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Posted on 12/30/2010 9:22:21 PM
By Donald Fox
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Downstream
Somewhere in the march of time, art moved from the little ‘a’ variety to that of the capital ‘A.’ Good arguments could be made from several perspectives for why this is so. One could be the shift from art serving the needs of the state (Egyptian pharaohs or Roman emperors) to that of the individual (establishment of academies to move artists beyond ordinary craftsmen like stonemasons or potters). An economic argument could be made that a growing middle class (as in 16th/17th century Holland) demanded the accoutrements of fine living including artistic embellishments. Perhaps the rise of art historians and art critics elevated art, along with themselves, to new levels of importance. After all, much of ancient history was known through its art. Whatever the approach, the arguer would soon find that the various arguments of necessity would begin to intertwine. Different periods of history might give more weight to one side or the other, and, inevitably, pronouncements would be made (and have been made) that this or that is so.
All of the artwork and the stories behind them are fascinating in themselves, and even more so as we move from decade to decade or epoch to epoch. However a piece of work might have been conceived and appreciated in its time, there is also the appreciation by those of later times as works are rediscovered and/or revisited. The significance of a work can even change over time as the mindset of a culture changes or as one culture discovers the art of another. If one were to say that artists today are more self-consciously artistic than artists of one hundred or two hundred years ago, where would be the proof? What can be said without question is that there is more artistic variety today than has ever existed, and maybe more is written about art – good and bad – than has been done in the past too. Representational painting was the first to be declared dead in this swirl of criticism. Easel painting was pronounced dead next. Then all of painting was pronounced dead. Even all art has been pronounced dead. The battle of art verbiage seems endless.
Interestingly, though, people still make art: they still paint, both abstractly and representationally – some even combine abstraction and representation. Perhaps the influence of the internet will take us far beyond the democratizing influence of book publishing, which made art images much more accessible than they had been before. In fact, how anyone able to browse the internet could justify that any art form is dead is a severe stretch of reason. One can easily find dozens to thousands of proponents of practically any artistic expression alive and well on line. This brings me to another reason why I love art: its resilience.
In spite of movements, manifestos, proponents and antagonists, critiques and reviews, art continues to thrive. Maybe I should say ‘Art’ continues to thrive. Art has become inclusive in ways that many artists of the past might never have imagined. It easily reaches beyond borders, beyond cultures, and certainly beyond any limiting ism or school or movement. Yet these sometimes narrow definitions of art ultimately add to the bigger ‘Art’ rather than limit or even redefine what ‘Art’ is supposed to be. What else is so powerful that it continually absorbs the new while also embracing the old; can create new traditions while also perpetuating and growing established ones? I propose that this is an exciting time to be appreciating and creating art. Why not enjoy it?
Posted on 12/23/2010 5:06:20 PM
By Donald Fox
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Good Best Buy
Some years ago in an art history class that I audited while in graduate school, I heard the professor suggest that one didn’t really understand art history if all one did was to look at the linear movement in time from ancient past to present day. All of the schools and isms and various labels simply divided the timeline into neat little frames but did not give much credibility to artists’ inquisitiveness in pursuit of their art. If, however, the student of art history could take an idea or a particular image and show its recurrence throughout the timeline, then something very interesting would emerge from the comparison of one era to another. One fairly obvious idea is the development and use of perspective in Western painting. From its discovery and implementation in early Renaissance painting and for several hundred years, perspective enabled artists to more accurately render the visual world. However, painters weren’t simply interested in accuracy in representation any more than Greek sculptors were only interested in naturalism in sculpture. The latter’s use of contrapposto and mathematical ratios created idealized forms that seemed more real than real but also expressed a spiritual understanding of the human form. Similarly, perspective enabled painters to explore the natural world with a depth of observation that in turn led to fabrications of spiritual, mythical, and magical worlds. The observable was transformed into metaphorical visual statements. Modern surrealist painters utilized perspective to create dreamscapes that were seemingly realistic and ambiguous at the same time. Op artists showed a different kind of ambiguity using perspective by exploring images that would flip from one interpretation to another: a cube, for example, that appeared to open from more than one side. The Dutch artist M.C. Escher created visually perplexing and impossible but believable worlds by manipulating perspective. Art, however, is not simply about playing visual games.
Practically every serious realist painter takes liberties with observed reality, and the result is the particular vision of the individual artist. Painting is not copying; it is creating, transforming, interpreting, and recomposing to get at some truth bound up with the experience of seeing and thinking about what is seen. Since the earliest representations in art, humans appear to have a need to express more than what is visible, but the visible is a doorway into a deeper way of understanding. In Philip Rawson’s 1969 book on drawing, he frequently discusses the numinous quality in drawings from the cave paintings to Michelangelo to modern artists like Matisse. Numinous can mean mysterious, evoking a sense of divinity, or appealing to higher emotions. Whether artists call this outright spiritual expression or think of the esthetic experience as transformative, lifting one out of the ordinary, it is not inconceivable to consider art as extraordinary in purpose and impact. It can and does raise the sensitive observer, and certainly the practitioner, to a higher plane. I love this capacity of art to transform and transcend. The best art, in my view, always does this, and it doesn’t matter what is the subject, the style, the culture, or the time.
Posted on 12/20/2010 10:28:34 PM
By Donald Fox
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Brushes
People appreciate art for many different reasons. Art can be a distraction from the ordinary challenges of everyday life; it’s a way of escape like other forms of entertainment. Art can be simply decorative, kind of like pretty background noise, colorful accents, or elevator music. Art can also be a powerful statement on the human condition and can reflect insight into the time in which it was made. Art can be autobiographical, an artist’s way of reflecting on personal issues. Art can also hold a mirror up to the viewer and invite self-reflection. Art can express spiritual concepts and even instill spiritual rapture in its audience. Art is so varied by culture, tradition, and history while expressing surprisingly similar concepts and emotions across cultural boundaries. The best art, we say, is universal.
Artists also come to art for various reasons. In the past, when artists were anonymous, we can only guess at their motivations. At certain times the artwork expressed the whim of the ruler, and artists were obviously subservient to that. Perhaps not until the Greek civilization flowered did artists begin to have some measure of respect, and art did more than simply record the exploits of great leaders. Because they were highly praised by writers of the time, the painters of classical Greece are known to us but not their fragile works that have long since disappeared. Many examples of Greek sculpture are also known to us but only as Roman copies. Such is the fleeting nature of some art when it is not preserved. Perhaps we owe it to the Greeks that by writing about their artists they began the process of thinking about art, which has ultimately led to artists being self-reflective (maybe too much so for some modern artists). Today artists have the choice to make their art public or private. Here I mean public as commissioned to meet a specifically stated need. Private art would be that which serves the artist’s own esthetic agenda; this might also include public exhibition. It is a very long journey, however, from a state-mandated artistic statement as in ancient times to personal self-expression that is so prevalent today. Ah, but what a journey.
The rise and fall of many great civilizations have been chronicled in the art they have left behind. How we understand these chronicles often takes many generations of investigation and interpretation, and even then we may not have definitive answers. We can, though, almost always sense the humanity behind the expression, and this is what keeps me coming back to discover more. Sometimes we find that artists closer to our own time incorporate ideas and images from earlier times into their work. This is where some understanding of art history can be of benefit. Think of how much Renaissance artists were influenced by the Classical world. The same is true of 18th/19th century Neoclassical artists. The stream of art history has many branches that often return to the main flow. There is endless fascination there for the inquisitive student.
Posted on 12/16/2010 7:09:41 PM
By Donald Fox
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Blue Heron Yosemite
There are many words that can describe the numerous examples of creative expression, but one word that most often comes to mind is the word diversity. As I think about the various painters that have attracted me through their work – I suppose I can say influenced me in some way although the influence is not always directly noticeable – I am struck by the variety among the individual artists and also the great variety within the work by each of them. Though I consider myself a representational painter, I am very much aware that many abstract painters are among those I greatly admire. The artists also cover practically the entire history of western painting as well as most countries in Europe and North, Central, and South America. Choice of subject matter and interpretation of subject range from the mundane to the sublime in their work. In spite of this diversity, there is a sense of passion, intelligence, and personal vision in each artist that serves as a connecting link among them and perhaps a clue to their individual and collective hold over me. I will only mention a few here for the list is long and grows longer as I continue to look at the work around me.
I mention Claude Howell first because he is the one artist I knew personally. His brightly colored and stylized paintings of the southern North Carolina coastal region have some stylistic similarity with the work of Jacob Lawrence who is probably better known, but Claude was an original. I had the great pleasure of studying his work by seeing hundreds of drawings and watercolor studies that Claude kept neatly organized in bins in one of the painting studios at Wilmington College where he was department head. These works covered most of his career up to that point in time. The bin even included nude studies done when he was a student at the Art Student’s League in New York for a short time before he sailed to Europe to study masterworks first hand. I could easily see the gradual development of Claude’s distinctive interpretation of fishermen, shrimpers, washerwomen, and other denizens of coastal life. Even though Claude’s work became distinctly modern in style, he never broke the link as so many contemporary artists did to the six hundred plus year history of western painting. He emphasized learning through careful observation but creating paintings that were synthesized from a number of sketches. To paint directly from observed nature was little more than copying to his way of thinking. He appreciated all kinds of art, but once joked that Rembrandt was a good painter yet artistically, “we don’t talk to each other.” Claude taught me more by example how to be an artist although he only referred to himself as a painter, never as an artist.
It’s a big leap from the interpretive realism of Claude Howell to the large scale abstractions of Robert Motherwell, but I can as easily hold both within the same thought as I can mention them in the same sentence. Motherwell impresses me in many ways, not the least of which is his use of blue and black. Motherwell blue is a color that hovers somewhere between cobalt blue and cerulean. Perhaps he associated the color with the Mediterranean or with the sea; perhaps with a feeling or deeply felt memory. Many people are still bewildered by abstract painting and particularly annoyed by the often reductive use of color. A sensitive and inquisitive look at Motherwell’s paintings will inform the viewer about the uniqueness of black or blue or red, the three colors Motherwell was most drawn to. Yet his paintings do not explore these colors so much as use them for expressive means. Expressive does not only refer to feeling; his paintings have an unexpected intellectual depth. This is not so surprising when we learn that Motherwell studied philosophy intently before fully committing himself to art. His philosophical background also led him to write extensively about abstract painting – good reading for any painter. “In a way, painting is like wine: it is as old, as simple, as primitive and as varied. Like wine, it is a very specific means of expression, with a limited vocabulary, but vast in its expressive potential.” The potential, I think, always draws on the experience of the painter and not just observation or feeling or thought. Motherwell’s collages, prints, and paintings convey an interesting sense of intimacy and grandeur whether the scale is large or small. The variety is compelling and provocative.
Finally, within this post, I want to mention Camille Pissarro. The eldest of the French Impressionists often worked outside of the Parisian art scene. His paintings of the region surrounding Pontoise probably achieved as much as Monet’s paintings of his famous Giverny gardens. Pissarro’s steadying influence on many of the younger artists, particularly Cezanne and Gauguin, both of whom would impact Post-impressionism profoundly, grew as much from his own commitment to painting as from his maturity. The range that can be seen just in Pissarro’s landscapes is phenomenal. These works move from heavily brushed (sometimes with palette knife applications) canvasses to controlled pointillist images and back to loosely brushed landscapes with simplified spatial zones. The ever curious eye of the painter is evident as he searches for painting techniques to express his evolving understanding of the world around him. There is also a strong intellectual side to Pissarro’s paintings that is expressed through subject and technique rather than through written description as other painters may have done in letters or journals. Sometimes I can sense Pissarro’ thoughts as I contemplate one of his paintings.
These three artists continue to affect my work and my thinking about art. They also attest to the many influences that abound within the history of painting. We may hold each as unique, but the really best painters were (and are) very aware of the past and even their contemporaries. The richness and variety of expression within the realm of art is a very great blessing and something for which I am thankful every day.
Posted on 12/14/2010 4:27:57 PM
By Donald Fox
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Bird in Tree
One of the reasons I love art is for the connections to the past that are revealed from generation to generation. The history of art is also a visual history of varieties of cultures from the most savage and brutal to the most sophisticated and civilized. Sometimes the artistic expression exists only in the form of utilitarian objects, which may be the most democratic of all art forms even before there were democracies. Sometimes the art is grand in scale and accessible only to the most privileged level of a society. The art is commissioned by the wealthiest and built on the backs of slaves and the poor. Art is used to inspire awe, fear, dominance, purpose, direction, loyalty, deception, connection, love – in short, practically all facets of the human condition. It is easy to be seduced by the beauty and grandeur of many artistic achievements, but our experience may be enhanced or tempered as we learn about the context in which the art was created. Still, these creations were done by our human brothers and sisters, and we can relate to that desire to create, to make something at least seemingly permanent in a world based on change.
Through the ages artists have visualized an array of ideas: philosophical concepts, political persuasions, spiritual thoughts and expressions, social issues and insights, and personal feelings. Art may often reveal more about a culture or society than the written critiques that may survive for future generations. A student of art history quickly learns, however, that history as revealed through art can be rife with many twists and turns and easily misinterpreted. One reason is that there may be missing gaps in the art that remains from any one period. This is certainly true the further back in time we go. Sometimes a wealth of art is destroyed by natural or man-made disaster. Many of these events become part of the art history as well: Pompeii, for example, or conflicts between countries where one destroys the treasures of another. A most recent example is the Taliban’s destruction of the massive stone statues of Buddha in Afghanistan.
As we look back through time, many of us find certain art or artists with whom we strongly connect. If we’re not careful, this allegiance in a particular direction may give us a warped view of any one time period. There can easily be a tendency to overlook other work that may be as revealing of that era. The time becomes slanted with a certain bias. If, however, we remain open to new input, the world of art can constantly surprise us in the most delightful ways. I can remember as a young student learning about the Impressionist painters and thinking how interesting that Mary Cassatt was often listed as connected in a minor way. How very surprising as I learned later about the art of Berthe Morisot, Marie Bracquemond, and Eva Gonzales that these women did paintings that often rivaled, if not surpassed, those of the better-known men.
Ten years ago I might have listed a handful of painters whom I respected and placed at the top of the artistic pantheon. As I continue to look and learn, that pantheon has expanded with one new wing after another to accommodate masterful expressions that are so amazingly abundant. Yes, the history is intriguing and enlightening, but what I love about art is that a single painting can state its case as eloquently today as it did five hundred years ago or the same for a new one completed five minutes ago.
Posted on 12/12/2010 6:42:59 PM
By Donald Fox
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Blue Cactus
Art teaches us new ways of seeing and understanding the world around us. As a student of painting, I realize that I can learn from art continually in a variety of ways. When I observe with the eye of a painter, I do learn new things about the world around me. My observation is forced deeper than a casual glance that simply identifies objects or that may help me avoid stubbing a toe or walking into a door. I look at the physical manifestation of a scene and contemplate its assemblage of shapes, colors, textures, space, and marvel how the illumination of the scene links everything in what appears to be a wonderfully harmonious whole. It makes little difference that disparate elements may have nothing particular in common. Light spreads its unifying blanket, and I am privileged to be the eye that sees. Through seeing, I understand something that can be described as simple phenomenon – light on a surface – or, I can see with the mind as well and recognize a numinous glow. My imaginative leap takes me into a realm of symbol and metaphor. I begin to associate the images before me with memories, correspondences, and learned knowledge. As I shuffle the cards of experience, I know that I can draw a winning hand every single time.
My skill as a painter, in my mind, depends on how I wed that immediate experience with the accumulated practice and knowledge that is the sum of my own historical journey through the learning process. Part of that process is informed by what I know of the history of art as a whole. Lessons I have learned from the past can deepen my experience of the present. The linear and aerial perspective discoveries of the Renaissance painters inform my understanding as I observe. Yet specific choices I may make for color, placement, or other interpretation can be entirely my own.
I may consider the artists who so intently observed their world in order to better represent their artistic conceptions. I recognize certain 18th/19th century artists like Blake, Goya, or Fuseli beginning to shift their artistic gaze from external landscapes to the less explored internal landscapes where only a few intrepid souls like Bosch previously dared give life to. Closer to our time, recording the emotional response to a scene or idea may be more important to certain artists than the veracity of the scene itself. Eventually some artists do away with observation altogether as a starting point for painting and make the process more of an intellectual exercise, one that can be highly emotionally charged or not. The possibilities keep expanding.
As is often the case, when something new is proposed, the old – at least for a time and maybe only for some – is considered no longer valid. Such is the rhetoric of change. Usually, though, if one watches long enough, the great pendulum of time swings back and the old is made new again. What I love about art is that allegiances don’t have to be forged with any particular interpretation. One can cultivate and appreciate innumerable varieties of experience, even those that are seemingly incompatible. All can be celebrated as part of the continuing evolution/revolution/elocution that is the history of artistic expression. As Einstein so eloquently observed, “Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
Posted on 12/10/2010 7:54:58 PM
By Donald Fox
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In the Studio
I love to paint. There is mystery, power, seduction, wonder, purpose, challenge, discovery, expectation, certainty, anticipation, uncertainty, clarity, and countless other emotions/responses/feelings/thoughts bound up in the experience of painting and making art. Painting is a goal-oriented process, but its outcome is not always certain nor predictable. I may experience certainty at any step along the way, and I may just as easily experience confusion, doubt, or fear (apprehension). In fact, the making of art probably elicits the whole gamut of human emotion somewhere in the process. That can be powerfully attractive as well as potentially repulsive. I don’t doubt that most artists feel the incredible magnetic pull of art through its seductive highs just as they sometimes feel pushed away by its burdensome lows. Yet even the downside is so much more appealing than many other endeavors. The artist remains committed to the creative process.
I don’t expect every artist to agree with my assessment, for it is based on my own experience primarily, although artist friends have also confessed their occasional bewilderment at their dogged pursuit of this most demanding profession. The impulse, desire, compulsion to create is definitely not a burden – I don’t mean to dwell on negative ideas – but it is certainly true that art is not always easy. But the rewards – these are what hook us little esthetically inclined fishes.
What artist hasn’t contemplated that mysterious pull to creatively express? How do we even describe the sensation? Is it a feeling, a desire, an emotional response, a physical urge? Is it localized in the brain, the heart, or the left big toe? It has to be a pervasive sense that impels us into action – the whole body, mind, spirit merge in this swell of creative energy. The artist’s internal vision blends somehow with the externally perceived world and melds into a third newly created entity that is the thing we call art, whether it be painting, song, or poem. This new creation exists apart from us, yet we (at least I do) still feel totally connected as though this creation is another aspect of self that resonates with the energy from which it came.
Picasso once said, “What is this madness that I have that I cannot stop?” He meant that he could not stop creating. Since Plato first coined the term ‘divine madness’, artists have frequently been described as afflicted with it although what is probably meant most often is divine inspiration. Well, if this is madness, then perhaps the world should have a bit more of it. Isn’t it true that creative expression more often than not gives meaning to our experience of life? Artists take on the big questions that even the most gifted philosophers have not been able to solve. Artists show us that there are many answers to the same question and one answer to many questions. We live with paradox, illusion, ambiguity, and uncertainty. Artists illustrate these problematic concepts by exploring them in depth and making the elusive concrete. They show us that just as we appreciate the beauty in a flower or a sunset, we also can appreciate the beauty in a splash of color or the trail of pigment across a surface. The flower is a splash of color in a garden just as a splash of color can be the flower in a painted garden. By recreating life in a different form, an art form, the artist shows us how we are connected to life in all its forms.
I love art because art teaches me how to experience the world as an extension of self and to experience self as an extension of the world. I don’t have to subscribe to a particular dogma. I don’t have to express allegiance to a particular political persuasion. I can cross cultures, language barriers, national boundaries, the broadest river, or the deepest ocean. Art is my passage. All I have to do is be willing to take the ride.
Posted on 12/8/2010 8:17:49 PM
By Donald Fox
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Two words that have become increasingly important for me as part of the larger context of why I love art are growing and understanding. When I think back to paintings or drawings that I did as a child, pieces that were never conceived to be art, I am struck more by the innocent truth they expressed rather than any embarrassment I might feel for their reflection of lack of skill. The desire to express was strong and not cluttered by a trained mind’s hesitation or second-guessing. The ignorance of innocence was a blessing even though there were times that I felt something was missing. The beginnings of critical assessment were stirring, especially when an inspired idea was later found to be inadequately expressed. Perhaps this is the beginning of growth when you have the feeling that something needs to be different. This spurs you on to change by asking questions or consulting with someone more knowledgeable.
Growth is an interesting process. It can happen slowly and imperceptibly or it can come in rapid spurts. It can be easy and painless, or it can involve struggle and discomfort. As one continues to mindfully practice, the growth does come. We can easily observe the results by looking at an artist’s evolution over time. We note the increasing subtlety of color usage, increasing complexity (or simplicity) of composition, increasing sophistication and maturity in execution, and the gradual shift or abrupt change to what is called a mature style. Many artists document this process for themselves in studies, journals, or letters. Van Gogh, for example, describes his own process in letters to his brother Theo. He speaks of the struggle to attain a likeness or truthfulness in his paintings. He exults when he feels that he is able to paint most anything in a naturalistic manner. At this point his paintings begin to change to a more expressive style as he creates powerful representations of peasants at home and at work. As his process continues to evolve, his palette and paint handling change again into what we know as his mature style. His steady, though uneven, growth into a more confident artist comes for him with great personal sacrifice, a challenge that isn’t necessarily true for every artist.
As an artist grows in skill and creative ability through continued practice, he or she is also deepening his/her understanding of the process, the tools, and the materials. Certainly the artist must learn how color works and how to suggest space and form in a painting. However, understanding the painting process goes beyond these mechanical manipulations. Whatever sensitivity to the world an artist may have that manifests through artistic expression, this leads the artist forward to greater understanding of him or her self and the connection that exists to life itself. I would even say that life expresses through the artist. Representational painting certainly requires close observation of the surrounding world, and that observation results in a greater appreciation for and deeper understanding of that which is observed, including the observer. Many philosophers have stated some variation on the idea that all knowledge is self-knowledge. How can a painter paint and not gain understanding, perhaps even Understanding?
Painting for me is a form of meditation. I do become one with the subject as I paint it. I sense that oneness as I contemplate the paintings of other artists. I appreciate the process of growth that has brought me to the understanding that artistic expression is an expression of life. It is life speaking through the artist and the artist revealing an individual life through the painting.
Posted on 12/6/2010 10:34:13 PM
By Donald Fox
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Sometimes I think about why I might be drawn to a particular painting or the work of a particular artist. Rarely, though, do I question why I love art. This is an assumption that I made many years ago. Even though that assumption has influenced my life in far-reaching ways, it has largely been unexamined. It has always been more important to me that I do love art than why I do so. It’s a natural response not unlike loving my mother. Still, recently I’ve heard or read other’s comments concerning their own beliefs, and as a result I’ve considered my own. I’ll address these over several blogs and in no particular order of preference.
The seemingly endless variety found in creative expression has enormous appeal for me. The majority of cultures on the planet have some form of artistic expression even if it’s limited to clothing decoration or utilitarian wares. Often we see forms of painted images although we wouldn’t think of them as paintings per se; they decorate furniture or serve as ornamentation for household or religious objects. In some Eastern cultures the only surviving remnants from past civilizations suggest that paintings may have once been part of the cultural expression. In ancient Greece there are only reports of the work of certain artists, but the work itself did not survive. In spite of these specific limitations, we have an abundance of paintings to appreciate, from the ancient cave paintings that possibly served some spiritual purpose to the most lean and abstract examples of contemporary art that may espouse a non-spiritual esthetic.
The variety of subject and style may outnumber the reasons behind the creations unless we count each individual artist’s motivation as being as unique as the work that may follow. There are periods, of course, where individuals are simply unknown. Obviously no one knows who the cave painters were, but much later exquisitely painted illuminated manuscripts from Europe and the Middle East are anonymous as well. It can certainly be a fascinating study to explore the historical twists and turns in the development of what we have come to know as painting – what now so universally is seen as personal expression by known individuals. Some consciously follow historical traditions and some do not. Some are considered professional practitioners and some are not. Some aspire to be seen in a particular way, and some do not particularly care how they are seen. Some may not even be known until after they are gone. Regardless, the breadth and depth of the work that is available is endlessly exciting and also creatively stimulating.
The subtle or dramatic variations with which different artists can interpret the same scene, theme, or concept, and the variety of ways that artists express their experience of being in the world keep me coming back for more and feed me in a way that no other experience can. On so many levels art is an essential part of my life and will continue to be so as long as I can continue to see it, appreciate it, think about it, and – best of all – create it.
Posted on 12/5/2010 5:43:48 PM
By Donald Fox
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In Eastern teaching there is a saying that when the student is ready, the master appears. This suggests that the student has to do some preparation before being available to receive significant teaching. I have thought of this often as I encounter new students. The painting and drawing students come by choice, so with them I think there is some special connection. My writing students, however, do not think they have arrived by choice. The class with me is a requirement as part of their overall curriculum. They don’t see the choice of continuing their education as specifically bringing them into my realm of influence. I, on the other hand, do see their choice as fateful just as mine is so long as I continue to teach writing. In fact, I no longer believe in coincidental happenings. There is much more to glean when every encounter is considered by design rather than by accident.
When I approach daily experience as a series of choice encounters, the responsibility for my thoughts and actions falls squarely on my own shoulders. I know about the blame game, one that I played for many years just as so many others continue to play regularly. I’m not being judgmental here. People always do what they do. Maybe I can influence someone or someone can influence me, but I can always choose how I respond to or think about that influence. I’m concerned about my own choices. I say all this because I truly believe that learning is a choice, and my choice is to continue to learn. I strive to keep myself in a state of preparedness. An athlete cannot function well if he or she doesn’t actively exercise physically and mentally to keep the body and mind agile. So, too, should the painter continually practice and prepare. When there is a lesson to be learned or a new teacher appears with something to teach, I want to be prepared for the learning process.
Preparation is a process in and of itself. I draw and paint as often as possible. I think critically about what I have done and plan for what I intend to do. I read about and study the art of the past including the lives of the painters. As frequently as I can, I go to museums or galleries to observe and evaluate the paintings of others. I jot down questions that come to mind and make notes of observations. I try to observe everything as though I were painting it whether I’m in the studio or not. I don’t recommend doing this on the freeway while driving, but sometimes I do, I admit, and try to make a mental note to revisit the idea at a safer time. I sift and sort the plethora of information thrown out daily relative to the art world and painting and select that which, according to my own experience and judgment, is most relevant and enlightening. I consider all of this essential to my continued growth as a painter and as a human being. The learning process is life-long and never-ending.
I feel confident, then, when I meet a master in the form of a living being or in the form of a living work, I can make the most of the opportunity. I know that the journey that has brought me to that person, that painting, that place, has been worthwhile no matter how arduous or long it may seem. The more I learn the more I desire to learn. Call me a perpetual student if you wish, but how else can I continue to grow creatively?
Posted on 12/2/2010 3:49:57 PM
By Donald Fox
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Many artists live in a permanent state of denial. We crave attention, desire that others see or read our works and connect with the passion, the feeling, the insight with which we have so carefully imbued them. Should our audience not recognize the genius before them, should they scratch their heads in bewilderment or let forth some vitriolic comment of misinterpretation, then we scoff at their ignorant and imperceptive ways. Why should we waste time on such fools?
There is general agreement among artists that professional critics are not to be trusted. With them a dual agenda comes into play. First, they are concerned with their own reputations, with how they appear to the public. Consequently, their reviews take on the tone of professorial declaration where the wealth of bombastic air serves to inflate their own egos. Secondly, because of their educated background and the fickle nature of taste, the critics will only bet on a sure thing. Their observations are based less on what they can decipher and more on whatever familiar context may be created by attaching the artist in question to this or that school, style, or other familiar artist – like hedging one’s bets. The artist would just as well do without the critic except for the rare positive press that may be generated along with the hope of a major career boost.
The majority of artists I know, however, are most concerned with the opinions of their peers, especially those respected veterans who will see and understand the language with which the younger may be working. For example, a few years ago an artist I greatly respect came to an exhibition of my paintings. I watched from the corner of conversations with others as he made his way from picture to picture. I glowed as he stood before each one, carefully observing and taking in the multiplicity of nuances I knew were there for the educated eye. He moved closer to inspect some detail. He stepped away to appreciate the whole, to compare one picture with another. Then he would zoom in again to check a different area with closer scrutiny. He did this for every painting in the show; many he returned to for additional consideration. I swelled with pride to be so greatly appreciated.
Finally, I worked up the courage to approach him and hear the effusive praise that he had taken such ample time to accumulate. I hated to interrupt his rapt appreciation, but I couldn’t stand any longer to not hear the worthy acknowledgement that was due. As I stepped up next to him, without even removing his gaze from the painting before him he said, “I really like these frames.”
