I’m writing to you today to bring attention to a critical issue that will affect us all: The proposed elimination of the National Endowment for the Arts by the current administration in Washington.

Eliminating the National Endowment for the Arts may look like a budget cut on paper, but the consequences reach far deeper. Arts funding isn’t just about paintings or performances — it supports jobs, strengthens education, fuels innovation, and helps build vibrant, connected communities.

In towns and cities across the country, NEA dollars flow into state agencies like The Ohio Arts Council, which further fund local organizations like ArtsInStark here in Stark County. ArtsInStark supports and funds an incredibly wide range of arts groups and initiatives right down the street from all of us, including festivals, events, museums, theaters, childhood education, mental health, public art, and much more. All of which drive tourism, fill restaurants, support small businesses, inspire and educate our children, make us all happier and healthier, and create a real and tangible economic impact.

According to the U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis, the arts contribute over $1 trillion to the national economy annually and support more than 4 million jobs. Cutting funding at the top cascades directly down to us in our local communities, forcing organizations to shrink or even shut down entirely.

America’s greatest breakthroughs have come from creative minds who were inspired and taught to think differently.

The elimination of the arts in our communities impacts every one of us and ultimately the long-term success of our nation as a whole. The arts teach us to imagine, to challenge norms, and to collaborate — traits that power our tech companies, entrepreneurs, and future leaders. Removing federal arts support doesn’t just silence artists. It silences opportunity, stifles innovation, and weakens our communities.

Above all, please know that the arts are essential for our children at so many levels. Music, drama, and visual arts improve cognitive skills, boost academic performance, create connections, reduce stress and build emotional intelligence. Beyond NEA funding, the current administration has further recommended cutting funding for organizations like PBS who support educational programming (Sesame Street, etc.) and promote literacy, STEM (science, technology, engineering, and math), social-emotional development, and cultural awareness.

I’m asking for 5 minutes of your time.

I urge you to take a tangible step today and contact our state representatives at the federal level and in your local district. If you live in my local area and you’d like a super easy way to do this in under a few minutes, I’ve attached a template for a letter that you can send to our state Senator in District 29 Jane M. Timken. We are urging her to not only support and maintain funding for the arts in Ohio, but to actually increase the budget at the state level. The deadline to have your voice heard is May 12th.

Thanks for your time.

Contact information, template, and more information is attached below.

DOWNLOAD ASSETS

Contact your representatives:

Ohio State Senators

Ohio State Representatives

Jane M. Timken

Ohio Senate District 29

Senate Building

1 Capitol Square

First Floor, #134

Phone: (614) 466-0626

Email: timken@ohiosenate.gov

National Endowment for the Arts

Ohio Arts Council

NPR

PBS

National Endowment for the Humanities

OHIO CITIZENS COMMITTEE FOR THE ARTS FOUNDATION

Ohio Alliance for Arts Education

Canton Regional Chamber of Commerce

ArtsinStark

#SupportTheArts

#ArtsMatter

#FundTheArts

#SaveTheNEA

#ArtsAreEssential

#ArtsMeanBusiness

#ProtectTheArts

#SpeakUpForArt

#PolicyMatters

#ContactYourRep

The post Thoughts on Thinking Differently: A Call to Protect Creativity, Community, and Opportunity first appeared on ChrisAuman.

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There’s something about creating something that quiets the mental static. When you’re fully in it, that inner monologue—the one that worries about your inbox, your to-do list, that awkward thing you said three years ago—fades into the background. That’s the sweet spot. Some people reach it through meditation or prayer, but for many people, creating something is the most reliable way to get there.

In fact, many traditions have used art as a spiritual tool for centuries. Buddhist monks create intricate sand mandalas, not just as an artistic exercise but as an act of devotion and impermanence. In Orthodox Christianity, icon painters work in silence, treating the process as a form of worship. Abstract painters like Mark Rothko talked about their work as an attempt to access something beyond words. When art isn’t just about making something pretty but about engaging in something bigger than yourself, it becomes a different experience entirely.

So, why does this matter? Because when art and spirituality come together, the benefits are real. For one, it’s therapeutic. You don’t have to be going through a crisis to benefit from putting feelings into colors, shapes, or words, but if you are, it helps even more. The act of creating gives your brain a break from analyzing and explaining everything, and sometimes that’s exactly what’s needed.

It also reconnects you with yourself. We spend so much time reacting to things—news, notifications, other people’s expectations—that it’s easy to forget to check in with what we actually think and feel. Making something without a set plan, letting intuition take over, is a way to listen to that quieter part of yourself. When you do this, magical things can happen.

One of the most magical things can be achieving a state of flow. Achieving a state of flow in your art is about slipping into that space where time disappears, self-doubt fades, and the act of creating feels both effortless and immersive. You aren’t checking out, you’re plugging in. It’s about being so present in the process that your hands, mind, and instincts take over, working in sync with the universe without overthinking.

Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who coined the term “flow,” described it as a state where challenge meets skill, pushing you just enough to stay engaged but not so much that frustration kicks in. In art, that means allowing yourself to explore freely, following where the work wants to go rather than where you think it should go. Whether you’re painting, writing, sculpting, or playing music, flow is when your inner critic goes silent, and creation happens almost as if on its own. It’s a beautiful thing when it happens.

And then there’s the bigger picture—call it the divine, the universe, or just something beyond the everyday. When people say they feel “guided” in their creative work, or they’re tapping into something unseen, they’re not necessarily being dramatic. Creativity has a way of opening up space for new ideas and insights that feel like they’re coming from somewhere else.

Art has always been a part of spiritual rituals, from ancient cave paintings to massive cathedrals to the songs people sing together at protests or religious gatherings. Creating with others—whether it’s making music, painting a mural, or even sharing poetry at an open mic—has a way of building connections that go beyond words.

So how do you bring this into your own life without overcomplicating it? Start small. Set an intention before you create. It doesn’t have to be profound—just something like, “I’m doing this to clear my head” or “I’m doing this for the joy of it.” Ritual helps too. Maybe that means lighting a candle before you create, playing a certain type of music, or even just committing to a certain time each week.

Let go of the pressure to make something “good.” The point isn’t perfection—imperfection is what makes creativity meaningful. If you overthink every brushstroke or every word, you’re missing the magic. The real power lies in the process, in the state of flow where something deeper takes over. This is where you tap into the energy of the universe, where your art becomes more than just an act of making—it becomes a force that moves through you, expanding, evolving, and taking on a life of its own.

The post Thoughts on Art and Spirituality first appeared on ChrisAuman.

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I recently watched The Warhol Diaries on Netflix. It’s about the iconic artist Andy Warhol. During one episode, they mentioned the concept of an artist becoming the art, and I thought this was interesting because of how it connects to personal branding.

Andy didn’t just make art; he was art. His carefully curated public image — the silver wig, sunglasses, monotone voice, and mysterious persona — became as iconic as his famous soup cans and celebrity portraits.

Andy saw the future. Warhol understood that in a world obsessed with image and social media, the artist could be just as much a product as their creations. His life blurred the lines between art and business, showing that the way you present yourself can be just as impactful as what you produce. This idea has powerful relevance today for anyone building a personal brand online.

I’m not suggesting that you become an outrageous, mysterious person. Quite the opposite. But, in a world dominated by social media, like it or not, you are often the product. Following Warhol’s example means realizing that how you show up and present yourself is important.

Whether you’re an artist or not, curating a consistent and recognizable persona — through visuals, voice, and behavior — can make you stand out in a crowded space.

Like Warhol, you can think of your public self as a canvas: What are you about? What’s your art about? What do you want people to remember about you? How do you want to make them feel? How can you present yourself in the best possible light? How can you stand out without being obnoxious or outrageous?

I think the details matter. Warhol’s genius was in making himself inseparable from his art. For anyone in the business of making art today who actually wants people to see and buy their art, I think that’s a great lesson.

The post Thoughts on The Artist being The Art first appeared on ChrisAuman.

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One of the biggest reasons? Perspective. When you’re in the middle of making something, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the details. In the moment, each piece is like one of your children. You’re obsessing over whether a brushstroke is in the right place or if the color choices make sense. Your mind is wrapped up in the techniques and tools and mediums that you’re exploring. But when you step back—especially months or years later—you can see the bigger picture. You’re no longer caught up in the tiny decisions or whatever headspace you were in at the time. You can appreciate, and even get inspired by what worked and learn from what didn’t.

Looking back is also a great way to track progress and to get motivated. A lot of artists don’t realize how much they’ve improved until they go back and compare. What seemed like a masterpiece five years ago might look clunky now, but that’s not a bad thing—it just means you’ve grown. That’s proof that all the time and effort you’ve put in is actually paying off. It’ll feel like running into an old friend and realizing they’re telling some really great stories about the past, but you’ve moved on.

Sometimes, you find good ideas that you just weren’t ready to execute at the time. Maybe you had a concept that was solid, but your skills weren’t there yet. Or you abandoned a piece because you got bored, distracted or you just didn’t know how to finish it. Going back with fresh eyes—plus all the experience you’ve built since—can quickly lead to something new and exciting. Some of your old work might be a goldmine of half-finished thoughts waiting for a second chance. I know there have been many times that I’ve picked up a half-finished work that I abandoned and it quickly becomes something great. I’ve given it space. It’s no longer precious to me. I’m now able to be brave and take it to the next level, and that usually ends up generating something great.

In my case, I recently went back and reviewed my old work and I was inspired to head off in a whole new direction again. The piece shown above is one of the creations that I found really interesting and it made me head off in a whole new direction. I thought many of my older pieces were really interesting––far better than anything that I was working on now–– and it got me unstuck, energized, and excited to stand on the shoulders of my previous self and move forward.

Creative blocks and ruts are frustrating, and it happens to all of us. It’s easy to think you’ve got nothing left in the tank. But if you flip through your own archives, you might realize you’ve been through this before and you found your way out. Maybe you had an approach back then that you’ve drifted away from but could bring back in a new way. Inspiration isn’t always about chasing something new—it can be about reconnecting with something good that you forgot you already created. Something old could actually be the doorway that you need to tap into a whole new world of creativity.

The music producer Rick Rubin talks a lot about creativity as something beyond just skill or effort—it’s about taking the time to tune in. In The Creative Act, he describes the idea that inspiration isn’t something you force; it’s something you receive. Your own art can be that key that’s now ready to open the portal to something new if you can take the time to stop and explore. He believes that the universe is constantly transmitting ideas and opportunities, and as artists, our job is to be open enough to take advantage of the doors when they come. It’s like tuning a radio—if you’re on the right frequency, you pick up signals that feel almost like they were meant just for you.

Rick tells stories of musicians and artists who don’t see their work as something they make, but something they discover. Some of the best ideas, he suggests, don’t come from thinking harder or pushing through blocks—they come from quieting the noise, exploring with an open mind, and allowing yourself to receive. I’ve seen this work firsthand when I can stop and look back instead of forward. If you’re constantly filling your mind with distractions and new things, you might be missing out on an incredible doorway that’s been sitting right in front of you all along.

The trick is to look at old work with the right mindset. It’s not about beating yourself up over what’s not perfect and judging what’s good or bad. There’s a time and place for that. This is about recognizing where you were, how far you’ve come, and what ideas might still have value so you can take your work to the next level.

So, if you haven’t done it in a while, dig through your old sketchbooks, scroll through your own website, and social media feeds, or pull out that piece you stuffed in a drawer years ago. Explore what’s there. Look for portals to something new that may have opened up. You might surprise yourself.

The post Thoughts on The Benefits of Revisiting Your Past Artwork first appeared on ChrisAuman.

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What makes something art? It’s not a simple question to answer. It’s one of those questions that opens up a much bigger conversation about what we value, how we see the world, and who gets to decide what counts as meaningful. Some people look at a Mark Rothko painting—huge fields of color blending together, no clear subject, no obvious “skill” in the traditional sense—and their first reaction is, I don’t get it. Or worse, I could paint that.

The short answer? No, you couldn’t.

Mark Rothko – Untitled (Yellow, Orange, Yellow, Light Orange) – Sold at Christie’s recently for $46,410,000

I’m not saying that because I think you’re untalented, but because making something simple and powerful is actually incredibly hard. A child with a paintbrush might cover a canvas in color, but Rothko’s work wasn’t random. It was deliberate. Every shade, every edge, every contrast was carefully chosen to evoke something specific—often a feeling of deep emotion, even spiritual weight. Whether or not you personally feel that standing in front of one of his paintings doesn’t change the fact that others do. That’s the thing about art: it isn’t about proving anything objectively. It’s about connection. Some people will feel something, some won’t. And that’s okay.

The real mistake is assuming that art should always be something specific––pretty, realistic, recognizable, skillful. There’s this idea that great art is judged somehow by technical skill or it needs to show off technical mastery, the way a hyper-realistic portrait does. But that’s a very narrow way of thinking about art and being an artist. Skill isn’t just about precision; it’s also making someone feel a certain way. It’s about understanding composition, color, space, and tension—things that aren’t necessarily flashy but make a piece work in a way that feels almost inevitable when you see it. It’s actually incredibly difficult.

That’s why abstract art is often misunderstood. The cleaner, messier, or the more abstract it looks, the more people assume it must have been made by someone with no artistic talent. But try it. Try to paint something minimal and balanced and actually make it work—not just as decoration, but as something that holds your attention, that creates a mood, that makes a space feel different when it’s in the room. You’ll find out pretty quickly that it’s not as easy as it looks.

Mark Rothko – Untitled – Sold at Christie’s recently for $31,275,000

And yet, not everyone is going to care. That’s the other part of this conversation that matters. Art is incredibly personal. What moves one person might leave another cold. Maybe it’s meant to actually make you connect with a negative feeling and many people will be repulsed by that. What some see as deep and profound, others dismiss as empty nonsense. That’s not a flaw in the system. That’s just how taste works. In the end, appreciation is really about empathy. It’s about recognizing that just because you don’t love something doesn’t mean it lacks value. It just means it wasn’t made for you. And in a free society, that’s the way it should be.

No single person or institution gets to decide what counts as art. We all do, in different ways, by engaging with it, responding to it, arguing about it. Some works stand the test of time, others don’t. But if something speaks to even a small group of people—if it makes them feel something, think differently, pause for a moment—then it’s doing its job. Dismissing that just because it doesn’t personally resonate with you is like saying a song isn’t music because it’s not in your favorite genre.

Mark Rothko – Untitled – Sold at Christie’s recently for $17,565,000

What’s also frustrating for many people is why Mark Rothko left many of his paintings untitled. It isn’t because he was lazy or unable to do it. His paintings had deep meaning for him. The reason he didn’t want to title his art is because he didn’t want to dictate how people should experience them. He was deeply invested in the idea that art should create an emotional and almost spiritual response, and slapping a specific title on a piece would nudge viewers toward a fixed interpretation. If a painting were called Despair or Hope, for example, the audience might feel pressured to search for those exact emotions rather than engaging with the work in a more personal way. Rothko’s goal was to remove barriers between the viewer and the art, and sometimes, words can be barriers. Instead of guiding people with labels, he wanted them to just stand in front of the canvas, absorb it, and have their own reaction—whether that was awe, discomfort, or even indifference.

Of course, it wasn’t just about avoiding overly prescriptive titles. Rothko saw his paintings as experiences rather than objects, and a name could make them feel too much like products. He famously resisted the idea that his work was purely about color or form; for him, those elements were just the medium for something much bigger—intangible but deeply felt. And while some of his pieces do have titles, even those are often vague or functional, like No. 14 or Red on Maroon. It’s not that he was trying to be elusive for the sake of it; he simply believed that meaning should come from the interaction between the painting and the person looking at it, not from a pre-packaged explanation. Rothko trusted his audience enough to let them find their own way in.

Mark Rothko – Number 14

At the end of the day, abstract art—and really, all art—isn’t about proving anything. It’s about experience. It’s about curiosity. It’s about opening yourself up to perspectives beyond your own. And even if you walk away from a Rothko painting still not understanding why people love it, the fact that you’re asking the question at all means the art has value.

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Let’s be real: it’s easy to forget the good stuff. The stress, the problems, the annoying little things pile up, and suddenly, your focus is on everything going wrong. But what if you made it a habit to remind yourself of what’s going right?

Journaling about gratitude isn’t just about looking back fondly. It actively shifts your mindset. It can make you more optimistic, less stressed, and even healthier. And no, this isn’t just feel-good fluff. There’s actual science behind it. Studies show that people who regularly practice gratitude have lower cortisol levels (that’s the stress hormone) and even sleep better.

In recent years, I decided to take this advice and explore. I began trying to make small, daily notes of things I enjoyed, appreciated, or was thankful for in my journal. Nothing complicated—just quick, honest reflections on what stood out each day. Some days it was as simple as a great conversation or experience with my family, a productive work session, an accomplishment, or a moment of quiet with my morning coffee. Over time, I realized how much these little entries helped me stay grounded and positive.

Why Start Now

It’s tempting to think, “I’ll start later.” But the sooner you begin, the sooner you reap the benefits. You don’t need a perfect system. You just need to start.

An easy way? Use an app like Day One to jot down a quick note daily. No overthinking. No long-winded journal entries. Just a sentence or two about something that made your day better. It could be a small win, a kind word, or even just a great cup of coffee. The more you do it, the easier it becomes. And over time, those small moments add up to something big. What makes it even easier is that the app sends you reminders. So you have no excuse to take 30 seconds and reflect on what you’re thankful for.

Will It Even Make a Difference?

Some people worry that gratitude journaling is just another task—something that sounds good in theory but doesn’t actually change much. But here’s the thing: when you do this consistently, it rewires how you view your life.

Instead of letting the bad moments take center stage, you start to notice the good ones more. You train your brain to focus on what’s positive. And that shift can impact everything—your mood, your productivity, your relationships.

The Payoff: Seeing the Big Picture

At the end of the year, I decided to put this to the test. I’ll admit that I’m not always consistent with this yet, and may never be. So, I went back through all my journal entries, notes, and my photos from the year to challenge myself to compile 100 things I was grateful for. I figured it would be tough. The good news is that I hit 180 and had to stop. I could’ve kept going.

Looking back at everything that had happened in the past year, I didn’t just remember random good moments. I felt them again. The small victories. The unexpected joys. The things that might’ve seemed minor at the time, but added up to something meaningful.

Here are just 10 random things that were on the list:

• My daughter for kissing me on the head before going to bed every night
• My son Matthew for loving movies and shows — and watching them with me
• My son Brendan for getting engaged
• My parents for wanting to spend time with us
• Spicy Asian noodles with an egg and chili crunch
• Winter walks in the dark with Christmas lights
• Funny animal videos
• The first time seeing the northern lights
• Reading a book about sea shells
• My wife for loving me and always taking care of our family

Give It a Shot

This isn’t about forced positivity. It’s about perspective. The best way to see how much good is in your life? Keep track of it. Every time you do it, it will be a small, but positive part of your day. And when you look back, you might just be surprised by how much there is.

You don’t have to write pages of reflection—just a few words each day can make all the difference. Over time, you’ll notice patterns of joy, moments that would have otherwise slipped away unnoticed or forgotten. And the best part? You’ll build a record of proof that even in the hardest seasons, good things were still happening. So grab a notebook or an app, start today, and see where it takes you. Keep track of it. And when you look back, you might just be surprised by how much there is.

The post Thoughts on Being Thankful first appeared on ChrisAuman.

The post Thoughts on Being Thankful appeared first on ChrisAuman.

In art, simplicity doesn’t mean taking shortcuts or settling for a watered-down version of a big idea. The simplest creations can actually have the largest impact. To achieve this the focus must initially be on the essentials — many times by continually editing, revising, and being brave. In abstract art, simplicity translates into using fewer shapes, fewer colors, or fewer details and this can be a challenge that’s even more difficult than adding more. Sometimes even the negative space can even be more important than the actual focal point. Simplicity isn’t about laziness and it’s certainly not about lack of skill. It’s about sharpening the message, leaving just enough for viewers to latch onto something real, even if it’s just in their own mind.

By embracing simplicity in our work, we can create pieces that let viewers absorb what’s on the canvas without initially overwhelming them. Simplicity leaves room for interpretation. But a simpler piece can also bring clarity. This clarity can give it resonance.

A Quick Case Study

Now, I am admitting that this may only be my personal opinion. That’s the beauty of creating and appreciating art anyway. But, imagine walking into a room with the two paintings below. Which one would likely catch your eye and draw you in from across the room? Which one invokes a strong emotional feeling? Which one likely would allow you to really see the hand of the artist who created it and immerse yourself in the subtle details? Which one leaves room for exploration and individual interpretation?

Simplicity in Abstract Art

Abstract art is meant to evoke something—a feeling, an idea, a gut reaction. With fewer distractions, the emotional impact can hit harder and faster. When viewers aren’t bombarded with too many elements, they’re more likely to feel a response instead of analyzing every inch of the canvas.

While some viewers revel in dissecting the details of complex pieces, many people appreciate art that leaves room for interpretation and exploration. Simplicity allows viewers to engage with the art in a way that feels approachable to them. When there aren’t too many competing shapes, colors, or forms, people feel free to bring their own meaning to the work. This can make abstract art more inclusive.

By paring things down, artists direct the viewer’s attention to what truly matters. Whether it’s a color, shape, or texture, simple elements get the spotlight they deserve. This makes every stroke more intentional, every form more impactful. In a world filled with distractions, simplicity provides a refreshing meditative experience, allowing viewers to pause, focus and even dream, if only for a moment.

Art can have layers to enjoy too. A piece that looks simple at first glance can actually have many fine details that can be enjoyed when you get closer. This is the beauty of real, physical art. Brushstrokes, subtle texture variations, or layers of color suddenly become visible, adding depth, richness and meaning to the piece. This intimacy invites viewers to look beyond the larger shapes and colors to discover tiny nuances and marks that convey the artist’s hand, energy, and process. It’s about being real, not reproducing reality. These details transform a seemingly straightforward composition into a multifaceted experience, offering a layered enjoyment where initial simplicity meets complexity. It’s a bit like discovering hidden facets in something you thought you already understood, bringing new appreciation and depth with every closer look.

Meaning in Abstract Art

Sometimes a single shape or color can say more than a canvas filled with intricate designs. Take Kazimir Malevich’s “Black Square”—it’s literally a black square on a white background, yet it’s one of the most talked-about abstract works in art history. It’s not the complexity of form but the boldness of reduction that gives it significance. This kind of minimalism makes simple forms feel symbolic, giving them weight beyond what’s visible.

Simplicity brings balance to a piece. With fewer elements, there’s less risk of visual clutter, making it easier to achieve harmony across the canvas. This balance can be soothing, and it’s often why simpler artworks are pleasing to the eye. Balance in abstract art doesn’t necessarily mean symmetry, but it does mean that each part of the artwork feels purposeful and in harmony with the whole.

There’s something about simplicity that invites us to slow down. In abstract art, a minimalist approach can be grounding, encouraging viewers to engage with the piece in a calm, open way. It can actually be therapeutic. Simple artwork asks for nothing but attention and interpretation, fostering a sense of mindfulness that encourages you to pause, reflect, and simply enjoy.

Some of the most iconic abstract artworks stand out because of their simplicity. Take, for example, the color fields of Mark Rothko. His works often consist of just two or three blocks of color, yet they’re known to evoke strong emotional responses. Rothko’s pieces aren’t complex in their construction, but their simplicity allows the color to become the message, letting viewers feel the weight of each shade.

Then there’s Piet Mondrian’s “Composition with Red, Blue, and Yellow.” It’s a grid of black lines with squares of primary colors, but it’s been celebrated worldwide. Why? Because its simplicity delivers a clear and balanced experience. Each color and line has a purpose, creating a composition that’s both orderly and striking.

These artists didn’t simplify because they couldn’t do more—they simplified because that’s what the work needed. They understood that simplicity can be a statement in itself.

Seeking Simplicity

It may sound easy to “keep things simple,” but simplicity requires restraint and discipline. When creating abstract art, artists have to resist the urge to always add more. Adding more is easy. Removing what’s on the canvas or restraining yourself is difficult. Striking the balance between minimal and meaningful is an art form in itself. Too little, and the work may feel empty; too much, and the essence gets lost.

While simplicity is powerful, it doesn’t mean removing all depth. An artwork that’s too pared down can risk looking empty or unengaging. There’s a fine line between simplicity and oversimplification. Good abstract art strikes a balance, offering just enough to keep viewers intrigued without overwhelming them.

Artists have to know when to stop, and that can be the hardest part. When working with fewer elements, every decision counts. Developing restraint is essential in abstract art—overworking a piece can dilute its message, while stopping too soon can make it feel incomplete.

Achieving Simplicity

When it comes to creating simplicity in abstract art, it’s less about following strict rules and more about making every choice intentional and meaningful. A good place to start is with a limited color palette. Using only one or two colors can open up a world of creative possibilities, encouraging you to focus on how those colors interact and contrast rather than relying on a range of hues to convey your message. This constraint can be surprisingly liberating, pushing you to think more deeply about the impact of each color choice.

Another effective way to embrace simplicity is through thoughtful use of negative space. Blank areas on the canvas aren’t empty or wasted; instead, they serve as a kind of breathing room that balances the more active parts of the artwork. Negative space draws the eye to the main elements, creating a natural contrast that adds depth without clutter. But this is where, when you look up close, small details can add depth and another layer of enjoyment and meaning.

Focusing on key shapes and lines can also give your work a strong, recognizable structure. Limiting yourself to one or two main shapes can enhance the visual cohesion of your piece, giving it a clear entry point that allows the viewer to engage and then go deeper.

Chasing Resonance

In art, music, literature, and even science, “resonance” refers to the idea that something strikes a chord or connects deeply, often evoking a powerful, almost instinctual reaction. When we say an artwork or a piece of music “resonates,” we mean that it impacts us on an emotional, intellectual, or even physical level. It goes beyond surface appreciation of the work and stirs something within, making the experience more memorable and meaningful.

In a more technical sense, resonance in physics describes a phenomenon where an object vibrates at the same frequency as an external force, amplifying its sound or motion. Similarly, in abstract terms, resonance in art amplifies certain emotions or ideas within the viewer, creating a sense of connection that feels amplified, often lingering in their memory or thoughts.

Resonance is why a minimalist painting with simple shapes can still feel powerful or why a certain line of a song sticks with us. The work communicates something essential and impactful, resonating with our own thoughts, experiences, or emotions. It’s about alignment, where the message or feeling of the piece and the perception of the audience come together in harmony.

Simplicity in abstract art isn’t about stripping away meaning or content; it’s about amplifying what matters most. By focusing on core elements and avoiding unnecessary clutter, we can create pieces that resonate on a deep level, inviting viewers to connect and interpret in their own way. It takes skill and restraint, but simplicity can make abstract art more accessible, more impactful, and ultimately, more memorable.

In a world overflowing with visuals and overwhelming noise at times, a simple piece of abstract art can be a refreshing change. Sometimes a single shape or color is all it takes to say something profound.

The post Thoughts on The Power of Simplicity in Abstract Art first appeared on ChrisAuman.

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