hardly serve as a source idea for a painting, but it follows a basic pattern, the synthesis of two different ideas or qualities into a new idea or concept. Most of these combinations result in fairly conventional Freudian symbols that would be interesting only to the psychoanalyst or the subconscious self. Occasionally, however, a few of these synthesized images are worthy of consideration, and some could undoubtedly become good ideas for a painting. I have experienced beautiful colors and shapes, striking vistas of cities and landscape. I have gained remarkable insights and realizations, have had all sorts of ideas and images worthy of inspiring art. Unfortunately I forget most of these images, and not a few of them are literally inexpressible--mystical, lovely sensations and ideas that could hardly be hinted at with words or pictures. Mystifying as all these images are, I believe that many of them do have a meaning or even message to convey; the problem is to analyze and interpret them so that they can be incorporated into art. At any rate, I now believe that much of the creative process is a process of synthesis. In the half-conscious state I am aware of the combination of incongruous ideas and sensations into new states that are at least consistent in a dream-environment. Undoubtedly dreaming is based on this process of evolving combinations. During consciousness, when the mind is largely unaware of the subconscious, this process of synthesis goes on behind the scenes. If it is the source of semi-consious and unconscious creation, then it could very well be the source of creation during wakeful states. Sometimes I form spontaneous images while in a completely conscious state. Then I am unaware of the actual combining-process, so the origins of these conscious images are harder to explain than those of the dream-like visions. The spontaneous, conscious images require no effort of image-making, no concentrated exercise of the imagination; they arise suddenly, without any prompting. These images are usually vague, and they are as much a mood or a feeling as a picture. Unlike mental pictures of past persons and events that are summoned up by association, these images deal with purely imaginary subjects; but they are never surrealistic and mystical like the dream-images. The conscious images are probably symbolic and must have their origin in the subconscious, but the conscious mind censors and restrains the wild creations from the lower depths. Closely related to the spontaneous forming of images are the ideas of themes that appear suddenly like an unexpected flash of ligh. These ideas are more common than the pictures, and they suggest images and mental plans for paintings. This first method of gaining inspiration for paintings, the spontaneous forming of images and ideas, is more creative and portrays more faithfully the mind and soul of the artist, but it is often very difficult to give the vague, ethereal conceptions concrete form. If the artist succeeds in portraying a deeply subjective conception, his canvas, the end result, may be a private hieroglyphic nearly unintelligible to the viewers. Consequently, most of the ideas I use for paintings are derived largely from nature, or the non-imaginary world. I have found that ideas derived from "reality" can be assigned different degrees of "ob- 16 jectivity", according to the proportions of their imaginary content and their faithfulness to reality. I may arrive at a subject by spontaneous image and idea-making, but the mental picture may be too vague to work from. The painting will develop only when I can work from something in life that parallels what I have imperfectly imagined. For instance, perhaps I imagine a girl with a very intriguing face, but unfortunately my mental image is too vague to be of much help in making the drawing or painting. Possibly I will come across a real face that somewhat resembles my vision. The resulting picture might be a combination, a compromise, of the actual face and imagined one. The reverse of this process is even more common: an artist may base his work on some object or scene before him, but he will "idealize" or transform it in accordance to his own vision and personality. The previous examples would all score a low "objectivity quotient", because they are largely transformations of reality by the imagination. At the other end of the scale would be the painting that is photographically real, a picture that attempts to mirror nature exactly, with nothing added, nothing subtracted; and, in a different sense, collage an assemblage of paper, cloth, wood, junk, automobile parts, almost anything could be the ultimate in objectivity in art. Choosing the subject and theme for a painting, whatever their source, is the major part of the pre-painting stage of the work; after this selection, little is to be done before the actual painting-process begins. To illustrate this creative procss, I will describe the origins of a painting on which I am now working. The idea had its source in reality. I was in a supermarket and reacted to the jumble of garish lights and colors, to the blatant advertising schemes, to the vacant-eyed shoppers. After leaving the store, a mental image formed. It was not "photographic", but was a transformation of the scene by my imagination. I saw a monstrously fat woman in a heavy red coat; she was an immense, dehumanized thing in the midst of a nightmarish chaos of glaring light and color and half-formed human images. By the time I had studied my image I realized that it was only a synthesis of imagination and reality, but also a combination of several artistic styles: Pop Art, with its emphasis on banal commercialism, Social Realism, with its critical commentary on our society's institutions, and Expressionism, with its raw color and emotional energy. I perfected the image, deciding on composition and design, but I did not concentrate on details, realizing that the finished picture would probably have little resemblance to my mental image. For this is probably the most important synthesis in the creative process the crucial encounter between the planned image and the actual painting. by Wayne L. Geary 17