Making Sense of Art, Part I

The View From the Studio Door: How Artists Find Their Way in an Uncertain World
By Ted Orland (2006)

Chapter 2: Making Sense of Art

Art theories are good. Art theories are impressive. But hey, wait a minute – it’s the artists who do the work! Most every artist I’ve known is far more comfortable grappling with the difficulty of making art than with the seeming futility of talking about it, writes Orland. I agree! That’s why I challenged myself to start this blog and delve into dozens of books and discussions on art theory – I needed to understand the world of fine art a little better so I could comprehend my role in that world.

Of course, there’s the time-worn adage that art should speak for itself. While that’s important, I think there’s something more. For instance, I could limit my knowledge of my heritage to what I experience with only my living family members. But, there’s so much more to learn from previous generations. That knowledge gives me perspective about who I am. And, that’s what art theory does for me as well, it makes sense of my art by placing it in a larger context.

So, Orland tells us, while we absorb art through our senses, we think about art [or interpret art] in words. Oddly enough, we’ve been sensing and talking about art for millennia and we still can’t find a clear and concise definition for “art!” As Orland observes, The real boundaries of art are defined by the collective range of our minds, not by the collected works in anthologies. So, how will this author help us make sense of art?

This much we do know: long before there were art departments or art critics or art historians or art museums, there was simply art. Period. He goes on to say that it’s more useful to the artist to ask why art should be defined at all. That’s a good point. After all, I won’t stop making what I consider to be art just because someone assigns a definition that doesn’t apply to my work. Nevertheless, there exists a consciousness about art: we sense the meaning of the world unconsciously and capture that meaning through our art – and then we have to wait for our intellect to understand what we already knew.

Artists are always on the hook. The moment we achieve public notice we are asked to explain our motivations and our work within the context and lexicon of the present art scene. Galleries, museums, critics, and special exhibitions all require this of us. For instance, yesterday I was interviewed by an art magazine and had to explain myself and my work. It’s not enough that readers will see pictures of my work, they need my explanations as well.

Orland puts it this way: the moment you achieve even a modicum of success you will be asked to explain your work, and in the course of preparing for that eventuality you may well learn something about your art – and yourself – along the way:

Where, then, does your vision of the world reside?

What part of your art is drawn from history?

What part is prophecy?

What part is grounded in fact?

What part takes wing in fantasy?

These are great questions and I’d rather answer them myself than have others answer them for me.

How about you?

Tomorrow, I’ll finish the other half of this chapter.

Making Sense of the World

The View From the Studio Door: How Artists Find Their Way in an Uncertain World
By Ted Orland (2006)

Chapter 1: Making Sense of the World

Have you ever wondered why ours is the only species on the planet that makes art? I have, and so has Orland. Is it because we ourselves define art in a way that limits it to human endeavors, or is it that our minds and sensibilities are so uniquely different from other animals that we need to make art? I’m not talking about the elephant whose trainer puts a brush in its snout and lays out a few cans of paint and a canvas while suggesting that the beast dip and spread. Rather, it’s about why we deliberately make art and are conscious of what we’re making. Or maybe it doesn’t matter at all; we just do it. Orland attributes this to our highly distilled state of self-awareness, or consciousness.

As one neurosurgeon pessimistically noted, “If our brain were simple enough to be understood, we’d be too simple to understand it.” I don’t think I’ll lose any sleep over this.

For some reason, humans need to make art or, at least, experience it. This leads Orland to query What are we actually doing when we make art? Resolving uncertainty? Giving form to our experiences? Seeking emotional release? Declaring what we believe important? Expressing our belief system? For me, it’s all these reasons and more. I don’t question it – I just DO it.

The first half of this chapter is devoted to speculation about existential matters that are interesting, but not particularly practical or helpful. In any case, each artist sees the world a little differently. As the author points out: Perhaps art succeeds precisely because it remains ambiguous enough to allow others with wildly different mental sets to invest themselves in it. Maybe this is why art seems so dissimilar from “fact.”

Making sense of the world is an individual act. My sensibilities may be entirely dissimilar from yours, but perhaps you can understand mine anyway. My artmaking may be entirely different from yours, but perhaps you can understand it anyway. We have the capacity to do this and even enjoy it.

But while artists seem inordinately prone to bouts of uncertainty, really good artists also have strong internal compasses that send them dependably (if often intuitively) in the direction of those particular uncertainties that must attract or terrorize them. We are curious and creative beings, and that creativity, according to Orland, comes from seeing – from making sense of the world around us.

What are your thoughts?

The View From the Studio Door

The View From the Studio Door: How Artists Find Their Way in an Uncertain World
by Ted Orland (2006)

It’s time to begin a new book, and I found this one by Ted Orland who co-authored Art & Fear, a book we discussed here earlier.

The central questions that are answered, or at least discussed, in this book are:

What are we really doing when we make art?

What role (if any) does the artist have in our society?
How do we find our place in the artistic community?

These are essential questions and I can’t wait to see how Orland answers them. In the author’s own words: This is a book about the nature of artmaking. More precisely, it’s about the nature of artmaking as seen from the artist’s perspective – drawn from life and seasoned with experiences in a real world. It is, in essence, the view from my studio door.”

Orland intends to provide us with a practical philosophy of artmaking – something to help us navigate our world. He feels that for artists, theory and practice are always intertwined. I agree, and think that the conversational style of this book will stimulate our conversation on this blog. I hope you’ll join me.

Tomorrow: chapter 1.

Cezanne & Critics

Conversations with Cezanne
Michael Doran, Ed. (2001)

Cezanne had a lot to say about critics. For instance, in a conversation with Joachim Gasquet, son of Henri Gasquet who was Cezanne lifelong friend from childhood, Cezanne said:

Above all he [the artist] must shun all opinion not based on the intelligent observation of his own temperament. ..

I’ve said it a hundred times, those critics …. I want to write them all, all of them who haunt me, and tell them that there are three things which make up the basis of our craft, which you will never have and toward which I have been working for thirty-five years, three things: scruples, sincerity, submission. Scruples before ideas, sincerity before myself, and submission before the motif.

Although he may sound embittered, I think Cezanne’s observation is true. I’ve always been a little skeptical of “professional art critics” who don’t create art themselves. The internal process of creating art is just as important as the external act. Critics may understand art history, and, therefore, the importance of a body of work in that context, but do they really understand the act of making art for any particular artist? I don’t know. Maybe some critics do and others don’t. They can’t all be lumped together.

When I go to a museum or gallery to view paintings I first view the work intently to try and understand what the artist is saying to me before reading the explanation on the wall or pamphlet. That explanation will alter the way I see the work. Sometimes that’s good because it offers a historical context for the work. Other times it detracts from the work because the explanation is just someone’s opinion that instructs the viewer what to think. As an artist, I’d rather not have someone else’s opinions stand between my work and the viewing public.
Of course, my work hasn’t been subject to the intense scrutiny that is usually heaped upon great works of art like Cezanne’s, so I have nothing to complain about. I just feel sad about this aspect of the human condition: the need to tear down or diminish anything that rises to a higher plain – that elevates us. I think this is what Cezanne meant.

What are your thoughts?

More thoughts from Cezanne ...

Conversations with Cezanne
Michael Doran, Ed. (2001)

Continuing with notes provided by Cezanne’s son, here’s some more sage advice and insights by the famous artist:

15. Art is a religion. Its goal is the elevation of thought.
16. He who does not hunger for the absolute (perfection) is content with placid mediocrity.
17. An intellect’s excellence can be judged by the originality of its creation.
18. A mind that can organize powerfully is the most precious collaborator with sensibility in the realization of a work of art.
19. Art is the adaptation of things to our needs and tastes.
20. The technique of any art consists of a language and a logic.
21. Style is perfect when it is commensurate with the character and grandeur of the subject it interprets.
22. Style does not result from the slavish imitation of the old masters; it develops from the artist’s personal manner of feeling and expression.
23. The manner in which a work of art is rendered allows us to judge the distinction of the artist’s mind and insight.
24. The quest for novelty and originality is an artificial need which can never disguise banality and the absence of artistic temperament.

More gems!

One personal note: yesterday I was contacted by the Assistant Editor of Art Calendar. I’m being interviewed and will appear as the “Art Scuttlebutt.com online member of the month” in the December/January issue coming up. That’s right …. Finally, I’m“Miss December!” (wink & smile).

Have a great weekend!

Conversations with Cezanne

Conversations with Cezanne
Michael Doran, Ed. (2001)

Browsing through my bookshelves here in Maine I came across this book and think it's worth considering. I probably won’t review the entire book, which is a compilation of eyewitness texts which illustrate the last decades of Paul Cezanne’s life. But, there are several parts worth posting.


One of these eyewitness texts was written by the poet Leo Larguier in 1901. Larguier met Cezanne and befriended Cezanne’s son who provided him with these unaltered notes from his famous father:

1. Critics’ opinions about art are formulated more on literary principles than on aesthetic ones.
2. The artist must avoid literature in art.
3. Art is the manifestation of an exquisite sensitivity.
4. Sensitivity defines the individual. At its highest level, it identifies the artist.
5. Great sensitivity is the most powerful characteristic of any beautiful artistic creation.
6. The most seductive element in art is the artist’s own personality.
7. The artist gives form to his sensibility, to his own, innate individuality.
8. The nobility of an artist’s creation reveals his soul.
9. The artist materializes and individualizes.
10. The artist knows the joy of being able to communicate to others his excitement about nature, that masterpiece whose mysteries he believes he has deciphered.
11. Genius is the ability to renew one’s emotion by daily contact with nature.
12. For the artist seeing is creating; creating is composing.
13. Because the artist does not note down his emotions as the bird sings his song: he composes.
14. The universality of the immediate impact of a work of art does not indicate its importance.

These are gems, and I’ll continue the list with the next post. There’s lots to consider here before moving on.

What are your thoughts?

Artists Representing Ourselves

Thanks all for a lively discussion on the last post! It was great. I'm back in Maine through Columbus Day, and living in the world of dial-up. Therefore, I haven't been able to follow some of your blogs and must apologize. I'll catch up next week.

Soon, there'll be another book to review, but first I have a few things on my mind like: representation. I don't know any artists who use an agent and the agents that have approached me all want money up front. My firm answer to that is always "No! if you want to represent me then you must take a commission from the sale of my work." Otherwise it's a scam since the agent gets paid a fee in advance and, therefore, has no incentive to sell anything.

When galleries represent me they typically take 50% and sometimes want more. And then, there's the problem of being paid in a timely manner. However, I always get a contract and review it with a fine-toothed comb. You can't be too careful these days.

So far this year I've sold 37 paintings, mostly through galleries. In 2009 I sold fewer paintings, but not through galleries. I haven't explored selling on e.bay or similar sites, but have read that some folks make a lot of money doing this. Sometimes I sell directly from my website, but then I have to be careful to avoid scams.

I suppose there are fortunate few who are represented by high-end galleries that only require the artist to supply them with paintings and they take care of everything else year after year. For me, it would be like winning the lottery. If only I could stay in my studio and paint and someone else could take care of the business end!

But, I've always done things the hard way. How about you?

Maintaining a Private Creative Life

Before I begin a new book, I'd like to discuss an article I just read in the most recent issue of Art Calendar: "Side Trips and Detours: Maintaining a Private Creative Life" by Matthew Daub. He begins with:

Nothing confuses art dealers more than variety. When an artist reveals more than one body of work at a time, many dealers scratch their heads and question whether the artist really knows what he or she is doing. Graduate school acceptance committees usually react the same way, as do most exhibition jurors. Collectors are often confused and put off when an artist they have had an interest in suddenly changes direction midstream. While certain established artists may get a free pass when it comes to exhibiting eclectic bodies of work, for most of us, it's the kiss of death. This is a very real dilemma facing artists in the marketplace. If consistency is favored, does that put pressure on us to continue making the same work in the same way throughout our entire careers?

Good question!

This is something I've been thinking about for years. I always paint in a series (thematically) and change the theme every few years. For instance, my Wine series lasted one year and was followed by the All Cracked Up series which lasted five years. Now, I'm working on the Laws of Nature series. Those are just my series in watercolor. Simultaneously, I created other series in oil and in acrylics. My painting style is always the same, but the themes change.

When I approach a gallery, I highlight only one series. However, on my website I have several series posted. Looks like I'm guilty of doing exactly what Daub warns us against. As I wrote earlier, I have thought about this for a long time and it still nags me. Perhaps I should make a change.

What does Daub recommend? Having two sets of work: public and private. The public works are those that you want to hang your reputation on - and they are consistent. The private works are everything else we create. They may or may not see the light of day. I've heard of artists who use a pseudonym for these other works of art and openly sell them under that disguise. Not a bad idea, but tricky.

I'm still pondering all this and would like to know what you think.

What's your opinion?

The Art of Gum-Ball Machines, and Other Simple Pleasures

The Accidental Masterpiece: On the Art of Life and Vice Versa By Michael Kimmelman (2005)

Painting by Wayne Thiebauld

Chapter 10: The Art of Gum-Ball Machines, and Other Simple Pleasures

This is the final chapter in Kimmelman’s book and a good summary of the artist’s nature. He begins by contrasting the typical “harried existence” of most people which keeps them from truly seeing what’s in front of them to the existence of the artists who patiently observe and consider the world around them. For instance, Wayne Thiebaud’s paintings of ordinary things, like a gumball machine, or Vincent VanGogh’s gorgeous renderings of the everyday objects and settings. There are a myriad of examples – more than I can name – of art that elevates the ordinary to the extraordinary. This is the role of the artist. Our heightened awareness and meaningful interpretations of the world as we know it serve to show others the beauty and wonder of their world as well.

Ellsworth Kelly, famous for his focus on the little details of the everyday world “tells us that the world is full of small miracles … these miracles are accessible to all of us, at almost any time, if we are just prepared to look for them." And, Marcel Proust said, “Great painters initiate us into a knowledge and love of the external world.” I think that great artists initiate us into a knowledge and love of who we are as humans – our “selves.”

What’s interesting to me is the different way in which artists express themselves: abstraction, realism, impressionism, Dadaism, “you name it”-ism. Our expressions of our perceptions take on a wide variety of forms when we commit them to a work of art. Thiebauld interprets a gumball machine one way and another artist would interpret it differently. Through our expressions, we show the rest of the world another way of seeing life. Thankfully, each artists perceives and expresses in a different way. That difference is critical to producing masterful art and is why I strongly object to art instructors who insist that students, for instance, paint a rose “this way” or a chair “that way” or a landscape using only “these colors,” etc. They behave as though there’s only one specific way to express what we see in our paintings. This serves only to suppress the mind and voice of the artist and I’m strongly opposed to it.

As Kimmelman writes “every great painter is great by his or her own terms.” We are all unique, and we should be. Vive la difference!! He writes of the Parisian artist, Chardin, who found “art in cups and saucers and in the streets, too." I disagree. I think we find art in ourselves. It is we artists who transform the ordinary into something more. This is where the "accidental masterpiece" originates.

What are your thoughts?

The Art of the Pilgrimage

The Accidental Masterpiece: On the Art of Life and Vice Versa
By Michael Kimmelman (2005)

Photo: "Spiral Jetty" by Robert Smithson, constructed in the Great Salt Lake, Utah in 1970

Chapter 9: The Art of the Pilgrimage

Over a hundred years ago, the author tells us, Walter Benjamin predicted that mechanical reproduction would eradicate the aura of the original art object for the masses that are ‘bent toward overcoming the uniqueness of every reality by accepting its reproduction.’ Benjamin offered the prospect that eventually any work of art in the world might be available in reproduction at the touch of a button or a click of a mouse. But, Kimmelman argues, the opposite is true. There’s been a notable increase in the number of people visiting museums, galleries and other art-specific sites. Nevertheless, We did lose something during the last century … it was a sufficient appreciation for the virtues of the pilgrimage.

The author takes it a step further. He enjoys visiting a work of art where it was made; for example, a fresco on a Renaissance chapel wall or an earthworks project in the Nevada desert. The point is A modest pilgrimage may restore to the act of looking at art in its desired and essential otherness. It can get us back to the root of art as an expression of what’s exceptional in life. How true!

Kimmelman points out that All art is site-specific in the moment that we are looking at it, being affected by its surroundings, whether the context is a crowded museum or a friend’s living room or an empty chapel, but perhaps especially art that is itself the reason you went to that place. That makes a lot of sense to me. For over forty years I’ve made the annual pilgrimage to view one particular painting in a certain museum. It’s a time of renewal and regeneration for me and also helps me better understand that single work of art.

Artists make works one at a time, Kimmelman adds, which is how we should experience them. The ethos of giant exhibitions, with dozens or hundreds of paintings, is antithetical to the conception of a work of art. I agree with this statement as well. When there’s too much to see then there’s nothing to see. I go into sensory overload and don’t spend the amount of time that I should viewing any single work of art. More is not more.

Kimmelman dedicates most of this chapter since to descriptions of art-specific sites that he visited mostly in the western part of this country. It makes a good read.

Next time I’ll post the final chapter of this book.
Have a great weekend, everybody!

What your thoughts?