ART - WHO NEEDS IT?
This is a question which concerns all artists. It's not just a matter of trying to figure out who, if anyone, will want to see or buy our art. It's also about a deeper psychological need - the artist's, the viewer's, and the buyer's.
When I go into my studio to paint, I do it out of a compulsive need to express myself through art. I used to write poetry and novels for the same reason. If I can't find time to paint, I suffer withdrawal symptoms - grumpiness, stress, restlessness, obsessive tea-drinking, bad dreams.
The past few months have been a difficult time for all Americans after the events of September 11th, but as artists we are fortunate to be able to find ways to express and thereby come to terms with our grief. Several students in my classes have produced works, both representative and abstract, which have helped them face the terror caused by those dreadful acts. Occasionally their paintings have been disturbing to the rest of us, but moving nonetheless. There have been tears in their eyes as they tried to find words to explain their efforts. Some have commented that even when they had no intention of focusing on the destruction of the Twin Towers, somehow fractured buildings have appeared in their work. One woman artist, who attends an advanced critique group at our local community college, sculpted a life-sized prone female figure out of gut, painted brown as if burnt. When I spotted it lying on one of the classroom tables, poking out from under a white sheet she had used to protect it, my stomach turned over. As she positioned it on the floor for all to see I could hardly bear to look at it. But this was my problem, not hers. She had done what she had to do, and many students in the group were deeply moved by her piece.
Several times I have come close to painting my anger and dread, but not once have I been able to bring myself to do so. Instead I have taken refuge in the calming process of putting paint on canvas. For me it's been a wonderful escape.
Last August I took a workshop in encaustics (painting with hot wax). The instructor was Mary Black, a wonderfully generous and knowledgeable artist who made the whole day very exciting. I've since bought one of her paintings to inspire me in my own work and to remind me of her. Anyway, I found this new medium both frustrating and thrilling. I was beginning to feel a little too confident about my own use of acrylic paint, losing the edginess which comes with experimentation. What I needed was a new medium which would help me to focus once again on process and less on product. You couldn't wish for anything more difficult to manipulate than wax pigment. First it has to be melted on a griddle, then the wax is applied to the paper (or board) with a brush or palette knife. During its journey from the griddle it cools and hardens, so a heat gun is used to re-melt the wax and fuse it to the layer below. This, of course, leads to unexpected mixing of colors and, due to the pressure of the jet of heat, equally unpredictable movement of paint. When you've got it where you want it, you can etch into the surface with a variety of implements from manicure tools to knitting needles. I'm using it with collage. Here's one of my recent attempts incorporating collage:
Since then I've purchased a bunch of pigment sticks, a griddle, a heat gun, a fondue set (don't ask!), muffin tins, and plain beeswax from R & F Paints in New York. I'm currently painting on cigar boxes. Each time I start a new piece I'm bursting with enthusiasm, and each time I get halfway through I curse at the impossibility of controlling this sticky medium. But I WILL learn!
Why does someone who is not an artist need art? Reasons are many and various, running the gamut from "It will look great with my sofa" to "I want to be able to look at it again and again, seeing more in it every time." I recently sold one of my favorite works, Tricks of Memory, to a couple of women from San Francisco. Apparently they had had their eye on it for a year or more. Before they announced their decision to buy it, they asked me a lot of questions about what the various elements in it meant to me and what had inspired me to put them together. Sometimes I am embarrassed to confess the personal narrative which informs my art, but on this occasion it felt right to go into some fairly intimate details. Their positive response was immediate. They collected the painting the following day and overnight I had a chance to come to terms with the fact that I would no longer be able to look at it. This can be hard, but when the buyer is as engaged as these two were, it's a very satisfying experience. Also, they've invited me to go and see it anytime.
Not all art is as personal as mine. It's easy to understand why someone might want a painting of a bouquet of beautiful roses or a majestic mountain, but harder to fathom why people are willing to spend their money on the expression of an artist's personal feelings. Yet we do that with autobiographical novels and poetry. My theory is that they are really buying a piece of the artist - his or her life. The painting is a reminder of a conversation with the artist, a visual narrative made personal. This is why I find it so hard to understand why huge numbers of people are content to buy generic images of cute little English cottages reflecting in the glow of old-fashioned streetlamps on rainy streets. Some say they arouse feelings of nostalgia, but not for any real past. I am English and I've rarely seen anything like those scenes outside of a Thomas Kinkade picture. These are romantic, idealized objects like that dream I used to have of living in a Victorian cottage with leaded panes in the windows and roses round the door. I achieved that ambition...and suffered the consequences of persistent drafts, damp, awkwardly shaped rooms. After 10 years we moved to sunny California!
Let's get back to REAL art and encourage people to appreciate and become part of the honest and personal efforts which go into creating unique original works of art.