Leah Wilson Fine Art Notebook Blog

Uncreativity

Posted on: September 27th, 2011 by Leah Wilson Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post...

Art is theft — Pablo Picasso

I want to just cut and paste the article It’s Not Plagiarism. In the Digital Age, It’s ‘Repurposing.’ by Kenneth Goldsmith. I know that the author would have no problem with it, but the Chronicle of Higher Education might. I will, however, repurpose it to fit my needs. Kenneth Goldsmith would surely give me an ‘A.’

I will start by summing things up with a quote from an entirely different article:

From Carol Kino’s interview with sculptor Tony Cragg in the Art Economist (no story link – you have to subscribe to read the piece):

Tony Cragg

Tony Cragg: Duchamp did a very valuable and important thing in introducing manmade objects into the world of art. That provided us with an enormous vocabulary of new materials but, more importantly, it made us realize that we do not have to change the object if we can change the terms around it. That made the world into two different kinds of specifies, with every object having two facets, one being its physical qualities, and the other being its metaphysical qualities. It’s not the soup can on the shelf, but the the soup can we all have in our heads.

So when you’re asking how does a sculptor change the world, that’s what we’re doing. Whether you change the material or not, you’re changing things in your head. You give people new forms and suddenly they see the world differently.

Tony Do Repurposes Douglas Huebler

In 1969 the conceptual artist Douglas Huebler wrote, “The world is full of objects, more or less interesting; I do not wish to add any more.” I’ve come to embrace Huebler’s idea.

It seems an appropriate response to a new condition in art: With an unprecedented amount of available material, our problem is not needing to make more of it; instead, we must learn to negotiate the vast quantity that exists. How I make my way through this thicket of information—how I manage it, parse it, organize and distribute it—is what distinguishes my art from yours.

The prominent literary critic Marjorie Perloff has recently begun using the term “unoriginal genius” to describe this tendency emerging in literature. Her idea is that, because of changes brought on by technology and the Internet, our notion of the genius—a romantic, isolated figure—is outdated. An updated notion of genius would have to center around one’s mastery of information and its dissemination. Perloff has coined another term, “moving information,” to signify both the act of pushing language around as well as the act of being emotionally moved by that process. She posits that today’s writer resembles more a programmer than a tortured genius, brilliantly conceptualizing, constructing, executing, and maintaining a writing machine.

Please insert the appropriate form of ‘art’ in place of ‘writing’ in the above paragraph.

Far from this “uncreative” art being a nihilistic, begrudging acceptance—or even an outright rejection—of a presumed “technological enslavement,” it is art imbued with celebration, ablaze with enthusiasm for the future, embracing this moment as one pregnant with possibility. This joy is evident in the artwork itself, in which there are moments of unanticipated beauty—some formal, others structural, many philosophical: the wonderful rhythms of repetition, the spectacle of the mundane reframed as art, a reorientation to the poetics of time, and fresh perspectives on artisticness, to name just a few. And then there’s emotion: yes, emotion. But far from being coercive or persuasive, this artwork delivers emotion obliquely and unpredictably, with sentiments expressed as a result of the artistic process rather than by the artist’s intention.

Sol Lewitt, Five Modular Structures

These artists function more like programmers than traditional artists, taking Sol Lewitt’s dictum to heart: “When an artist uses a conceptual form of art, it means that all of the planning and decisions are made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair. The idea becomes a machine that makes the art,” and raising new possibilities of what making art can be. The poet Craig Dworkin posits:

What would a nonexpressive poetry look like? A poetry of intellect rather than emotion? One in which the substitutions at the heart of metaphor and image were replaced by the direct presentation of language itself, with “spontaneous overflow” supplanted by meticulous procedure and exhaustively logical process? In which the self-regard of the poet’s ego were turned back onto the self-reflexive language of the poem itself? So that the test of poetry were no longer whether it could have been done better (the question of the workshop), but whether it could conceivably have been done otherwise.

There’s been an explosion of writers employing strategies of copying and appropriation over the past few years, with the computer encouraging writers to mimic its workings. When cutting and pasting are integral to the writing process, it would be mad to imagine that writers wouldn’t exploit these functions in extreme ways that weren’t intended by their creators.

Nam June Paik, Magnet TV

If we look back at the history of video art—the last time mainstream technology collided with art practices—we find several precedents for such gestures. One that stands out is Nam June Paik’s 1965 “Magnet TV,” in which the artist placed a large horseshoe magnet atop a black-and-white television, eloquently turning a space previously reserved for Jack Benny and Ed Sullivan into loopy, organic abstractions. The gesture questioned the one-way flow of information. In Paik’s version of TV, you could control what you saw: Spin the magnet, and the image changes with it. Until that point, television’s mission was as a delivery vehicle for entertainment and clear communication. Yet an artist’s simple gesture upended television in ways of which both users and producers were unaware, opening up entirely new vocabularies for the medium while deconstructing myths of power, politics, and distribution that were embedded—but hitherto invisible—in the technology. The cut-and-paste function in computing is being exploited by writers just as Paik’s magnet was for TV.

Francis Picabia

Nearly a century ago, the art world put to rest conventional notions of originality and replication with the gestures of Marcel Duchamp’s ready-mades, Francis Picabia’s mechanical drawings, and Walter Benjamin’s oft-quoted essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Since then, a parade of blue-chip artists from Andy Warhol to Matthew Barney have taken these ideas to new levels, resulting in terribly complex notions of identity, media, and culture. These, of course, have become part of mainstream art-world discourse, to the point where counterreactions based on sincerity and representation have emerged.

The secret: the suppression of self-expression is impossible. Even when we do something as seemingly “uncreative” as repurposing we express ourselves in a variety of ways. The act of choosing and reframing tells us as much about ourselves as our story about our mother’s cancer operation. It’s just that we’ve never been taught to value such choices.

Despite what cultural pundits might say, creativity—as it’s been defined by our culture, with its endless parade of formulaic novels, memoirs, and films—is the thing to flee from, not only as a member of the “creative class” but also as a member of the “artistic class.” At a time when technology is changing the rules of the game in every aspect of our lives, it’s time for us to question and tear down such clichés and reconstruct them into something new, something contemporary, something—finally—relevant.

Clearly, not everyone agrees.

If everything can be repurposed and then presented as art, then what makes one work better than another? If it’s a matter of simply cutting and pasting the entire Internet into a Microsoft Word document, where does it end? Once we begin to accept all language as poetry by mere reframing, don’t we risk throwing any semblance of judgment and quality out the window? What happens to notions of artist? How are careers and canons established, and, subsequently, how are they to be evaluated? Are we simply re-enacting the death of the artist, a figure that such theories failed to kill the first time around? Will all art in the future be nameless, made by machines for machines? Is the future of art reducible to mere code?

If it’s a matter of simply cutting and pasting the entire Internet into a Microsoft Word document, then what becomes important is what you—the artist—decide to choose. Success lies in knowing what to include and—more important—what to leave out. If anything can be transformed into art by merely reframing—an exciting possibility—then she who reframes words in the most charged and convincing way will be judged the best.

The moment we throw judgment and quality out the window, we’re in trouble. Democracy is fine for YouTube, but it’s generally a recipe for disaster when it comes to art. While all words may be created equal, the way in which they’re assembled isn’t; it’s impossible to suspend judgment and folly to dismiss quality. Mimesis and replication don’t eradicate artistry; rather, they simply place new demands on artists, who must take these new conditions into account as part of the landscape when conceiving of a work of art: If you don’t want it copied, don’t put it online, or out there at all.

In the words of yet another artist: Steal like an artist.

Read Kenneth Goldsmith’s article, It’s Not Plagiarism. In the Digital Age, It’s ‘Repurposing.’ in the Chronicle of Higher Education

Check out Kenneth Goldsmith’s UbuWeb

Austin Kleon’s Steal Like an Artist at the Economist’s Human Potential Summit

Tags: Austin Kleon, Kenneth Goldsmith
Posted in Creative Process, Musings on Art | Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post... »

Artists: Write It! Speak It!

Posted on: August 17th, 2011 by Leah Wilson Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post...

Artists: Write It! Speak It!

Because art does not speak for itself.

Two Myths That Just Get In the Way of Art: Part 3

Myth #2: Art speaks for itself. Words and language are unnecessary since art is a visual experience. If you it doesn’t speak for itself it’s not doing its job. If you don’t understand it, you must not know anything about art.

Making art consists of a series of choices to simplify and eliminate information. Even a photograph does this – it eliminates an entire dimension. A three-dimensional world is simplified into two-dimensions. A moment of time is frozen into a single image eliminating any information that lead up to that instant and any information that followed.

Austin Kleon, Newspaper Blackout

Artist Austin Kleon sums it up well, ‘Creativity is subtraction.’ His site Newspaper Blackout illustrates his statement beautifully. People can post poetry that they create by taking a newspaper article and wielding a marker, eliminating any extraneous words to create new meaning.

Newspaper Blackout uses a shared language of the written word. Much of what you will find is easily understood. But as anyone who has ever taken a literature class will know, once you delve deeper into the shared language of the written word, you will find an art form that lends itself to myriad interpretations. Each author has developed a unique voice that often becomes more compelling the more it is investigated. Some texts are harder to penetrate than others depending on the writer’s voice, composition and subject matter. Something or someone that sheds light on it can be the key to developing a meaningful relationship with the text rather than it being merely enjoyed or worse, remaining inaccessible to the reader.

Visual artists also develop a unique ‘voice’ and develop a personal visual language. The more liberal the artist is with subtraction, the more individualistic that language may appear to be. Who, but the artist, is the best at giving that key to the language to the viewer?

It’s not that someone can’t enjoy experiencing art without that key, but making it accessible reveals layers of meaning that transform an image from just being something nice to look at into being art.

Chuck Close, Self Portrait

I always enjoyed Chuck Close’s portraits. But listen to him talk about his condition called face blindness on Radio Lab. Layers of meaning are revealed. It only enhances the experience of viewing his paintings to know more about his process of making them and how the process is integrated into his life rather than the additional information detracting from the experience.

The process of making portraits is part of Chuck Close’s process of navigating the world in his unique way because of his face blindness. Similarly, yet much less dramatically, my paintings are a result of the process of working through the desire I have to develop a strong sense of place using the landscapes of the places I live as a vehicle. I feel as if my paintings are artifacts of the process rather than the paintings being the main goal. They are my way of organizing information to reach a greater understanding of my subject so I can navigate through the world more adeptly.

If I don’t speak about my paintings, they will probably only exist for others on the level of formal color studies. The way that I title the work might give a clue that they refer to something more. But if I tell you about the choices I make that lead to the compositions, I give you access to more layers. If I tell you about the places I visit and why I am drawn to them, I give you even more access.

Giving access to the artwork is not the same as telling you what everything means. It is merely handing out a key, like a map and field guide, that will help the viewer navigate their own way.

A Thomas Kincaid cottage

Making art accessible is not the same as making easily accessible art. Thomas Kincaid makes easily accessible imagery. If you go to his website, you’ll find that there is almost nothing written about the images. There isn’t much that needs to be said about his cabins in idyllic settings. There is no information that would give you a key to a new layer of meaning – just the opposite of Chuck Close.

I believe that if you can’t speak about your work, you don’t understand it well enough yourself. If you don’t understand it, why would anyone else? Write and speak about your art. Make it accessible.

Tags: speak for art
Posted in Musings on Art | Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post... »

You Know More About Art Than You May Think

Posted on: August 10th, 2011 by Leah Wilson Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post...

Two Myths That Just Get In the Way of Art: Part 2

Myth #1: If you don’t have a degree in art, or you aren’t fluent in the lingo, you don’t know anything about art

When I was in graduate school I had a seminar class where I participated in a debate that wrestled essentially with the question of ‘what is art?’ I can’t remember the details of the discussion, but what I do remember is that a class full of artists in a school full of artists debated the topic passionately. The one thing that we could all agree on was that we were all artists. What we couldn’t come to any conclusion about was what it is that we actually do that makes us all artists.

Robert Barry, Art Work 1970

If a room full of artists can’t definitively define what art is and what it should do, then why should we expect that anyone who is not already entrenched in the art world would be able to confidently articulate their thoughts and feelings about art without feeling like they don’t know anything about art? Art can be very disorienting.

Some art is easy for just about anyone to talk about. A portrait, a photorealistic painting, or a landscape is usually easier. Does the portrait render a good likeness? Does it look like something or somewhere familiar? If it does, then it’s easier for the viewer to participate in a narrative suggested by the art. It’s a good starting point for a story to be told.

Many artists start making by rendering the world around them realistically because it provides a familiar starting point to make art as well. As an undergraduate I drew and painted the figure most of the time. My final show was a series of 6-foot high drawings of people I knew. Drawing and painting from life gave me a familiar place to begin. I knew I was successful if what I made resembled what I was looking at. It was the beginning of my learning how to have a visual dialog with the world around me.

Leah with her drawing at an opening in 1997

But what if the image isn’t familiar? Or what if the art doesn’t even look like something that has traditionally been called art. A painting is easily recognizable as art even if what is painted is not. But what if you walk into a room with unrecognizable forms crawling off the wall onto the floor? Or videos depicting anything but a clear subject and story? Or what if that painting doesn’t suggest any narrative at all?

Even though I have formally studied art for years and have been making it almost my entire life, I certainly don’t understand everything that I encounter, nor can I always easily find the words to speak about it. That’s one of the things that makes art endlessly interesting to me.

For me, interesting art begins with a question. Then it probes the question. If I see art that invokes a question in me that inspires further investigation I stay with the art. First, the art needs to intrigue me visually. If it succeeds there, I will generally look to see if I can find more information. I prefer art that reveals itself slowly, like peeling layers of an onion. But often, even if I peel away layer after layer, an answer may never be revealed. I may never come closer to achieving any understanding. But that’s ok.

Robert Barry, Silver Word List

I see art as a conversation that has been taking place throughout civilization. The conversation begins with the artist interacting with the world. But the conversation expands to take on a new life once it includes the viewer. That’s what makes it really fascinating. Once I make a painting, I put it out in the world with layers of meaning to be peeled away, giving you, the viewer, a door and an invitation to walk through it to join the conversation.

Conversations are not interesting to participate in if one person is providing the subject, all of the information and the answers too. That’s not a dialog, it’s a didactic monologue. I prefer ambiguity that leads to an investigation that may not ever lead to a definitive answer.

When I make a painting I am not thinking about art theory. I am aware of it, but it is not in the forefront of my mind when I create. When you, the viewer comes to participate in the dialog, I am not expecting theory from you either. If you want to go there, great, but it’s not necessary. Instead I hope that my art intrigues you enough to ask a question. Or that it triggers a memory inside you that leads you to tell a story. Maybe when you leave it will stick with you and when you go out into the world perhaps you will look at something familiar to you in a different way, in a way that makes it look new to you.

Now that I have been making art for a long time, I no longer feel it’s necessary for me to have a goal to represent the world as I see it in a recognizable manner. I have become more interested in concepts that can’t be depicted easily. I no longer have the benchmark that I did as a younger artist of knowing I’ve been successful if I render something recognizably. Letting go of rendering a likeness has invited more ambiguity into my art making process as well as for your experience of viewing it. I now ask more of you, the viewer.

When I take my art out if the studio and put it into the world for you to see, I am aware that I am asking you to participate in a visual conversation that I have been having for decades, but you have not. You’re not in my head after all. It is disorienting to walk into the middle of any conversation and be expected to join in articulately. For that reason I feel that it is my responsibility to give you the information that you need to join the dialog. Art, contrary to the beliefs of many, does not speak for itself. It is unrealistic of me to expect you to understand my art without giving you more than just the painting itself.

You have been relating to the world visually since you opened your eyes. You have all the experience you need to know about art. Often it helps to be given some of the keys to the door by the artist. But more than that, it takes time to become comfortable enough to learn how to see in the way that is similar to learning how to really listen before you can truly have a satisfying conversation. And in order to be able to do that, you cannot feel inhibited by the fear that you don’t know or don’t understand enough about art. You do know enough. Inhibition and fear closes the door. Art asks you to turn the key, walk through the door and start exploring even if everything you find inside looks utterly unfamiliar.

Relax. That’s where the fun begins.

What are your thoughts? Leave a comment and let me know!

Tags: art theory, visual dialog
Posted in Musings on Art | Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post... »

Two Myths That Just Get In the Way of Art

Posted on: August 2nd, 2011 by Leah Wilson Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post...

Two recent conversations illustrate two prevalent myths that get in the way of experiencing art.

The First:

As I was making dinner recently I overheard my partner, Tim, talking on the phone to his brother about an upcoming show of mine. I was dismayed to hear him say that he knows just about nothing about art. This, I know, cannot possibly be true since not only does he live with me making art on a daily basis, but he has also accompanied me to the MoMA, the Guggenheim, local art museums and galleries, attended my openings, and watched numerous documentaries about art. We frequently have deep philosophical discussions about art. He knows a lot about art. He speaks very articulately about art. Yet the fact that he has never taken an art history class nor does he consider himself to be an artist makes him erroneously believe that he knows very little about art.

The Second:

A local artist friend of mine, and I have been meeting at a café regularly to talk about art. He’s been asking for feedback on his work as he becomes reacquainted with his muse. He admitted that even after receiving a BFA, an MFA and teaching for 6 years, he still has a hard time talking about people’s work. He subscribed to the ‘let the art do the talking school of thought’ for so long that he struggles with communicating about art.

Myths

These two conversations are related. They both reinforce common myths about art from two different perspectives, one of an artist and the other a non-artist.

Myth #1: If you don’t have a degree in art, or you aren’t fluent in the lingo, you don’t know anything about art.

A Disconnect

Humans are very visual creatures. We have been making images ever since we were able to pick up something that leaves a mark on the wall of a cave. Art is part of the human experience that has evolved with us. The fact that so many people don’t know how to talk about it or feel intimidated by art illustrates to me that there is a disconnect between what we perceive art is or should do and our actual human experience with art.

Why are artists and non-artists alike so reluctant to talk about, or even experience, art? What is the barrier for you? Let me know. I will be writing more to debunk these myths in the next few days.

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Fear, Sex Toys and Driftwood

Posted on: July 21st, 2011 by Leah Wilson Read 2 COMMENTS & Join the Conversation

The fear never goes away

The day after I wrote A Confession of Narcissistic Fear, I came across a podcast conversation by Dave Charest and Kesha Bruce addressing How to Squash Your Fears and Advance Your Artistic Career. This is a great conversation to listen to if fear has ever held you back, even if you are not trying to advance an artistic career. Fear, after all, is universal.

Listening to their conversation inspired me to write more about fear as an integral part of the creative process. Squashing my fear isn’t my technique. If I do that it just seems to squish itself out somewhere else, even bigger than it was before. Instead, when fear decides it’s going to reside as an uncomfortable knot in my stomach, I hang out with it and a piece of driftwood. I thank my friend Brittany for this.

Where’s the Memo for This?

Brittany came into my life just after I started my now-dormant (probably more accurately stated, now-defunct) graphic design business. I decided to venture briefly into the commercial arts business out of, you guessed it: fear. It seemed a much more comfortable and reliable way to be able to make a living than painting. In retrospect I can say how much of a misstep acting out of fear was.

Brittany was my very first potential client and I didn’t want to mess up. We scheduled a meeting at a coffee shop to talk about her project. I spent hours preparing for this meeting. I wanted to come across as being professional, competent and knowledgeable… all the things I was definitely not feeling.

I arrived at the coffee shop early to prepare for the meeting. She showed up, beautiful and confident, with Alex, a glass artist. Luckily for me, they were both quite affable and I started to mellow out as we talked. They even brought me homemade pumpkin bread. But then they threw me a monkey wrench that I could not have dreamt of being able to prepare for.

Once we were done talking about the project, they asked me to follow them out to their car because they wanted to give me a gift. Alex pulled out a case and put it on the trunk of the car. He opened it and said that I could pick out any one I wanted. They were both smiling at me as they watched me scrutinize which glass dildo I would like. My brain was trying too hard to go through its extensive file cabinet to pull out the memo that explains how to act professionally while two people that you have just met want you to choose a dildo. It didn’t find the memo and instead went into a fog mode. In other words, I was abandoned by my mind. No help there.

Now, I need to explain a little about why I was standing in the street trying to choose the perfect dildo. It’s not as out-there-in-left-field as it sounds. Brittany has a dream of starting a business that empowers women who have had a traumatic sexual experience. She does this through beauty and she chose to work with a glass artist that truly makes beautiful glass dildos. Gratefully, once my overly concerned mind abandoned me, I was able to see them as what they were — beautiful objects — without having to deal with the proper protocol of how to professionally choose a sex toy. And I know how to relate to artfully made, beautiful objects. I made my choice confidently.

But the fear never really goes away.

…And unfortunately it kept me out of my studio for far too long.

Later, Brittany gave me another gift. We had been talking about fear. I was wallowing in it. I was on the verge of making the decision to drop graphic design and to get back into my studio where I belong.

When I saw her next, she gave me a piece of driftwood. Wood, she told me, represents strength, flexibility and leadership. Wood seeks to grow and expand. It’s aggressive, assertive and direct. And it is affected by water which represents your fear. She asked how the piece of wood could serve my fear.

I took the wood home, not knowing what I was supposed to do with it. I brought it into my studio. It sits on top of my radio’s speaker as if it’s on a pedestal. I pondered her question.

Fear and the Creative Process

Kimberly Brooks gave a TEDx Fullerton talk on her creative process. I very much appreciate her perspective because she brings fear into it at several points. Her progression looks something like this:

Silence: (I love this one, especially because of this plugged in world we live in)
Vision: When that amazing idea hits you in a flash
Hope: Swooning over that idea as it bumps around in your head
Diving In: This is that critical stage for creative people. You have to dive in to develop that idea. Some people never get there for many reasons, one of them being fear.
looks something like this:

(The next four are cyclical and don’t happen in any particular order)
Excitement
Doubt: (fear that this is the most stupid idea in the world, I’m not good enough for this idea…etc. etc.)
Clarity: That fog of doubt has cleared!
Obsession: When you can work for hours on end and not get tired (Wheee! Super Artist!)
Coming out of this cycle you reach…
Resolution: Now it’s finished and time for…
The Artist as Exhibitionist: aka more fear.

When I was masquerading as a graphic designer, I was afraid of diving in. I couldn’t even walk into my studio then. I am often plagued with doubt as a painting progresses. Please see Confessions of a Narcissistic Fear for one example. The danger with the doubt is that if you are not careful you can get stuck there indefinitely and no resolution is ever reached.

And then there is the absolute fear of Artist as Exhibitionist, a special kind of fear.

Kimberly Brooks literally hid under her desk as if rocks were going to fall on her head after pushing the email send button to announce her show to her friends.
In Dave Charest’s podcast, Kesha Bruce mentioned a challenge that she had made to artists about connecting with other artists: write an email to five artists that you admire. Don’t ask for anything. Just tell them that you like their work. Just say hi. Two people told her that the thought of doing that made them want to hyperventilate.
And after creating my newsletter, it took me at least two weeks to even put the sign up form on my website, let alone ask anyone to join. It’s so much easier to hide.

For me, the advice of just diving in and doing it is good, but it doesn’t go far enough. I need a step before this, just like Kimberly Brooks added Silence before Vision in her creative process progression. I need to add acknowledgement and acceptance of fear before I can dive in. When I am actually working in my studio, I usually don’t experience fear. My mind is busy with the work. It’s the in between times that fear gets me like the space between writing this and publishing it. This time can feel paralyzing. And that’s where, if you are not careful, acting on fear can get you in trouble. It can focus your energy in the wrong direction. Trying to make the fear go away doesn’t work. It magnifies the fear because it gives it too much attention and importance. But the simple acceptance that fear is there can go a long way. Fear is part of it. It has a place too. Without fear could excitement exist?

Eventually, whenever I would embark on a task that made me feel uncomfortable, and there are plenty of those, I’d take out my piece of driftwood and put it on my lap, or place it directly in front of me where I can see it. The fear doesn’t go away. Instead it sits there with me like a constant friend. Even when it’s uncomfortable to do so, I hang out with it, I acknowledge it. I also hang out with my piece of wood from Brittany. And then I do what needs to be done, with fear present and a beautiful piece of driftwood.

How do you move through fear? Leave me a comment!

Learn more about the fantastic people mentioned in this article:

Along with making great art, Kesha Bruce is also a co-director at Baang and Burne Contemporary and offers her services as a Creative Consultant to help artists advance their careers. She is a DIY maven who is getting her 6 x 6 project off the ground this summer. Learn more about that on her Kickstarter campaign.

Dave Charest shares Wicked Smaht marketing tips for indie artists. He’s also an actor and Word Strategist living in New York City.

Kimberly Brooks’ paintings blend the figure and abstraction. Not only does she create and lecture about art, but she has also created the Huffington Post’s Arts Section.

Brittany is building a solid foundation for her two business ventures aimed to people’s lives better by empowering them through beauty and energy.

Posted in Creative Process | Read 2 COMMENTS & Join the Conversation »

A Confession of Narcissistic Fear

Posted on: July 14th, 2011 by Leah Wilson Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post...

Why Lines and How Did They Come to Dominate My Painting?

Leah Wilson, Becoming One: Finley I

Those of you who have known my work for some time may be thinking that this recent obsession that I seem to have with lines as of late is something of a large and abrupt departure. After all, these lines are so regular, meticulous and straight where any line that I created in the past was probably anything but. I have to admit, creating a painting of thick, regular lines come as sort of a surprise to me too. But continuing to create even more paintings of lines comes as even more of a surprise to me.

Because it intrigues me that I can be surprised by myself so easily, I’ve asked myself what I can possibly find so interesting in a line and where did this come from. I’ve been thinking about it a lot as I’ve been painting even more lines and I realized that the question is a really big one, and one that I don’t think has an answer, or at least, it doesn’t have only one answer.

Leah Wilson, Dualities of the Mind and Other Things

Strangely enough, painting a painting of lines was a really scary thing for me to do. How in the world can I show you how amazing I am at drawing and painting if I can’t knock your socks off with some crazily intricate painting? How can I be a real artist if I don’t pull off some magical feat of layering? How can what I’m doing be even considered art at all when you too can take out a ruler and draw some lines of your own?

This may be a very ridiculous thing for me to fear since I have been known to sit in front of a Rothko painting for a considerably long time and have never questioned its validity as art. (OK, Rothko’s paintings aren’t really lines, but I don’t care. I love his work.) And Barnett Newman’s zip paintings make me really excited about those very intriguing vertical lines of his. Agnes Martin’s work is solidly placed in history as a major artist and makes my list as a major personal influence. And what about Robert Ryman who obsessed over painting white on white? And there are many more. If anything, I should be afraid of venturing into territory already explored by many amazing artists.

Mark Rothko

Barnett Newman — Vir Heroicus Sublimis

Agnes Martin

Robert Ryman

My fears are not rational, but what fears are? The fact still remains that I want to show off how well I can draw. But so what? There are tons of artists who draw well, better than I can do myself.
There are some days where I can go into my studio and congratulate myself on being so bold as to dare to paint something so simple as a bunch of lines because by doing so I have conquered some narcissistic fear. But so what? That’s not actually why I paint them. But it’s probably a big reason why it took me so long to start to paint them in the first place.

I have discovered that I have some myths about what art is that I apply to myself, but don’t apply to other artists. I care very much about Barnett Newman’s zips. But why in the world would you ever care about my lines of color? It’s easy for me to fall into some nauseating self-deprecating reasoning that you probably won’t care because the only reason that I make and care about them is that I happen to be neurotic. But that’s not true. I am not neurotic. But it’s an easier path to take, to just blame what I am doing on the neuroses that I don’t have, than to try to think about why I care about these lines so much.
So I won’t try to explain to you that I am crazy so I don’t have to feel like I need to convince you or me that these lines are art. In fact, it won’t do any good to try to do any convincing at all. It would only serve that fear by feeding it.

But I still haven’t really gotten to any of the reasons why these lines now exist not only as a singular painting or project, but as an evolving series that absolutely thrills me. Sure, getting over a fear and discovering and dispelling a personal myth is thrilling, but not enough to get me to paint a series that doesn’t seem to have any end in sight.

So, reason number one is that I am fascinated by the process of creating the lines. And even though I have completely mapped out the colors before I ever begin painting, I am absolutely surprised by the finished paintings. I really don’t understand how these paintings can hide themselves from me when I have already created their detailed blueprints and never deviate from them. And after the paintings are finished, I hang them on my walls in my house to live with them. I meticulously mixed those colors to match my blueprint exactly, yet throughout the day the colors seem to change, sometimes so dramatically that they don’t appear to have any relation to the colors that I squeezed out of the tubes to make them. I don’t thoroughly understand that either. I don’t understand how something that appears to me so intellectually simple can elude my understanding in so many ways. That keeps me going to my studio to paint line after line after line. How can something so simple be so elusive and intriguing to me?

I’ll leave it there for now because I a) don’t want to write a blog post that goes on for pages and pages and b) writing about painting the lines has made me really want to go paint some more. So that’s what I’m going to do. More on these lines later…

Any thoughts on this? Please leave a comment to let me know!

Posted in Creative Process, Studio Notebook | Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post... »

Finley In More Than Color

Posted on: July 10th, 2011 by Leah Wilson Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post...

Many people have asked to see more of the landscapes that become distilled into lines. The painting that I am currently working on in the studio is the next ‘Becoming One’ painting from Finley, a wildlife refuge in the Willamette Valley with the adjacent duck club hunting rye grass field with a pond. Last Wednesday, on a beautiful sunny summer day, I went out there to take photos for the painting.

Finley Wetland Prairie

One of the things that I love about the wetland prairie is that you can’t tell what it is you’ll find in there until you step into it. I’m always surprised as to what I find when I venture in. Many of the grasses tower over everything else, their now-brown tops look make it appear that all you will find is dead grass. But it is absolutely not the case at all, especially now. There are so many wildflowers blooming that will add to a beautiful color palette for the painting.

Duck Hunting Club Rye Grass Field

The duck hunting club rye grass field consisted of areas of mowed grass, some mostly dead grass fallen on top of itself in waves, and a few green moisture-loving plants by the water. The variety of textures in this field was more interesting and varied than the colors. There are no trespassing signs around the perimeter which does not make the stepping into the field experience as nice as the prairie field. I trespassed lightly because I can’t resist the prospect that I may find something extraordinary if I only step in. I was not rewarded by this field as I was with the prairie. I found pretty much what I expected to find from what I could see from the road.

After coming home from the photo shoot, I sat down with my ‘Laws Field Guide to the Sierra Nevada,’ to identify the flowers. Yes, I know that the Willamette Valley isn’t in the Sierra Nevada, but it’s the only field guide I have at the moment. Combining that with the cumbersome wildflower identification websites I have been able to identify all of them (at least I think I did).

I also came across a beautiful little blue bird in a tree at the edge of the prairie field. I am not as good with the bird id as with the plant, mainly because plants don’t move and birds do. The only blue birds I could find in my trusty field guide don’t seem to provide a match. Lazuli Bunting? But it looked more warbler sized than sparrow sized. Are there blue warblers? If anyone could help, please don’t be shy.

See the finished painting: Becoming One: Finley II

Please feel free to comment!

Flowers!

Butterfly Bush

Cinquefoil

Elegant Downingia

Oregon Sunshine

Popcorn Flower

Slender Centaury

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Ira Glass on Creativity — You Have Good Taste

Posted on: July 9th, 2011 by Leah Wilson Read 2 COMMENTS & Join the Conversation

I love Ira Glass. There is something about him that makes all the crappy work that has to be done before you can make good work sound so good. Yes, you have great taste — Now go out and make work, even if it is crappy!

Posted in Creative Process | Read 2 COMMENTS & Join the Conversation »

What If There Were No More Art Galleries?

Posted on: June 10th, 2011 by Leah Wilson Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post...

I found this from Baang and Burne as I was surfing the web. Great questions… I printed it out and put it in the entrance to my studio to give me some food for thought. There are a lot of assumptions about being and artist that I find I need to revisit on a regular basis. This list helps keep me in line.

What if there were no art dealers, no “art reps”, and no commercial galleries to sell our work?

What if we summoned the courage to take full responsibility for our careers instead of placing our future in someone else’s hands?

What if we used our creative abilities to think up new and exciting ways to market our work?

What we embraced the very real fact that artists are entrepreneurs?

What if we stopped making excuses, and started making choices?

What if we worked harder at building relationships with people who have shown interest in our work?

What if we were less afraid to step into the spotlight and stopped hiding behind our work?

What if we stopped expecting our art to “speak for itself” and became the passionately vocal champions of our own work?

What if we stopped worrying about accumulating lines on our resume and focused our energy on building relationships with would-be collectors?

What if we told everyone we met that we are artists and confidently invited them to see our work?

What if we stopped blaming the economy?

What if instead of spending money on entry fees, we invested in marketing classes?

What if we stopped waiting for external approval?

What if we worried less about “the art world” and focused more on creating a productive and consistent studio practice?

What if we finished what we started?

What if we stopped searching for a quick fix?

What if we developed discipline?

What if we stopped treating out profession like a hobby?

What if we talked less about what we want to do, and skipped right to the actual “doing” part?

What if we stopped apologizing for being artists?

What if we asked for help when we needed it?

What if we stopped feeling afraid/ashamed/nervous about making money?

What if we learned to price our work in a way that doesn’t under-valued our skill and experience?

What if we stopped comparing ourselves to others?

What if we were less afraid?

What if we spent just as much time marketing our work as making our work?

What if we reached out to help other artists instead of seeing them as competition?

What if we stopped waiting to be rescued? What if we rescued ourselves?

Baang and Burne presented these excellent questions. Check them out!:
Baang and Burne Contemporary is an unconventional art gallery with the spirit of an Indie Rock Band.
It was created with the desire to pioneer an exciting alternative to traditional galleries and change the
way artists and community at large interact. Our ideas on art, collecting, and creativity can be found in
our weekly articles at: Baang and Burne

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Wetlands in the Spring

Posted on: April 29th, 2011 by Leah Wilson Leave Your THOUGHTS & COMMENTS on This Post...

My left borrowed rubber boot had a little hole in it. Sarah and I stood calf-deep in muddy water by the edge of the Coyote farm site. She bent over one of her PVC well stems, dipping her Crayola streaked tape measure down the stem to measure the groundwater depth. I stood next to her, pad of paper in hand, ready to record the numbers she read to me. The depth of the water in the well is visible on her tape where the marker streak remains intact. We had only begun a long day of this when I realized my left sock was already wet.

Sarah testing the water quality in the Coyote Rye Field

After measuring the depth, she then pumped the water out of the well. An unpleasant stench soon permeated the air. Wetland water farts. This was the water that was slowly infiltrating my boot. A pleasant thought. Once the water was emptied, we left the well to wait for it to gurgle back to full so she could then collect a fresh sample.

We repeated this process with many wells, then began to make our way to the other side of the field to the entrance of Coyote’s restoration field. We walked up the outer edge which is covered with vegetation and some blooming wildflowers. Sarah looked across the muddy field, her gaze stopping on a darker brown strip of mud, fairly consistent in width. She concluded that a farmer had recently taken some farm equipment out to test if the ground was suitable to begin farming.

Once we reached the back edge of the farm area we ventured into the mud. Traversing thorough the dormant field was not an easy task. I lost some ground with each step as my foot slipped back. To make things more difficult, I needed to walk a bit flat footed. My boots were too big for my feet. They had the tendency to want to stay behind as my feet threatened to become unshod. Each time my foot lifted from the foot bed of the boot my sock incrementally slid off my foot to bunch up in the toe box.

Walking in the mud in the Coyote Rye Field

When we reached the tractor path, we found that it was not made by farm equipment at all, but instead by elk. Where the ground looked as if it had been tilled was actually deep hoof prints. They had ducked through the barbed wire fence. Their left-behind fur confirmed this. It was hard for me to believe that animals that big could duck through a gap in a barbed wire fence, but it was impossible to deny the clump of fur that marked the beginning of the deep hoof prints.

It’s almost a relief to reach the Coyote restoration area. The field is isolated from the dirt road and surrounded by tall trees. There are green paths mowed in long arcs through the field revealing the new bright green growth that covers the field. Only the rest of the field also has last season’s old brown grass. Although the field looks very healthy in the restoration area, Sarah’s wells take an exceptionally long time to refill after she empties them. She speculates why that is. The effects of years of heavy farm equipment filling the natural cracks in the soil? I don’t mind waiting for the wells to refill. The restoration field is beautiful and I have a respite from standing in malodorous, muddy water.

Coyote Restoration Field

I had wondered why the wetlands were not more treed as the perimeters are. Fires. The Native American people managed the land with burns keeping the trees and undergrowth in check. Of course we are now fire adverse. Now the edges of managed fields are thick with trees and undergrowth. If completely unmanaged, the edges eventually become inundated by thorny blackberry bushes that make the areas virtually impenetrable.

Border Area — the rye field can be seen in the back

A well in the Fischer Butte Wetlands Prairie

Fischer Butte Wetlands Prairie in the spring

After all of the data was collected in both Coyote fields we made our way to Fischer Butte, the nature preserve area. Driving out to the wetlands, I was dismayed to see that all of the fields were still brown. After painting so much brown for the fall and winter months, I was looking forward to some verdant green. Fischer Butte surprised me. From the perimeters the fields look solidly brown. But once we stepped into the grasses and sedges, all of the color revealed itself. The verdant green was there. As was delicate purple from the blooming camas and brilliant yellow-green new shoots. The brown is a cover. Last season’s dead grasses completely hide the vibrancy of the life beneath. The only way to experience the beauty is to physically step into the prairie. It’s even hidden from view from the adjacent path.

Not far from Fischer Butte is Dragonfly Bend. Sarah and I both admitted that it’s not our favorite site. The field is delineated on one side by the suburban housing tract. After trudging around in my tall rubber boots all day, hole and all, I can’t imagine anyone thinking that it would be a good idea to build, not just a house, but an entire housing tract in the wetlands. The idea is just asinine to me.

Across the street from the Dragonfly Restoration Field

Across the street is a ditch, full of water and trash. A no dumping sign presides above the broken television sets and other bits of random debris. Next to that is a field with a “For Sale” sign posted by the road. Sarah said that she was perplexed by that sign until she learned that it is an area designated to be bought for trading carbon credits. If you buy a section of an field next to a ditch full of garbage, you can use poor environmental business practices elsewhere. I will not get into my thoughts on this here.

Dragonfly Restoration Field and housing tract

Dragonfly Bend is a restoration area. Looking at my paintings, I can tell that the color patterns are not as close to Fischer Butte as the Coyote restoration field. Coyote’s colors are more vibrant and diverse than Dragonfly’s. I mentioned that pattern to Sarah. Her explanation was that they began restoring Dragonfly first. They didn’t get the seed mix right: there are too many grasses and not enough sedges. They resolved the problem when they began restoring Coyote. Interesting.

As I’m wrapping up the Fern Ridge project, I’m looking into the next. Although I haven’t yet seen it, I’m intrigued with the Finley Wildlife Refuge near Corvallis. This area, like Fischer Butte, is a preserve for migrating birds. An adjacent field is in the primary stages of restoration. Over the next few years, it will be managed to integrate into the existing nature preserve. I’m hoping that this will lend itself to a long term look at the ecology of the area through painting.

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Art is theft — Pablo Picasso

Artists: Write It! Speak It!

Because art does not speak for itself.

Two Myths That Just Get In the Way of Art: Part 3

Two Myths That Just Get In the Way of Art: Part 2

Two recent conversations illustrate two prevalent myths that get in the way of experiencing art.

The First:

The Second:

Myths

A Disconnect

Where’s the Memo for This?

But the fear never really goes away.

Fear and the Creative Process

Learn more about the fantastic people mentioned in this article:

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