I used to accept the mentality that “art is suffering.” And if I were to create anything worth seeing it would have to be the result of passion, rather than the diligent effort of a well regulated life. My struggles are private, and I really don’t want to share them, mostly because I don’t want to be judged. So much of what I create relates to my own life, that simply to create the work means that I end up navel gazing, because I wonder what people think of me because of it. But things have to come from somewhere, even if they are ultimately transformed into a work that exists on its own right.
Silly, as the maxim is Create Good Art! But not at the expense of one’s life.
Sometimes I find the stories distract me from understanding how these artists worked: when they got up, how they avoided procrastination, how they got their work done, and whether they were happy doing it.
Saint-Exupery may have based the Rose in the Little Prince on Consuelo, his wife, and current popular wisdom holds that Lewis Carol, who wrote Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was obsessed with children. But perhaps that’s because Carol’s family purged his archives after his death to remove any records of Carol’s relationships with adult women, in an effort to protect his reputation as an unmarried don.
While my interest in art trivia could be seen as a waste of time, I prefer to view this research as giving me permission to live my life first, and create my work second. I aim to live a drama free life so that I have the energy to create interesting work, but if I live no life at all, the creative well will be dry.
I still haven’t read articles that make the point of the importance of materials to the artwork itself that are convincing enough for me to change my stance. Bosch’s choice to work in oil paint, rather than tempera, had more to do with technological invention in media, than grandstanding through binder choice. If an artist brought cultural acceptability to a media (ie Ansel Adams and photography), the choice of media would be important, but for the rest of us, it seems immaterial. It’s a rabbit hole that distracts from the work itself.
I don’t think that art is some rarified thing that people only do if they can afford a studio, or worse, are content to transform their living quarters into an unventilated space for oil painting. Art making isn’t only for students, or for people willing to live in punishing circumstances.
It is possible to create something meaningful and beautiful and have a decent life. It doesn’t preclude great art, although perhaps it does mean that works need to become smaller, or that we need to have a second job. Vermeer was an innkeeper in 17th Century Holland, and no one now argues that his work was third rate because it didn’t provide his sole source of funds.
Usually my projects began with more fanfare, although they are not necessarily better for it. A decision like: “I want to make a dragon” or, “I want you to meet Otis” (the blue ringed octopus featured at the beginning of this post, who is hiding under a root). Faith is generally enough to get me through the beginning stages of these projects. Even when I can’t see who they will become, I believe firmly that the drawing will become someone.
Usually my projects began with more fanfare, although they are not necessarily better for it. A decision like: “I want to make a dragon” or, “I want you to meet Otis” (the blue ringed octopus featured at the beginning of this post, who is hiding under a root). Faith is generally enough to get me through the beginning stages of these projects. Even when I can’t see who they will become, I believe firmly that the drawing will become someone.
I’ve been playing with the concept of writing adds to visual artwork, either in the form of titles, surrounding text (in the case of illustrations), or artist statements. Often the title feels like a placeholder: e.g. “Abstract No. 1.” In these cases, I’m left with the feeling that the title merely exists for the art catolog, rather than for the viewer. A notable exception is Paul Kee’s Two Men Meet, Each Believing the Other to Be of Higher Rank (1903)
I’ve been playing with the concept of writing adds to visual artwork, either in the form of titles, surrounding text (in the case of illustrations), or artist statements. Often the title feels like a placeholder: e.g. “Abstract No. 1.” In these cases, I’m left with the feeling that the title merely exists for the art catolog, rather than for the viewer. A notable exception is Paul Kee’s Two Men Meet, Each Believing the Other to Be of Higher Rank (1903)
The drawing that begins this post is unfinished. It’s in limbo, as I decide whether it needs more work (it’s hard for me to leave things white). As its creator, it’s difficult not to smooth out the awkwardness and “normalize” both creatures to minimize the tension.
While I’ve long accepted that drawing is an exercise in putting up with ugliness & awkwardness, the awkwardness still bothers me. A friend once remarked that he felt that his paintings never went through an ugly stage, and that even when incomplete, he was generally satisfied with how they were progressing. I didn’t get it–was this like a parent who was sure that their child never misbehaved? Admittedly, I got ideas from the ugly stage of my work, and it usually worked itself out, either because I trashed the piece without damaging my artistic self-worth, or because it turned into something worth keeping.
Or sometimes, it’s because the awkwardness is interesting. I can’t imagine drawing a teen and not having it show in her features, or in how she holds herself. In the case of the drawing that begins the post, the creatures compete for attention, creating an awkward composition. I can accept that, even if it rubs me the wrong way.
In future, I’d like to create an image that can be clearly read three or more different ways. When I was younger, I liked the young woman & crone images. I liked the clear morality, but it bothered me that the old woman was more interesting than the young one. It seemed unfair that the contours of the old woman’s face were sacrificed to make the young woman more attractive.
Anonymous German postcard from 1800’s
Now I feel that the dichotomy is heavy handed, even as I reproduce it on my own terms, with the models at hand. (Bogart, the cat who posed for the drawing, is currently ignoring me.)
So far, my pen drawings of the past year have morphed between forms organically, so that they look more like dreamscapes than optical illusions, even less tied to reality than the image featured at the beginning of the post. People can find the drawings off-putting if they primarily appreciate art technically, searching in it for things they recognize. They don’t seem to get past whether something is a desk lamp or an eel.
With thematic illusions, like the girl/crone image, the compression of space is not an issue, as it can be rationalized. The Cats less so. The viewer has the same experience of flicking between views, without an intellectual reason for it. And it’s awkward sitting with tension.
