Unknown Friend

In doing my research to expand my talk on text-based art, I have come across the work of Anne-Lise Coste, a French-born artist in her mid-thirties.

Her work draws on the content of writing, the expression of the hand and the rebellion of graffiti. I see her work and I wish I had made it. (Yes, that’s jealousy.) And then she’s better! (Yes, that’s fear.)

But soon after there comes a relief that sounds somewhat like this: Wow. So, I’m not such a wack job after all. There are people out there who are tackling the same ideas I am, and I like the differences.

If I wanted to be pedagogical about it, I’d say, artists, give your inkling some room, let it grow, and eventually you’ll find your people (if that’s even important to you). And if I didn’t want to be, I’d say to myself, nice work, makes me want to get back to the studio.

Art Lingo

We need to qualify the term “collector.” Because as artists and gallerists are using it, it has come to mean “person who pays for it” and nothing more. That’s a little crass.

The other night a gallery owner said to me, “Oh, we’re getting a lot of traffic. Even collectors!” From which I was supposed to understand that some of the work might actually sell.

I once introduced two friends to a woman who owns a gallery, saying “These are my friends from Brazil and they’re collectors.” And in her eyes there suddenly appeared dollar signs.

The good ones deserve more; an acknowledgment of their ongoing interest and an appreciation of their support. Patron still works for me, although it's a bit stuffy. Benefactor sounds a bit like Mrs. Havesham. We could go with “collector and art enthusiast,” or “ serious collector,” but those are a little long. Probably direct is best: “She bought it,” or “This piece was purchased.”

Above, an image of my installation of drawings currently on view at Westchester Community College. Click on image to see drawings better. Going up for one of two artist's talks today.

On Torment

I think there are two kinds. The first involves a constant inner-rumbling that is entirely self-propelling. It is self-sufficient, if you will. There is no concern about what other people think because the hope one might lay on others has been extinguished. There are no intimate relationships, just iconic ones in the mind that one struggles with, attacks. My hunch is that Kippenberger falls into this category. And he made great work.

Picasso cared little for others, not out of torment, though. His sense was an entitlement, a supreme and rare confidence. And yes, he made great work.

Another word for these two states might also be selfish.

Then there’s the kind of torment that is fueled by what other people think, by what other people have said, by a desire to prove oneself.

As the artist Erik Parker revealed in a recent Times article:

"I’m always trying to prove myself,” he said, his scrawny frame as tensed as that of a bantam-weight boxer. “It’s like people are saying: ‘No good! Stop now!’ It’s like I have an ‘I’ll show you’ voice in my head."

Unfortunately, this form of torment may not yield work that is as raw and exciting as it might be, and probably that’s because it is always trying to relate. A nicer person does it entail? Probably.

What’s more important?

Then there are those who create work either to learn in the making or to teach through the representation. But this is rare and particular, and constitutes a post unto itself.

I am going into the big birch wood, my pills will soon start doing me good (1990)

The Kippenberger show at MoMa made my jaw drop. I had no idea it would. What I knew about his work came from reviews, all enthusiastic. And then I had read about how he lived hard and I imagined a whole hip cult around him romanticizing, sugar-coating his personality. I pre-decided I wouldn’t join that club.

But what a show. What struck me most was his furious production, so refreshingly un-precious, and his refusal to formulize. He tore through almost every approach to art making, demystifiying the idea that art is the work of great genius. It is not. It is work and work and nothing more.

What is painful about the show is the evident self-loathing, the wound behind the fury. The question is raised again: is inner torment a key ingredient in the whole endeavor? For Kippenburger, yes. I think it was his push, or rather his shove.

Meanwhile, in the studio...

Unwillingly, I picked up the paintbrush. Kicking and screaming, I tell you because of all the new issues it raises, from the technical (which gesso?) to the philosophical (why paint?) to the esthetic (palette?) to the concept (word as form or content?) to the psychological (Ha! Who are you kidding? You little…). But, I had no choice, because at all costs, I want to avoid formula. And I had a hunch the graphite drawings could have become a formula at this point.

There’s this idea of looking for something in what you make. Do you know before hand what that is? Or when you see it after making it? More and more, I’m leaning toward the latter.

What bothers me about the academics is the official-ness, I think. And that’s what worries me about the talk/presentation I gave about text-based art and which I’ll be giving again: the pressure to be expert, comprehensive. Above all, I don’t want to feel the heaviness of categorization or knowing. As if I were in school. And yet, I like to expand with words. And I like to explain (even if stems from a defensiveness). What works for me is when an explanation opens out a concept rather than closes it in.

And what I like about a drawing is when it shows something I can’t fully explain.

Luxury 101

On the 28th Street platform of both the uptown and downtown 1, you’ll find this ad for new luxury condos in Jersey City. Because really, what’s more luxurious than having a fake Franz Kline over your Ikea couch?

Let this snob tell you what’s wrong with the painting reproduction:

1. The black lines were made quickly but not lightly. They’re thick and dark because the artist kept going over them, not because the brush was well saturated. You can tell in the two tree trunks at the left bottom corner.

2. In the conversion from a vertical to a horizontal format, the triangular composition has lost its ability to hold the thing up. It now sinks, making it impossible for your eye to travel from one area to the next.

3. The black line should hug the edge of the canvas, which in return should cradle the paint. Instead the black crashes into the edge, especially at that right angle on the right side.

What’s that line in Crocadile Dundee? “That’s not a knife…” ? Now this is a Franz Kline!

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!