Risk

Shock vs. Risk. Read it on the Donkey Trail.

Some thoughts about Facebook

(Brenda Goodman, Burial, Oil on Wood, 52" x 56", 2010)

Since I can remember, I’ve had it in my head that it’s embarrassing to want recognition. This is how the voice goes: it’s virtuous not to want it; it’s below what a real artist does, which is work endlessly towards expressing a true self, a true self that furthermore must be genius. Also it’s insecure to want recognition. If one were a real artist on a real quest, why would it matter what anyone else thought?

That voice is complete baloney. Of course we want recognition. It keeps us going. It makes us feel like we exist. If you say you don’t need it, you’re either running away from risk or you’re a megalomaniac.

Now that I’m coming to accept it, what I’m learning is that recognition can come from all kinds of sources. Of late, the most unlikely source is turning out to be Facebook. I’ve been giving that networking culture a whirl, and it may or may not be substantial. While the thrill of being “friends” with Zach Feurer or Kara Walker fades quickly – it can even be a turnoff - it definitely feels motivating when someone you don’t know compliments you on a jpeg. Could it ever be a replacement for the traditional gallery route?

It is also through FB that I’m also finding artists I didn’t know about, and that are appealing – on screen at least. Brenda Goodman is one.

Finding like-minded artists is de-isolating, and may or may not be good for my own drawing. I go back and forth on whether community is reinforcing or just something that makes you conventional. I bet it’s something between the two. But this is the stuff of another post entirely.

Inspiration Sminsperation

(One of Ross Bleckner's studios)

I do know one artist who’s also a DJ, has no permanent address, makes no plans ever and makes art in spurts. And he's incredibly moody. As such, he does match one of the artist stereotypes we have in our head: we can call it the Caravaggio stereotype. But, he’s really an exception, not the rule.

Most artists, I’d say, are extremely routinized, predictable folks. In Joe Fig’s entirely pleasurable collection of interviews, Inside the Painter’s Studio, you find out, for example, that Dana Schutz’s schedule is entirely normal, except for the time slot. She wakes up between 10 and 11:30 am, goes to the studio, and leaves between 2 and 4 in the morning.

Ross Bleckner wakes up at 6:30 am, reads, meditates, gets to the studio by 8am, works until 5, and then works out. And he has the same tuna sandwich at the same time for lunch. All this happens seven days a week. He says, “I am the happiest and most psychologically balanced when my days follow the exact same pattern day after day after day.”

I think we need the structure to hold looseness, to make it possible. Inspiration isn't really part of the equation at all, despite the myth. Someone I know called last week and asked if he was interrupting my inspiration. No, I was just working.

Breaking away from the mall

(Robert Adams, West Edge of Denver, Colorado, circa 1980)

This happens to me every now and then: I need out of the art world. I’ve burned out.

I didn’t go to a single art fair this weekend, which is at once a relief and guilt-making; the latter because, the voice goes, if I were really serious, I’d show my face (to whom, I’m not quite sure).

Relief because I don’t like malls under any circumstance. Relief because in order to continue making work you have to somehow believe that you’re not predictable; that there aren’t seven hundred other people who are approaching it like you are; that “they’ll” actually be able to distinguish you.

At this point I usually stop drawing for a bit, until the itch comes back. And it does. Also, I drain out the ambition, which is better for the drawing anyway.

The WB

(Roland Flexner, SN2, 2006)

The Whitney Biennial is already a week old, so it’s really too late for me to chime in with my opinion. If I were really on it, I’d tell you about the Armory, which hasn’t even opened yet.

What’s more, strong, satisfying words on the WhiBi have already been put out by Christian Viveros-Fauné in the Voice and also Peter Shjleldaldalj (couldn't find the link) in the New Yorker. I can’t say it better than they do, really, but to sum it up: most of the art in the show is either gutless or brainy. If the curators are indeed drawing a parallel to Obama’s first year, as they propose, well… (although I personally like brainy in my politicians, but bring on the guts, please.)

Having not really said anything yet in this post, I should add that my favorite pieces in the WB (I’m trying to invent a good acronym) are:

Alex Hubbard’s painting-video in which he resurfaces a Ford and what’s behind it, turning the video frame into a canvas or piece of paper. I like my lively in art.

Also, Huma Bhabha’s cobbled together detritus. It’ visceral and primitive, and therefore stands out in the staid selection of work.

Finally, I liked Roland Flexner’s small, other-worldly drawings made by dipping the paper into water with ink on its surface. I think they get lost because of their size – and they might be a bit like illustrations. But at least there’s something to really look at.

Buzzword of the moment

On the Donkey Trail.

The question remains

(Falaknuma Palace,India,1880s)

As you may know, I’ve been translating art-related materials since 1996. I usually consider it my day-job, something to hold me over until I strike it big with art (ummm). What I’m coming to realize is that I’m quite lucky to have the work, the freelancer’s schedule, and also the clients that I do. Hey, I can actually say my name appears in Artforum on a regular basis.

My days can be rather varied. Yesterday, for example, I translated some Derrida and then helped modify the translation of a book on an Indian palace. Both were a trip, literally and metaphorically. And I can thank Derrida and his cohorts for showing me that it’s important to have your writing make sense.

But it’s so hard to do both, translate and draw. There have been many days, of late, when I don’t get to the art-making until evening, and by then, my energy is spent. Sometimes, when I’m busy, I make better art, because I’m crunched, desperate for time. But often, I know I’m not going as deep as I can because I don’t have the time. This, I’m sure, is not unfamiliar to many of you, my few readers.

And sometimes I hate my day job so much I want to cry.

The question remains: When people talk about themselves in direct terms, is it interesting.

Marks

(Alberto Giacometti, Fleurs, 1952)

Dear B,

Please get out of my head.

It’s true you meant the world to me as an art teacher. It’s true I felt liberated, inspired by our lessons. Like the time you showed me how to use the eraser to find the line of a drawing, as Giacometti did. Or like the time you told me to stand in front of a Cubist painting until the forms appeared three-dimensional in front of my eyes. You were really a mentor.

But enough now. I cannot draw without hearing your criticism. I will never be as light and loose as Matisse and I’ll always have thumbprints at the edges of my paper. And no, I didn’t sell anything from that show in 2003, even though I was kiss ass enough to get myself in the show to begin with.

I think I saw you on the platform the other day and my heart dropped into my stomach. Shame curdled up as I remembered the way I’ve been handling the oil pastels: sticky, thick, clumsy.

Really, I think it’s best if you just go.

My best to you, MS

A talk with Anne-Lise Coste

Sorry for the absence on Monday.
See a new interview on the Donkey Trail.

Donkey Trail, the show, has a new name

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Fantasy: It's all unreal anyway

Fantasy and daydreaming were never encouraged where I came from. What counted were “real,” palpable markers of success, like action and result, remuneration and names. There was no point to anything as wasteful and wonton as imagination. The gist was, get there first then we’ll talk about where to next.

But I’m starting to see what fantasy can bring: a wider sense of self, a vision of how something might be, excitement about that possibility – excitement, not obsession - , and even confidence if you have someone who shares it with you. There are many kinds of fantasy, of course. But let’s touch on the kind involved in imagining yourself in the future.

What they say about fantasy is that it means you’re disillusioned. Sure it does – or it could mean that. But what’s harder, actually failing, or predicting that you might fail. (They’re both the same.) Which has a more real effect on your daily life: working in your studio knowing you’re one among millions, or working in your studio imagining what you're making in the project room at David Nolan?

A designer in the Times last week said he was 110, no 200 percent sure he would succeed. He was either lying or is dumb. What I’m talking about is not arrogance, it’s fantasy.

The Ugly Panic

(Cindy Sherman, Untitled #399, 2000)

You ever step back and know, “Man, that is just ugly! Who would ever want to put that over their couch!”

At this point I could run for refuge in concept. You see, if I favor an idea – say, what the death of authenticity means for the western-male definition of esthetics and the market– over visual communication - and ok, I’ll say it, BEAUTY - it doesn’t matter what the hell it looks like. But concept is often an excuse. Because, the fact of the matter is, it’s hard to make things look great.

The flip side, of course, is decoration-priority work, meaning surface over meaning. Perfect color, complete control, sparkle. That may be worse than concept-priority work. I go back and forth.

But more often than not, I seem to have to enter a certain panic while making a piece – this weekend it was a “that is so ugly” panic - which forces me to make extreme decisions to get myself out of the hole and save my face.

Capitalizing on the Zeitgeist

(Monika Grzymala, Transition, 2006)

Things are in the air, they are. I’ve often been working in a particular medium or on a specific subject or looking at an individual artist only to find out that it’s trendy, or in art speak, that “I’m part of my times.”

Last year, I delved into text-based art and soon found exhibitions all over the city exploring the same. It’s a good feeling, except that I remain in the background...not even the background. The killer was finding a big coffee-table book on the subject at the New Museum this fall. Frankly, I could’ve done a more interesting one. Or at least been in it.

Donkey Trail is really coming together in a very exciting way around the line, which is one reason why I'll be presenting a subjective survey of the line in visual art during the run of the show as an artist's talk. Details to come, of course.

But what’s this? On Line, a show opening at MoMa in November. So, how do you get yourself more on the front line of it all?

Who do you think you are?

(Nicole Eisenman, Commerce Feeds Creativity, 2004)


Just to let you know how it works, in case you don’t already know.

You go into a gallery to inquire about an artist. Because you’re over the age of 35, and you’re asking about a specific artist, you get a look in the eyes from the mean but pretty assistant at the front desk. She goes and gets her higher up, who comes out, her hands in prayer position, at a slight bow, as if she were in front of the Dalai Lama. She thinks you’re a collector.

You say you’re a curator to lend some heft to the situation, but her back straightens nonetheless. It would have only been worse to say that you were an artist. Her next question is: “Who are the other artists in the show?” You drop names. Her eyes shift to your shoulder and remain there for the rest of the conversation.

Some blah-blah ensues. “The process is that you write me an email and I’ll forward it to the artist to see if he’s willing to participate.” OK, will do. But you suspect the email will never get to the artist. You brain rack: who else might you know that would get in touch with this artist? And what about a specific piece, you ask? "Oh, because you have a specific piece in mind!" No, no, she's right, you'll take whatever you can get.

It is all about names and who you know, it’s true.

I may post this over on Donkey Trail, not sure.