walls, I searched for a rich purple that would evoke depth and help my subjects pop against the surrounding walls. I played with around six shades but eventually landed on "Midnight Navy" to do the trick. I had a dire need to produce tangible progress as I had been stuck in schematics for over half a year. Thus, the big blue box was painted, and the beginnings of my artistic end goal was becoming tangible.

The components of a finished project were starting to reveal themselves. However, I was still unsatisfied with the overall composition. While I could've finished this project in August, I knew it would not be a piece I was pleased with.

The lily pads were daunting, and I struggled for WEEKS to find the painting techniques that created the visual effect I yearned for. I painted around 25 lilies and even tried the addition of origami lotus flowers to produce more visual interest and play on the Japanese cultural connection.

Once again, I was whisked into the fall semester and set this project aside for a few months. The fish resided in my art space, so I saw them every. Single. Day. I never stopped thinking about the next steps, mainly the lily pads, and how to improve them. As the semester ended, I was back to swimming with my fishies.

 In the final days of the fall semester, I was in a frenzy to laser print the letters intended to surround the piece. I was incredibly rushed for time and did not have the opportunity to check the sizes of the words in the space where they were supposed to be hung. As a result of my haphazard speed, I completely forgot to print the English translation of Hatsukoi. I pigeonholed myself into quite an unbalanced predicament. After painting the letters I cut, I realized my mistakes when I returned to the tea house. 

1. the letters were way too big for the space

2. the color did not match as intended 

3. I neglected the right side

The university was closed for the break, and there was no way to correct my mistakes. 

At this point, I had been working on this project for twelve long months and had decided to finish it before the new year arrived. The morning I hung these letters was rough for me; I cried with frustration in the teahouse bathroom, staring up at my blue abyss and its poor lettering. After my emotional blip, I went back to problem-solving mode and tried to reset my brain. I went home, showered, and called a trusted creative in my life, Ava Martin. She worked with me for hours over the phone to redesign the layout, help me stop catastrophizing, and find a solution that would not require dozens of hours of more work. I am so grateful for the advice and peace Ava offered so happily; she helped me save this project and my mental health alongside it.

Ultimately, I scrapped the letters. I wouldn't force myself to hand letter anything or even try to reproduce that component in any way. The finished composition would be fine without them; it would be better than my original design. I leaned into the lily pads to aid the unbalanced and unfinished look. I continued to paint the circular canvases obsessively until I found my solution. My work was sprawled out in the living room for days with various attempts and styles of application; I knew I was making progress but still didn't like what I'd been painting. I challenged myself too far outside of my taste, so I could not produce work that aligned with my style. To learn more about blending colors and mimicking watercolor paint's free-flowing look, I over-blended my hues on the palette. I was left continuously frustrated with the muddy and disconnected lily pads.

After a weekend of intensive painting, I finally nailed the technique. When I tinted the center to a lighter hue, the canvas displayed much more dimension and raised the image. I could maintain the 'chunky' tones from unmixed paint on my palette with a split brush approach. I could see a distinct improvement from my original attempts to twenty-something tries later.

The lilies were the last component I needed to produce before composing my final design; after this weekend of work, I was determined to finish my year-long project in the final days of 2023.

This mural's evolution, marked by moments of uncertainty and creative breakthroughs, led to a finished composition that exceeds my original design(s). While faced with setbacks and the need to let go of certain elements, the commitment to the journey has resulted in a vibrant and dynamic representation of my artistic expression. As I look at the completed mural, I find satisfaction in the realization of a vision that has transformed over the course of a transformative year.

Thank you endlessly to the Philosopher's House for an enriching opportunity and enjoyable project. Onto the next.