Reality check

The un-glamorous, uneventful life of an artist is fully described in The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. I recommend.
Regarding the poet Wallace Stevens, she explains:

Wallace Stevens in his forties, living in Hartford, Connecticut, hewed to a productive routine. He rose at six, read for two hours, and walked another hour – three miles – to work. He dictated poems to his secretary. [He was working in an insurance company.] He ate no lunch; at noon he walked for another hour, often to an art gallery. He walked home from work – another hour. After dinner he retired to his study; he went to bed at nine. On Sundays, he walked in the park. I don’t know what he did on Saturdays. Perhaps he exchanged a few words with his wife [...].

In a nutshell, don't expect more than the daily grind. And keep the body moving.

Before the deluge

Mike asked me to report on the workshop I attended last week on the conservation and handling of art work. Here it goes.

To me, archival is one of the most mysterious marketing adjectives in the art world. Nevertheless, an artist should consider how archival her materials are– in other words, the expected longevity - before starting to work on a project. If you’re going to build a cityscape out of banana peels, expect disintegration. That said, ephemeral-ness may be your point, of course.

Less obviously, don’t forget that your hand oils are an attacking agent. So, when moving your works– even around the studio – consider cotton gloves, but not the kind with the plastic grips on the fingers. (Personally, I may use gloves when packing or storing or during a studio visit, but while making, no way.)

Also, it’s best to support the back of non-rigid work on paper when moving it (use a board for example); it protects from dinks. And let me tell you, in proper exhibition lighting, you will see those dinks, as I learned last week during installation.

Contemporary Conservation seems to be extremely reliable should your piece need repair as a result of to time-related problems or shipping-related injuries.

Framing is world unto itself. Don’t forget acid free boards, and never use tape or most glues. These will eat into or tear your piece.

When shipping your work, don’t be skimpy with packing materials. Wrap your piece first in plastic to protect against water. For large works on paper, you may consider wrapping it around a roll of bubble wrap. This will save on costs, certainly.

Don’t use FedEx. Use specialized art handlers.

When storing your work, make sure your rack is set at least an inch off the ground. Again, flood protection. And again, wrap your work in plastic first.

Miscellaneous

Today I’m going up to Westchester Community College’s gallery to install a wall of eighteen drawings and two videos for a show entitled Home Again, curated by James Leonard (who I met through this blog!). It’s a four-person group exhibition on view March 16 – April 18. Two artist’s talks, a catalogue, installation shots (to be shared here) and even an honorarium all included. Yay.

The drawings have been the biggest source of both excitement and stress. The stress came mostly while selecting and planning the arrangement. And then the packing.
For this reason, I’m heading over to the Drawing Center this evening for a workshop (free). I thought I’d pass on the last minute word:

Create, Present, Preserve brings together a panel of experts in the areas of conservation, framing, and art handling to discuss the best methods for creating, presenting, storing, and transporting artwork as well as common mistakes to avoid. Following a short discussion moderated by Viewing Program staff Nina Katchadourian and Rachel Liebowitz, panelists will answer audience questions.

Finally, if you’re looking for a heart wrenching read, I recommend this portrait of writer David Foster Wallace from last week’s New Yorker. RIP, Mr. Wallace.

Without the turquoise

Have you ever met that fifty-seven year old woman, the self-defined artist who wears chunky jewelry and longish sweaters that are too baggy? The one who frankly needs some style in her haircut? She slouches. And kind of whines. And there’s never any money. Ever.

Maybe she was your high school art teacher. Or maybe she’s the one that has been living in that incredible floor-through for the past thirty years, which over time has become a weird labyrinth that needs to be painted. Instead she’s painting bucking horses. She voted for Hillary because all men are swine.

I’ve always had a visceral reaction against her. It’s arrogant, I know it. But, I’m turning thirty-seven at the end of the month, and I need some models. I don’t want to turn into her. And maybe the twenty-somethings already think I have.

So what are the best hopes for my future? In my mind (and feel free to add):

Marina Abramovic – The rock, the brave artist who is frank and always evolving.

Louise Bourgeois – The kook, sincerely eccentric but so lovable.

Agnes Martin – The inward-turning recluse, graceful and no b.s. (that’s her above.)

Pema Chodron – One breath from enlightenment.

As it lays

Most likely you end up going to art school, and you’re very excited about it. You hear about radical ways of making art, you learn about pushing the envelope, and at some point you think you’ve got something, probably because a teacher tells you that you do, or because compared with the other kids, you’ve got your shit together.

Then you graduate. You keep making work and you’re thinking big, revolutionary, but it receives little attention. In fact, it’s flat out rejected. Over and over and over again. You feel crappy. You’re losing the game.

Within two years, eighty percent of the people you went to school with have stopped making work. And that’s ok, because when you think about it, the good ones weren’t that good anyway. Your group of artist-friends shrinks and shifts.

But somehow you keep going, perhaps faithlessly.

Then there’s a change in what you make. It’s now been four years since you graduated.

Then you meet one, two, maybe three people you have a good conversation with. There’s an echo. You gain just an ounce confidence. A fluke gets you a decent group show and an email address to a bigwig who answers you. You realize the art world is a complex, layered place and that a niche for you exists (but you still feel bad because it isn’t a straight shot from there to the Whitney Biennial).

It’s your fifth year out of art school, but you can finally say you’re at the beginning of your art career.

Three pounds of linen

We are taught as viewers to look for meaning in art, and as artists to create meaning and be aware of our intentions. This rests on the supposition that our conscious mind is reliable and an authority. We are also taught that this meaning or intention should be expressed in words, and once it is, the meaning and intention will gain value.

I certainly think that words about art help us navigate it – both in making it, and in looking at it. And I have to say that artists who shy away from discussing finished work irk me. I don’t care how you say it, but say something (if asked).

That said, I am growing more and more interested in word-less perception, in feel and in disjointedness as rich vehicles of complex meaning. For this interest, I thank new artists I am meeting, the bodywork that I’ve been practicing for a few years, Tibetan studies, and most recently the transcribed lectures that Jose-Luis Borges delivered in 1977.

More on these soon, but in the meantime, here is a description of the relationship between non-sense and enlightened intuition from Borges’s lecture on Buddhism:

We always think in terms of subject-object, cause-effect, logic-illogic, a thing and its opposite. We must go beyond these categories. According to the Zen masters, to reach truth through sudden intuition requires an illogical answer. The neophyte asks the teacher, “What is the Buddha?” The teacher answers: “The cypress is the orchard.” An answer which is completely illogical but which may awaken the truth. The neophyte asks why Bodhidharma [the monk] came from the West. The teacher replies: “Three pounds of linen.”

Paper work

(Ingres, Napoleon I on his Imperial Throne)

In case you were wondering, here’s a template for a certificate of authenticity, which is typically provided when an artist sells a work. It is an act of aggrandizement that I find to be stupid, but also exciting. Have to say, I loved making one for my recent drawing sale. I actually had to print four or five until I got my signature looking good.

I made one for a video work a few years back, which was frankly total BS because of the medium’s reproducibility. But, along with the fancy box for the DVD, it gave importance to the bucks the collector dished.

That said, an artist and collectors can control the distribution and value of video. But that’s a post in itself.

CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICITY
Title:
Artist:
Medium:
Dimensions:
Date:
Duration: (write n/a, if n/a)
Copyright: (write n/a, if n/a

I, [name of artist], certify the authenticity of [title of work], sold to [name of collector] on [date].

[name of collector] is the rightful owner of the drawing and will be credited as such. [If an edition, include edition number].

Many thanks for your support [a personal flourish]
[artist signature]

Long time passing

I spend much of my time pressed up against a computer screen, rarely looking beyond its surface, not even out the window. When I walk outside, my eyes are usually set down and at most three feet in front of me. Even on a country road. All this to say that I rarely look at the long view: literally, for sure, but also in terms of my development as an artist. Basically, I want my solo show now, because if not, when would it possibly happen?

A new artist-friend recently said to me - I was telling him about my doubts about showing at a particular space - that if I honestly respected the gallerist and if I maintained a good relationship with said person, then the right solo opportunity might come sixteen years down the line. Mama. I can hardly think sixteen days down the line.

But I’ll start trying. Because I do think I’ll be doing this –making things– for years to come. I’m really just at the beginning. So, it makes sense to wait for the proper circumstances that will best support all this effort. Hell, I might even turn down a show a two.

On a more now note: how much did the Oscars suck!

Long Live the Art

I read an article some time ago (I can’t for the life of me find it) in which a big wig art world persona says that he doesn't take an artist who doesn’t work full-time as an artist seriously.

Even though I get depressed if I spend too much time in a studio alone, and even though I’ve got bills to pay (don’t tell anyone) – and even though I thought this guy sounded like a creep - I thought he must be right. So, this was another reason for my un-recognition. Eight hours a day, Monday through Friday would solve that.

But, give it up for Holland Cotter, folks, the spokesperson for non-market-oriented art. In his celebratory article “The Boom is Over. Long Live the Art!” among other exciting things (at least to this romantic), he says:

It’s day-job time again in America, and that’s O.K. Artists have always had them — van Gogh the preacher, Pollock the busboy, Henry Darger the janitor — and will again. The trick is to try to make them an energy source, not a chore.

At the same time, if the example of past crises holds true, artists can also take over the factory, make the art industry their own. Collectively and individually they can customize the machinery, alter the modes of distribution, adjust the rate of production to allow for organic growth, for shifts in purpose and direction. They can daydream and concentrate. They can make nothing for a while, or make something and make it wrong, and fail in peace, and start again.

[…]

I’m not talking about creating ’60s-style utopias; all those notions are dead and gone and weren’t so great to begin with. I’m talking about carving out a place in the larger culture where a condition of abnormality can be sustained, where imagining the unknown and the unknowable — impossible to buy or sell — is the primary enterprise. Crazy! says anyone with an ounce of business sense.

Right. Exactly. Crazy.

All in a day

I’ve had a crash course on what’s hot in tween pop culture this past week because my step-daughter is in town. High School Musical ("You Are the Music in Me") has now fully invaded my head space, as well as Beyoncé ("Put a Ring on It") and The Pussycat Dolls ("I Hate this Part"). If you need to impress a kid in the next few weeks, those are the titles you need to know.

For stark contrast, I recommend the exhibition of Ellsworth Kelly drawings (19564-1962) at the little Matthew Marks Gallery, on through April 11. They’re modest, solid and human. As the press release says:

The artist’s touch is much in evidence, and the drawings have an immediacy unusual in Kelly’s works.

Mini gallery crawl

Through Saturday you can see two very nice drawings by Alan Saret at the James Cohan Gallery, part of a group show called Shaping Space. They’re in the way back room. I’ll definitely be looking into his process-oriented, gestural work (sculptures as well, also in the show), which he began developing in the 60s. But I especially want to see more of his “gang” drawings, made with fistfuls of colored pencils. This is one above (ripped off the Drawing Center’s website. They had a show of the Gang Drawings last year).

As a figure too, he also sounds interesting. After attracting quite a bit of attention in the 60s, he skipped off to India for three years, I think to pursue spiritual interests, and then recoiled from the art world.

And across the street from the Cohan Gallery, you might want to see many videos by Christopher Miner at Mitchell-Innes & Nash (through Friday). The show consists of a series of very short, narrative pieces, and one long lyrical one, all on monitors and all vaguely talking about family, religion and racism in the American south. The tone ranges from ironic-kitsch (boooooo!) to lonely (whooooo!) to the dispassionate. Go in this last direction Mr. Miner. Also, lose the credit “Christopher Miner, 2008” in the short loops. So art school.

Rope

I sold my first drawing, folks. To tell you the truth, I’m flabbergasted. Not only because people aren’t buying art these days, but because people buy art in general, not to mention mine.

I bought a photograph once for $800. But, it was an entirely disembodied decision. I think I did it because the guy I was with thought it was a lonely picture, and I thought it would please him If I acquired it. (It didn’t help).

Speaking of disembodied: the dude from Coldplay, who was on TV last night all over the place, has absolutely no control over his limbs. He skims around like the Scarecrow just off his stake. It’s actually quite pathetic to watch. And I really don’t like the sensitive, shy schtick. Give me asshole, please. And tense, like me.

But, back to buying art. I have to say,there's something I find moving about someone who collects seriously. Not socially. There’s a personal passion – a sincere interest that has been cultivated, a want to be with visual work, a conviction that it's worth it– that’s a pleasure to be part of.

Good one

Suzie posing on stools at the Art Students League, NYC, 1971

I think I get it. Some photographs are jokes. A knee-slapper, a one-liner, visual slapstick. Much of Elliott Erwitt's work falls into this category. And the looking usually goes like this: Ha! She looks like she has a dog face! Where do you want to go for lunch?

But some photographs have humor, like this one by the American Louis Faurer. Humor is like a loyal friend, there for you the next time. You still have immediate impact – in this case, the model’s luxurious form, the observing ladies (and it helps they’re almost all ladies)– but there is also a level of curiosity and of detail. For example, here, the impossible balance, the blackened feet. And, wow, what a pose!

This and other fine photographs on view in Figure Studies at Deborah Bell Photographs through February 28.

Touchdown!

Many thanks to everyone who came on Saturday to the artist’s talk. To those who couldn’t make it, next time! There already looks there will be one.

Here are some blurry pictures (I know the gallery got better ones). I also have a recording, excerpts of which I may post. But, first I have to talk to my therapist about hearing my voice on tape.

For those who couldn’t care less, read Roberta Smith on Brandeis’s stupid decision to close their Rose Museum in today’s times.

Notice students taking notes.

Slag's founder Irina Protopopescu and I (red shirt) before. Ask me about my pants.