Risk, Chance, and the Abstract Eye: Embracing the Unknown in Composition
At first glance, abstraction can appear precise; a studied interplay of form, colour, and space. But beneath the surface of many abstract works lies a kind of structured uncertainty: a choreography between control and chaos, intention and improvisation. For me, chance and risk are not accidents in the creative process. They are methods.
When composing abstract forms, I don’t start with a fixed image in mind. I begin with fragments: a shape, a rhythm, a colour relationship. What emerges is the result of decision-making that is both intuitive and unpredictable; a kind of visual negotiation that happens in real time, without guarantees.
The Role of Chance in Abstract Art
In many ways, abstraction invites chance. Without a figurative subject to "anchor" meaning, the artist is left to invent visual logic, or deliberately subvert it. What happens when this triangle overlaps that arc? When this colour bleeds into a cooler one nearby? When symmetry gives way to imbalance?
I often allow one shape to determine the next; not by formula, but by feeling. I ask: Does this disrupt the harmony just enough? Does this movement create energy, or flatten it? These are questions without fixed answers, and the response can change from one moment to the next.
Art Movements That Embraced the Unplanned
I draw inspiration from artists and movements that allowed the unknown to guide them:
John Cage used randomness as a compositional tool, famously incorporating chance operations via the I Ching to strip ego from his music. While I don’t flip coins to compose, I often introduce constraints, like a restricted palette or rule of repetition, that invite surprise within a defined space.
The Dadaists relinquished control to chaos, letting gravity and accident become part of the work’s meaning. Their attitude of irreverence toward perfection resonates with me, especially in the digital era, where design is often over-sanitised.
Helen Frankenthaler, a key figure in Colour Field painting, pioneered the soak-stain technique; letting paint flow freely onto unprimed canvas. Her work reminds me that allowing material to behave on its own terms can produce profound emotional outcomes.
These artists remind us: chance is not careless. It’s a deep form of trust in process, in perception, in the unknown.
Risk as Visual Instinct
When composing, I often reach a point of comfort, where everything feels resolved. But this is precisely when I know something is missing. So, I take a risk: I cover a portion, obscure a form, or introduce a jarring element that might disrupt everything. Sometimes it fails. But sometimes, it unlocks a new path.
These moments of risk are small acts of rebellion. Not against the work, but against predictability. They keep the composition alive, unresolved in the best way.
Because in abstraction, perfection is not the goal, vitality is. And vitality requires a bit of tension, a bit of danger. Something that feels like it could fall apart, but doesn’t.
Why the Unknown Matters
Working with abstraction means you are constantly navigating between the known and the unknown. There is no “correct” answer, only resonance. And that resonance is often born from decisions that can’t be explained; only felt.
By embracing risk and inviting chance into the composition, the work becomes more than a personal expression. It becomes a space where viewers can also project, interpret, and feel, because the work itself is open, not closed.
In a world increasingly obsessed with certainty, efficiency, and polish, there is something radical about allowing uncertainty into the creative process. The great artists of the 20th century understood that risk wasn’t a threat to art; it was its lifeblood.
In my own practice, risk doesn’t come from spectacle. It comes quietly, in the hesitation before a mark, the tension of an asymmetrical form, the disruption of an expected rhythm. These are the places where meaning emerges. Not from knowing, but from not knowing yet.