By Mikkel Urup
My journey into the world of art has been a pursuit that alternates between precision and chaos. On one hand, my ink drawings focus on the essence of form. Here, I am driven by a need to strip everything down to its core, eliminating any element that does not belong. It’s a quest for purity and perfection, where each line brings order and understanding, defining a shape. The challenge lies in capturing the essential traits—the distilled essence of a figure or emotion—using the simplest of tools: black ink on white paper.
When I step into the realm of colors on my canvases, my priorities shift radically. The colors call out to each other, interact, and create something vibrant and chaotic yet purposeful, like a relentless jungle where only the strongest survive. My paintings are less about achieving a perfect, static form and more about capturing a moment’s energy, a pulse of life. It’s a dance with the canvas, where spontaneity and unpredictability rule. Here, it’s about embracing the wildness and taming the raw energy that colors bring into the work, without extinguishing the spark in the process.
At first, the blank canvas was intimidating. It felt like staring into an abyss of potential, where the fear of making mistakes held me back. Over time, I realized that my best work emerged from moments of fearlessness. Now, when I approach a painting, I embrace the unknown. I start with sketches, with forms that fascinate me, and as I paint, I gear myself towards a state of creative flow at high speed.
It’s an interaction—between me and the canvas, between the colors and shapes. The painting begins to speak, and I respond, often with bold, sometimes reckless strokes that alternately support and challenge the subject.
There is often a critical moment in this process, a point of no return. It’s when I step back, look at what I’ve created, and take a decisive risk. I introduce a completely new element, a bold color, or a daring stroke—something that can either elevate the painting to a new level or completely ruin it. It’s about challenging the work, challenging myself, pushing beyond the comfortable to achieve a new perspective. Sometimes it doesn’t work out. I’ve ruined more than one painting this way, but often, that’s the moment in the process that gives me the most. That’s where the real adventure lies.
In the interplay between control and chaos, precision and spontaneity, I define my work. In my color paintings, I strive to capture the wild, untamed spirit of life, while my ink drawings are about distillation, capturing the essence in its simplest form. Together, they represent the dual nature of my creative approach. These two processes are not exactly polar opposites, because they can coexist and support each other in the same piece. In practice, they are opposing forces, and it’s rewarding to be able to switch between these focal points. In my canvas paintings, it’s primarily the fascinating chaos that drives me, while in my ink drawings, it’s order that reigns.
For me, inspiration is an extended “conversation.” A dialogue between me and the medium (canvas, metal plates, wood, paint, ink, etc.), between shapes and colors, between the past and the present. My works are inspired by artists like Kandinsky and Miró, who explored the fundamental elements of shape and color, building their universes with these foundational building blocks. And the masters of color and imagination like Monet, Van Gogh, and Dali. In other words, my inspiration in my artistic journey is somewhat “old-fashioned,” you might say, but nonetheless fundamental, as the steps these artists took were essential and critical, and it’s those things that fascinate me. To me, being an artist is the same as being an explorer—you don’t tire of the jungle, hurricanes, thunderstorms, and the silence that follows. For me, each work begins with that first interaction, the first stroke of ink or dab of paint. From there, the journey starts, a ride on the roller coaster.
Timeless Creativity
At the heart of my creative process lies a state of mind that is difficult to describe but is essential to my art. It’s a state where fear is absent, replaced by complete confidence and intuition. In these moments, time feels irrelevant. Some of my best works have been created almost instantly, while others have taken years to complete without achieving the same spark. This state isn’t about duration but about a harmony of inspiration, action, and flow. It’s like walking a tightrope high above, where each step is instinctive, effortless, and precise. This feeling transcends the physical act of painting; this is where true creation occurs—beyond time, beyond doubt, purely in the moment.
Artistic creation is often perceived as a process bound by time, where the hours spent on a piece directly correlate with its quality. Yet, in my experience, the true nature of creativity transcends these conventional time measures. A story that beautifully illustrates this originates from ancient China, a tale passed down to me verbally by a learned scholar as we discussed the nature of inspiration.
“There was once an emperor, bedridden due to severe illness, who missed the daily walks where he admired the exquisite beauty of his garden. Among all the trees in his magnificent garden, one particular tree stood out. This tree epitomized natural beauty, bathed in perfect light, its form unparalleled in grace. It was this tree the emperor longed to see each day. In his desire to keep the image of the tree close to him during his illness, he ordered his servants to find the best artist in all of China, someone who could capture the essence of this one perfect tree.
After an exhaustive search, they found an artist known for his beautiful work. The artist was brought to the emperor and given the task of creating a drawing that captured the beauty of the emperor’s beloved tree. The artist spent a long time just observing the tree, contemplating its form, how the light played on its leaves, and how it seemed to radiate a sense of perfect harmony. Thus, days, weeks, and months passed.
The emperor, growing impatient, called the artist to ask why the drawing was not yet finished. The artist, deeply aware of the tree’s unique beauty, humbly explained that he needed more time to truly capture the tree’s great beauty. Frustrated, the emperor gave him more time, as he too knew all too well the tree’s special beauty.
Months went by, and still no drawing…
Finally, as the emperor’s patience was running out, he summoned the artist once again and insisted that he must have his drawing NOW. The artist sensed that the moment had come. He picked up a piece of paper and, with quick, confident strokes, created the most beautiful drawing, which he handed to the emperor. The emperor looked gratefully at the drawing and was deeply moved by the beauty the artist had captured. In an instant, all those months of studying the tree crystallized into a magical moment.”
This story beautifully captures the ultimate act of creation. This state of “perfect” inspiration and execution is not necessarily tied to the physical time spent on the piece. Instead, it is a culmination of thought, observation, and an almost “superconscious” understanding of what the work requires. In that moment of inspiration, a masterpiece can be born in an instant, rendering time irrelevant.
The artist’s ability lies in a state of mind where the art flows naturally, effortlessly, as if it were always meant to be, yet it remains entirely fresh and new.
