high art and reality tv

I admit to watching the more creative reality shows on TV, like Top Chef and Project Runway to name a few. Yet as I sit in my den, I’m struck by how similar these shows have become in setting up an atmosphere of competition to entertain the television audience. The premise is, whoever is unable to achieve the challenge to the judge's liking is deemed the loser of the challenge and is asked to leave the show. Someone leaves each week until one contestant remains as the winner. The prize is a big spread in a national magazine and a large amount of money for the last person standing. In every one of these shows one of the contestants will look into the camera and say, “I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to win.”

Still, I’m a sucker for these shows, so when Work of Art: The Next Great Artist aired on Bravo, I was on my couch tuned in. Part of me wanted to see if I could be a contestant on the show. Could I survive the time restraints and competitive nature of the show to win? I wondered if I had the kind of talent that would excel under such glaring lights. You never know how you react to a situation until you’re in it.

This is where I get upset. Most of the contestants on the show are young and a bit arrogant about their talent. They are eager competitors ready to mow down the competition while hamming it up for the cameras. They come with learned tricks ready to wow the audience…and all I can think is, this is not how real art is conceived.

Which brings me to the question, can high art really be merchandized, manipulated into entertainment and still remain an independent voice of a culture? For me, the creative process thrives when I have the time to think things out. I’m able to try something—fail at it—then rethink the process more successfully. Most times it’s a slow process I’m not able to force. This is how unexpected advances happen, opening new doors to discovery. The foundation of art is in the drawing and composition, the knowledge of color theory and spatial balance…years of study…years of trial and error. It’s the one art form where the artist gets better with age.

I’m concerned that this program in its desire to entertain has done a great disservice to the artists who are hard at work in their studios dreaming of someday having a show at the Brooklyn Museum or P.S. 1. To watch young “wannabes” on TV get this highly prized advantage without putting in the time and sweat is a bit discouraging. High art, in my opinion, can’t be manipulated and packaged to make good entertainment. It has to find its time and truth in order to become the voice of its generation.

a good time to create art

I feel the need to address the discontent growing in the world. While much of it is beyond my control, the anxiety from it is starting to keep me up at night. This is why I’m in my studio at two in the morning working myself into exhaustion so I can sleep. I mention this because it’s the energy from all the political and economic stress that’s inspiring my work.

Which leads me to the point of this blog. I’m feeling an incredible responsibility to create art that addresses these feelings. As I feed off the energy of an upcoming political season and the disassociation of the middle class, it’s fueled the air with an energy worth tapping into. I believe this is an important time for artists to be in their studios creating. Historians will document this time with the facts, but the artist will document the emotional climate, which I see as a huge responsibility.

In the 1980’s my photorealistic paintings of the city were well received. At the time I thought they were making this important statement on realism, since the art world had been all about the abstract expressionists for so many years. Artists like Richard Estes, Chuck Close and Audrey Flack emerged as stars. It was a time when people started spending large amounts for art work. However, like all things art, tastes change and trends move on to something new. The last decade saw a select group of artists warehoused as investments, yet much of it lacked an emotional sincerity. I, for one, want to see something new evolve past this pop culture mentality.

So I say,  this is a really good time to dig in, use what’s going on in the world and make good art from it. Artists have a unique ability to influence what comes next, and if a change is on the way, let the artist ferret out its meaning.

logistics of creating

I marvel at artists who have taken advantage of fellowships and residencies despite marriage, children and job obligations. Through the years I, too, was offered these opportunities, but couldn’t figure out the logistics of juggling all my other commitments to make it work. My solution was to stop applying for these opportunities. Unfortunately, I played it safe, which in the end didn’t advance my art.

So what did I miss that all those other artists already knew? The answer, believe it or not, was a simple one. My art friends who took the residencies and travel grants didn’t think how they would do them; they just had faith they would figure it out once they received the award. In one case a friend hired a housekeeper who cooked and cared for her children for the three weeks she was gone. Another friend had family and friends stand in for almost two months. I think men must have it a little easier. However, what this points out to me is how sometimes you just have to take risks no matter what the logistics.

This brings me to the point of this blog. In some ways I’m still holding myself back and I’m not alone. I see it amongst my artist friends who are accomplished enough, yet have limited their art because of studio space or the size of the family car. I know finding room to stretch a very large canvas can cause a whole set of problems, but I think this is one of those logistical problems that can be easily solved.

This is where I start talking to myself. It’s time to stop thinking about how to limit my work and figure out how to expand it. This might mean building a canvas that folds in half so it can fit in my SUV, or maybe, renting a truck, or making multiple paintings that expand the size of a painting. Works on paper need a certain kind of framing and this may get expensive, but again, there are ways to get around this...possibly internet framers who charge less because you assemble the frame yourself.

I see a new dilemma on the horizon now that Facebook and YouTube have opened up the world to us creative types. With new friends in 15 countries, I see opportunities arising that may create a whole new set of logistics to conquer.

This is the time I have to take a deep breath and remember, there’s a solution for every problem if the spirit is willing and an open mind has a greater reach when allowed to seek its level.

is it stealing?

When I go to the galleries to see what’s going on in the art world, I’m there to be inspired by something new…something I haven’t seen before. So when I come across an artist whose work catches my imagination, I want to know all about their process and what techniques were used.

However, this is where it gets sticky for me. Hopefully the gallery people will have an explanation for what they’re showing. Sometimes though, they’re cryptic without a clear explanation of  how the work was accomplished. Or maybe, they’re just unwilling to share. I find it hard to understand this kind of secrecy since artists notoriously feed off of each other's ideas.

So the question is, if I get an idea to further my art from something I’ve seen, is that considered stealing? Over the years my art has evolved because of what I’ve been exposed to. Everything around me stimulates my work, and in turn, my work does the same for other artists. In my college days the professors called it, “borrowing.” We were sent out once a month to write reports on what was showing in the galleries and museums. Part of the report was to analyze what we saw and to discuss the techniques used. I learned early in my career to seek out artwork that excites me and to use parts of it in my own work. I go to the galleries to figure out my next step.

I find making original art requires a constant solving of problems. If I just repeat what I see, I don’t advance myself. I’m only painting someone else’s solved problems. The key for me is to take the art that excites me and somehow put my own spin on it...reinterpret it. In other words, I have to put my own thumbprint on it. I like to think that makes me part of the chain as I pass on my solved problems to other artists. For me this is not stealing but evolution.

If you don’t give your secrets away, you won’t get any back. I don’t think anyone gains from that.

inspiration through collage

I used to say, “I can teach skills, but I can’t teach talent.” I’ve changed my mind on this, however, since I believe talent is about developing original ideas, which we all have on some level. The trick is to recognize these thoughts and act on them. This happens for me when I work with collage. By using a system, which I’ve invented for myself, I’m able to explore new ways to mine ideas from my subconscious. It absolutely surprises me every time I produce a new batch of images. It’s exciting to sit down having no clue where I’m heading and come up with something so bizarre I can hardly recognize myself in it.

Nothing motivates me more than a new way of looking at the world. These collage images do this for me. They use a different thought process than my painting, yet one feeds the other. Collaging is a subconscious free flow, while painting is more of an eye-hand coordination skill. They compliment each other.

Best of all, I have this untapped well of ideas sitting in my head. This is exciting, since there is no artist’s block to contend with. When I get bored with what I’m painting, I go back to working on new collages. It’s my favorite time, since I have an endless supply of magazines from garage sales and discarded library magazine collections.

I find it relaxing to cut images out of magazines. The more backup material I collect, the more choices I have and the more risks I’m able to take. Instead of forcing an idea to work, I’m able to allow inspiration to move through me and that’s when my best work happens.

the commercial side of art

While it’s nice to sell and get approval from your peers, there’s a dark side to being tied to one gallery. As a young artist I was fortunate to have an exclusive contract with a prominent gallery. This meant I could not show in any other gallery within a ninety mile radius. My dealer was promoting my work to her exclusive clients, and I had dreams of making it big. It was an exciting time. I felt important and validated, not to mention the monetary rewards.

It was also a stressful time. Producing enough watercolors to fill a gallery took every waking minute of my day. My eyes were in a constant state of glaze. My family was getting tired of take-out meals, and I was just plain tired and irritable all the time.  

So when my dealer told me she wouldn’t exhibit one of my watercolors because there was a garbage pail in the foreground of the painting, it frustrated me. She refused to exhibit that painting, and because I had an exclusive contract with her, I couldn’t show the watercolor anywhere else.

She, of course, had the right not to exhibit the painting, but the damage she did to me was far more serious. I began to second-guess myself and lost confidence in my own judgment. I wanted to sell, and that meant pleasing the owner of the gallery and her clientele. Suddenly my work had become this commodity for someone else to manipulate. I did not study art for this to happen.

Everything I know about the galleries I learned as they say, “on the job.” My advice to any artist looking for representation in a gallery is first build up an inventory of work. Ivan Carp from OK Harris Gallery once told me not to come back to him unless I had at least fifteen paintings ready to exhibit. This is good advice. With a body of work to choose from, I’m better able to select my best paintings to exhibit.

avoid the cliche

It concerns me the way ideas germinate and become part of my thought process without a conscious awareness of how they got there. Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish whether an idea is really mine or one I picked up along the way from something I read or saw on TV.  I also worry about imagery that has a kind of universal appeal and has become comfortable or familiar in content. Much information comes at me through the media and what I absorb has a way, I hate to admit, of finding its way into my art. Even though I consider myself an independent thinker, I’m just as impressionable as the next person.

So as an artist, I’m always on guard about using overstated and overused imagery in my work. One thing I know for sure, art that mimics trends has an ordinary sense about it. It has a predictability and is more easily accepted, but doesn’t distinguish itself. What makes it familiar is what sells it.

Years ago I painted large cityscapes and had a great deal of success with them. The problem for me was as skilled a painter as I had become, there was always someone else who could do the same thing better. My work didn’t have a uniqueness that made it stand out. It had become this stereotypical imagery that felt more like illustration.

I see this now in hindsight, and there’s a lesson in it for me. I admire artists who have found their own vocabulary in their work and still continue to develop independently of trends. As I see it, the trick is to stay aware of what’s out there, but stay true to your own vision. This means staying clear of anything that feels too familiar or easy. If my work doesn’t surprise me, it’s not going to surprise anyone else either.

getting out of my own way

I’m intrigued with how some of my students are able to grasp concepts easily, while others struggle with the basics, even though they’re smart and talented.  I’m sympathetic to those who find it more difficult. I’m at times one of them myself. It’s not easy to try hard at something and not get the results I want. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

It’s just a fact, I take myself way too seriously at times. While I’m sincere about my art, I seem unable sometimes to move forward. It’s almost as if I booby-trap myself into overthinking my work. So, how do I free myself and let my painting evolve the way it’s supposed to? I know for me, not being affiliated with a gallery at this point allows me to explore a deeper meaning in my work without fear of compromise. I’m able to experiment without anyone judging my ideas.

Interestingly enough, it was when I started working with collage that I discovered a way to tap into my subconscious. Often I’m taken by surprise by what happens. It’s not about having an idea as much as allowing images to find their way through the muddle. Suddenly my work has metaphor and irony, something I could never achieve when I was trying too hard to find it.

Now the minute I hear that critic’s voice in my head, I make a conscious effort to shut it off…even if it means leaving the studio. I find working in short spurts helps keep my mind fresh. I’m often surprised with what I’ve created and this fuels my painting.

If I take anything away from this, it would be to trust in the process and get out of my own way.

all about color

While I’m attracted to art that uses pure color, I find my own palette is limited to more blended tones. I suffered over this during the early years of my painting career thinking it was a great flaw in my work. It concerned me how predictable my color scheme had become, and still, I couldn’t change it. At this point, I was a watercolorist studying the way other watercolorists used color in their work. It was frustrating trying to emulate them. No good would ever come from painting in someone else’s style.

All of this changed after attending a Frank Stella lecture where he addressed this very issue of color. I look back on it now and realize this was a turning point for me. He spoke about two kinds of artists…those who used primary colors and those who used secondary colors. Stella knew at an early age, he was partial to bright, pure colors by the crayons he chose. I knew the opposite since I was more comfortable with quiet softer tones. It wasn’t the lack of understanding color that influenced my work, but something more basic. I’m a secondary color artist and it had nothing to do with talent.

So how does this affect my art? I’ve come to realize my art has this undertone of moodiness because of my palette. This is something I want to explore since my current work is about predators and victims. The colors I use have a greyed down uniformity, and instead of wishing it different, I have come to embrace the possibilities it offers. The trick is to keep the paint clean and sharp-edged; to avoid muddy passages that compromise the integrity of the composition.

Now when I intentionally place bits of bright color in my work, it creates a movement or depth of field I could never achieve without it. Knowing how I process color has advanced my art emotionally and intellectually and has given me a greater insight into the way other artists approach their work.

a problem painting

I’m going through a bad patch with a painting. It’s taken over my life and not in a good way. One area of the painting refuses to feel finished to me, which is driving me crazy. I’m obsessed with getting it right, yet nothing I do seems to work. The acrylic paint is building up, and I can see the war on the surface of the canvas. The problem is, I’m not sure I can even see what’s right anymore. It’s as if the canvas is vibrating and nothing I do can stop it. Unfortunately, it’s keeping me awake at night. My eyes are glazed over, and I can’t concentrate on anything else but that painting.

It doesn’t help to know every artist goes through this at some point or another. I just want to get through this without destroying the painting. Often when a student of mine is having this problem I tell them to put the canvas against the wall and let it cool down. Easier said than done. It’s difficult to detach from a painting I’ve been working on for weeks.

However, I do need to move on. Right now I’m just pushing paint around without any improvement to the overall composition. It’s time to take out the rubbing alcohol and remove  the problem area. This is the best way to lift acrylic paint from any surface. It took me half my painting career before I discovered this secret. Rubbing alcohol removes paint from clothes, furniture and rugs. It’s amazing. Since finding this solution, I’m able to experiment more freely with the paint. I gesso the area over again and let it dry for a couple of hours. The surface is now ready to transfer the image back onto the canvas.

It’s great to have a new beginning. There have been occasions when I had to repeat this two or three times before I got it right. The best part of it is you can’t detect any change on the surface of the canvas. I can breathe again.

what makes art memorable?

After graduating college, I became an art teacher in the public school system. My friends, who went on to get their MA degrees, thought I had compromised my future as an artist. I understood their point, but I needed to find my own passion independent of the classroom. I was serious about making art since it was the only thing I ever wanted to do.

In many ways the path I chose was much harder than my friends who spent two more years specializing in painting, sculpture and printmaking. There was a higher degree of sophistication to their work by the time they graduated. They taught at the college level and were part of a different kind of community than myself. My painting career started off a little more hit or miss.

The question for me now is, did my work suffer because I hadn’t gotten my graduate degree? Was my art less professional because of it? This is where it all gets fuzzy for me. I recently visited the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia and discovered the work of artist Maud Lewis. She was a primitive painter uneducated in the formal ways of art institutions. Born in 1903, she grew up with severe crippling juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, which left her with painful and swollen joints. Still, her will to paint took over her life. Every inch of her small one room cabin (which was installed in the middle of the large gallery) was painted with flowers, birds and butterflies. She painted hundreds of small canvases depicting the life around her. Her work was simple and direct, but most of all, it had an obsessive, compulsive quality. She is recognized today as one of Canada’s most important Folk Art artists.

Although I’m not a big fan of Folk art, I was deeply touched by Maud’s work. I could feel her soul and her drive to keep herself alive and vital with color and brushstroke. Her need to leave her mark gripped me. This I could understand, after all, isn’t that what I want also? I felt connected to her in a way I never expected. Maud Lewis’ body of work went beyond commercial fads and academic leanings; it contained the essence of life itself.

It’s in this fact that gets to the point of my epiphany. Art may have many voices, but it speaks only one language. Whether a person is recognized as a professional, or not, is irrelevant in the long haul. Great art has passion and heart. It has to have an honesty that continues to haunt long after it’s been shown. None of this can be learned in a classroom.

what is taboo?

There are things I won’t say and do, but are my taboos holding me back, or are they a type of coding to my DNA that I’m predestined to honor? I recently had a discussion with an artist friend about this very topic, and I was surprised to see how I have restricted my thinking without realizing it. There are universal taboos that we inherently absorb in order to fit in. I know this. My question is, are these just a temporary restriction of the times or a product of a shortsighted society that will never evolve beyond itself. For example, nudity in the United States has a different connotation than nudity in Europe or even the Middle East. The mind set of different cultures dictates the codes their people live and this is a serious matter for all of us. Are these taboos better for me to follow—sort of good housekeeping for the brain to keep me out of trouble—or is it just plain small-minded thinking on the part of people who are afraid to evolve beyond what they know?

As an artist, I think this is a serious topic to look into. I want to understand just what the job of the artist is besides pure decoration? Throughout history the artist has always been the outsider living on the fringe of society. Yet, it’s through their eyes we get to see the world before technology took over and documented it for us. The artist uses visual media to describe an emotional history which no technology can simulate with true inspired accuracy. This, to me, is a huge responsibility and immensely important for artists to protect.

I see the artist as a kind of historian who has to push the boundaries to get to some other truth the rest of us are still blind to. The question I ask myself, though, is how do I let myself go to that place that makes me uncomfortable and opens myself up to criticism?

For me the first step is realizing I want to make “statement art”, and then stay true to it. This means I have to isolate my work until I know the direction it’s to take after accumulating a number of them. It means I have to get past my fears and not worry what people think. It means pushing myself that extra distance, even if it scares me. Everything’s a process. I recognize one painting has to evolve off the one before it and push the limits a little more each time. Also, I need to seek out works by other artists who have already achieved this edginess with a new and original voice. This is where the internet and galleries come in.

So, in the mean time, I poke at my taboos with a little less caution and take new risks.

why have a website?

I started working on my website with a degree of anxiety and a lot of doubt about the value of it. There was much to learn, much technology to understand, I probably would never grasp it all. Who has the time for it anyway? It takes away from my painting and that, after all, causes me to question the purpose of it all?

I can only say, I don’t want to be left behind. It would be easy to sit back and ignore everything that’s going on. It just seems like a lot of distraction and noise. Except, I spent my life developing into an artist and to ignore the changes going on in the art world today is to invalidate everything I’ve done up to now. It seems like giving up just before the finish line.

So, I’m going to plunge full speed ahead into my future. I’m not doing this alone, of course. I’m fortunate to have a smart, patient webmistress who guides me through all the confusion. What’s amazing is how much I’m starting to understand. It’s a mental adventure to some unknown destination right out of a science fiction movie. It’s a new language to say the least…but the biggest development is how it has energized my art. I’m motivated to produce more work to keep my website fresh and interesting. It’s as if I’m always working towards a one-person show.

I’m beginning to understand the value of Facebook also. There’s a whole society of people connecting to each other and this exposure for an artist is enormous. Not only am I able to see first hand what other artists are doing, I have a format to introduce my own work to them as well. This has me very excited.

I admit this cyberspace has finally caught my imagination and I fully embrace it. There’s definitely something going on that’s changing the art world as I once knew it, and I want to be part of it.

genius thinking

I’m fascinated with the idea of genius, but what is it exactly? I know what it is when I read about Einstein, Mozart, or Picasso. I know what it is when I think about the minds that invented the car, the airplane, the phone, the computer, the list goes on. At their start these inventions were just improbable ideas, but were advanced through genius thinking.

So I ask myself, is this kind of thinking exclusive to prodigies and academic types? Is genius only measured by IQ, or the school where you earned your degree? But most of all, does it mean I will never have a genius thought of my own, if I don’t have an ivy league background?

According to David Galenson’s, “Old Masters and Young Geniuses: The Two Life Cycles of Artistic Creativity,” there are two types of genius. The first kind is the “easy” talent or “conceptualist.” This genius emerges at a young age. In every field there are innovators under the age of thirty who come up with something new that changes the way people think. These geniuses are able to think out what they want before executing it.

The second kind of genius is the “experimental” innovator, who is a slower more plodding type of person. These people have no idea what they’re looking for, yet are driven in search of some elusive truth. Their work is hit or miss and doesn’t make its purpose known until later in life. Often these geniuses aren’t aware of what they have even when they have major breakthroughs. This type of genius is slow and less apparent in earlier life, however, these people create their most valuable work towards the end of their careers.

My conclusion is, the word genius has a broader meaning than just intelligence. It says to me genius thinking applies to people who are willing to think about the irrelevant details…who create and solve problems others ignore…who stretch their vision through metaphor and irony to find what’s unusual. Geniuses are those whose work has an obsessive need to find its own truth, and most of all, who are not afraid to learn from their mistakes. Jackson Pollock is a good example of this kind of experimental plodding. He would have gone unnoticed if not for his later work.  

For us late bloomers, this is very good news. 

back to basics

This is not the blog I intended to write, but I couldn’t let this experience with Hurricane Irene go without mention. As I write this I have no electricity, no water and no telephone. At least my basement is dry, which is more than some of my neighbors can claim. Two large trees brought down the power lines in front of my house and another large tree destroyed the railing on the stairs to my deck.

Once the sun goes down it’s as if the world has disappeared with it. The night has an eerie blackness with not a single light anywhere on the street. You can hear the buzz of generators in the air along with the cicadas. It’s hard to read by candlelight and there’s little else I can do in the dark. I feel this claustrophobic sense of isolation.

Still, I’m able to focus on my art during the daylight hours. I paint all morning and work on the collages in the afternoon. Daylight is the most precious commodity I have now. Time ticks away with the movement of the sun and I can’t waste any of it. It’s brought me back to the basics of why I became an artist. I feel this urgency about my art. It’s almost a need. I see how easily my ability to work can be taken away and it frightens me.

If there’s a highlight to all this, it’s recognizing how the inner drive to create has its own purpose and can survive anything. This experience with Hurricane Irene brought me back to my creative roots. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without it.

going to the galleries

When I first started going to the galleries in New York, the art scene was mostly located in Soho. Everyone on the street was either an artist or an art appreciator. There were no boutique shops or comfort food chains in the area yet. The smell of bread baking from a bakery outlet on the corner of Spring and Wooster Streets added to the atmosphere of the place. The area was transitioning from dark cast-iron factory buildings into bright modern gallery spaces. Artists were living illegally in makeshift lofts and Cyndi Lauper’s “True Colors” was at the top of the charts.

I hear myself saying, “Those were the good old days,” but I know better. The art world is always evolving and the artist has to evolve with it or get left behind. Now it’s the Chelsea art scene which has matured into thriving galleries up and down the streets between 10^th and 11^th Avenues.  

When I go to the galleries, it’s more like a boot camp experience than a leisurely day in the city. Mostly, I’m on a quest to see every possible piece of art in the three or four hours I have. This is not for the faint hearted, I know. There are so many galleries in Chelsea, it’s just impossible to give them the kind of slow consideration I would give a museum exhibit. Still, I want to absorb as much as I can. This is why I don’t map out any of the places in advance. I want to be surprised when I walk through the door. I like to discover new artists without having to depend on reviews or other people’s opinions.

I also feel sometimes ideas float around in the air, and if I’m not out there looking, I might miss them. This is why I go to the galleries in the first place. I want to walk into something that will haunt me long after I leave the building. Artists have always borrowed ideas from each other; it’s how things evolve. The trick is to make what I see into my own language and push myself beyond my own boundaries. Most galleries have postcards with pictures of the work they display. I collect all of them without questioning whether I like the work or not. This is great material to revisit later in quiet leisure.

Many of the galleries close for vacations in August and open again for the new season in September. I look forward to seeing what this year will bring.

the value of a critiquing group

When I first began showing my art, I didn’t know about critiquing groups. I spent hours in my studio alone, working through problems with eyes too tired to see what was wrong. It was a solitary life to say the least. I could rework a small area of a canvas for ten hours straight, only to wipe it out and start over the next day. I felt alone in my struggles. It was frustrating, exhausting and hard work. What I needed was someone with a fresh way of seeing what I no longer could.

When I moved from Philadelphia to the New York City art scene, I didn’t know any of the artists in the area. I was even more isolated than before. One thing I discovered over the years, working alone did not advance my art. Ideas need to be stimulated and exchanged. They need to be questioned in a way that opens up new insights.

This is why I decided to teach a drawing class at the local adult school. It gave me a place to talk art. Many of my first students were young mothers who had art backgrounds and were coming to class just to keep up their skills. It was an exhilarating time. My classes grew as my students kept coming back. At some point the class became more of a support group than a standard classroom experience. We started showing our work in local libraries and restaurants. There was power in numbers, especially when looking for places to exhibit. We soon found ourselves invited to exhibit at Pfizer, Johnson and Johnson, Merrill Lynch, ADP and Squibb.

Eventually, we became a critiquing group. No work was done in class. It became a show-and-tell where we discussed the positives and negatives of each other’s work. It still amazes me how everyone started to grow from the experience. It didn’t matter if the artist was abstract, conceptual, or realistic, everyone advanced their art. I could never predict when someone in class would drop that gem of an idea that would trigger some new direction in my own work.

If I have one of those working blocks that stops me, there’s a community of artists I can call now. I'm grateful for this. It's important to my creative process.

Self-Doubt

I find being a creative person seems to come with a degree of anxiety. Since there are no rules for innovation, it shouldn’t be a surprise self-doubt comes with the territory. The risk of second guessing myself is always an unsettling factor in my work. Still, innovation often happens by accident without a hint of its origin. I feel sometimes I have to keep moving, reading art magazines, going to the galleries, talking to fellow artists, searching out other artist’s websites just to keep myself open and ready for new ideas. All I can do is keep showing up, literally.

Most people associate self-doubt with young artists, but I can tell you, it never goes away. You would think after so many years of working on my art, I would have conquered uncertainty. While I have confidence in my skills, I’m not always sure about the direction I’m going. I question everything—nothing comes easily. What I’ve learned is how to use this; how to motivate myself to keep improving my work.

Of one thing I’m sure, becoming too comfortable stops the flow of new ideas. I call this plateauing. My first clue this has happened is when my work becomes too predictable. It doesn’t surprise me anymore. There are no new problems to solve, nothing holds my interest beyond just finishing the piece. Boredom and doubt have a way of taking over and that’s never good.

I don’t want to waste my time doing ordinary work. My goal is always to push forward and not allow myself to stall. So I figure, being a little afraid is good. Self-doubt motivates me to keep working towards that illusive masterpiece.

What Is Talent?

According to Daniel Coyle’s book, “The Talent Code”, the brain consists of neurons, or simply put, nerve endings that send messages through the brain. In a way, your brain has muscle memory. The more you practice doing something the easier it gets. We have these skills stored  in our brain, but aren’t always aware they are there. By introducing something new to our experience, we build on old skills and advance them further.

This is the most exciting thing I’ve read in a long time. To think at my age I still have untapped possibilities. I embrace this premise now with scientific fact. It’s not just wishful thinking, it’s real. If I put the time in to develop skills and work hard at it, I can still advance myself. My talent will grow.

When I taught art in the public school system, there was a big difference in the skill level of the five-year-old kindergarten students and the twelve-year-old seventh graders. This is no surprise, of course. The development of art skills grows from the earliest scribbling of crayons to the more detailed drawings of the adolescent. This is as good an example as any on how skill advances, one experience at a time. It’s pretty much predictable.

So, I ask myself, if children learn year after year because they are always being challenged, then why can’t the same be true for adults? I take this seriously. If talent is the development of new skills and ideas, then my conclusion is to keep exposing myself to new ways of seeing things. It’s passion for something, that gives it energy. This is where talent is nurtured, and I find that very encouraging.

Starting an Art Career

 

In the early days of my career I worked alone reading every how-to book and art magazine I could get my hands on. I went to the galleries and joined the local art associations. I showed my work in malls, on the boardwalk of Atlantic City and on the New York City streets in Greenwich Village. I sent my slides to juried shows and learned how to ship my work across the country. I even joined a New York co-op gallery, which was a learning experience all in itself.

It was exhausting, time consuming, a drain on the family and gave me little monetary reward. Eventually, I learned what to avoid and what to pursue. Knowing what kind of work a juror was partial to saved time and money. I guess this is what is called “paying your dues”.

It feels like another lifetime as I look back on this now. I’m sure every artist who has found their way can tell a similar story. All the juried exhibits I showed in—or were rejected from—helped me grow to the next level. Reading the magazines (Art News, Art In America, Artforum) helped me see what was going on in the galleries and probably influenced my work more than I’d like to admit. I seemed always to be at the end of a trend, never at the beginning.

The good news is, I don’t care about the trends anymore. This may come from years of rejections, or just insight into how finally to let go. For the first time I’m not crippled by other people’s definition of what’s “in”. I have to trust my work will take me where it’s supposed to go. This is very liberating.