Bitterness, an artist’s greatest enemy

Sarah Thornton talks about writing Seven Days in the Art World and makes other contemporary art related observations in this short, meaty video.

I’m particularly fascinated with the following segment:

The other day I was asked, “What makes a successful artist?” . . . That’s a really complicated question, I could be giving you a lecture. There are so many processes of validation, legitimation, different benchmarks of credibility which are not just financial . . . Rather than waffling on about that, I just said, “A successful artist is one who doesn’t feel bitter.” And I really, really believe that. There are multi-millionaire artists who somehow feel bitter about their lack of recognition, and then there are people who are doing their own thing and finding emotional satisfaction in it.

Hearing the statement “A successful artist is one who doesn’t feel bitter” is another instance of someone else clearly articulating a mish-mash of thoughts that have been rolling around in my head — about my own work and from the perspective of a creative catalyst, thinking about other’s work.

Most artists I know personally, now, are not bitter (as far as I can tell). They are like me, day-job artists who pursue their craft and concepts because of a subconscious, driving impulse. If that impulse is ignored, if we bottle up those ideas and don’t find time to work with our hands, we become cranky.

However, it doesn’t take me long at all to think of some of the personalities in my college studio courses and think “Yup, he or she might be bitter.”

Personally, I would like to be able to live off of my creative impulses, which means I will have to somehow gain recognition in order to sell. The impetus for the recognition is, though, to be able to do what I love, what I’m skilled at and what that subconscious drive relentlessly pushes me to do.

It’s not to gain personal notoriety. The goal is not narcissistic, where I can see bitterness easily taking over.

Video via Savannah College of Art and Design’s deFINE ART series.

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Community revival and the artist retreat

Last weekend I came across a property in Hazelton, Kansas that seems like it would work very well for an artist retreat. It’s a very large building that was most recently either a farm implement or oil well supplier from what I can tell. The 1948 concrete structure — from what I can tell it would be best described as Mid-Century Modern — seems to be a organized maze of a five bedroom living space nestled in the midst of a series of garages and open spaces.

It’s exciting to find properties like this in light of the retreat idea, especially ones that seem within some kind of financial reach (best scenario would be if the property was donated to the effort, probably after we receive 501(c)(3) status although not necessarily). My wife will tell you I become obsessed when I find certain spaces that serve certain functions, which is probably a fair assessment.

But this post isn’t about the building in Hazelton. It’s about the community of Hazelton.

Hazelton, Kansas is a very small community (roughly 130 people) about an hour southwest of Wichita. It’s the type of place most people can’t ever imagine moving to, the type of town that’s dying off in America. From what I can tell in Google Maps, most of the downtown buildings (about 10 of them, seemingly well kept) are vacant. A water tower stands over a green space and what appears to be a water treatment facility lies east of its guard; a highway and railway pass by to the west.

This isn’t the kind of place I would expect to end up in, although the vacant schoolhouse idea could also land the retreat in a similarly tiny town. However, as happens when new ideas present themselves, I’ve found myself daydreaming of what Hazelton might become with an infusion of the arts.

How could the retreat I’m imagining help revitalize this small community? Granted, it’s not going to be the kind of economic boon many of these rural places generally hope for. It won’t be a factory with 50 jobs, but it might (on the high end) employ five people part-time. Instead I’m wondering how an arts related institution can give back to the place that it’s in, large or small. In the case of small, in the case of Hazelton, Kansas, the impact could at least appear more significant than in a larger city.

In my daydream, the retreat is able to employ a few part-time employees (eventually). It hopes to help put the presumably vacant downtown buildings to some good use, even if it’s not installing regular businesses. Maybe one of them becomes a community space available for birthday parties or community wide Thanksgiving celebrations or occasional gallery spaces for movies, music, theater and other art exhibitions. Maybe one of them is transformed into a place where a person with a passion for food cooks a monthly meal for anyone who wants to come. I’d like to see a bonafide park — I don’t think there is one from what I can tell, again from Google Maps — and sidewalks with decorative streetlamps along Main Street from the highway to downtown (donated to the community by the retreat, if God were to ever bless the retreat with such ability).

Adding: Of course, in this day and age of the internet, those buildings could be used for for profit businesses. They would probably be inexpensive to rent for storage for internet sales (thinking of the eBay boom, which is pretty much past now anyhow). Maybe one of them becomes a gluten free bakery that ships breads across the country. These aren’t the strongest ideas related to the point of the internet enabling far flung locations to succeed, but they’re what come to mind off-hand.

My wife was dreaming of creating a library for the community if it doesn’t have one. I would hope to turn the roughly 10 acres around the building into a public, park-like space with a walking trail — preferably one that’s tied to the rest of the community in some form or fashion) — sculpture garden and tennis court (which is already on the property).

This line of thinking is new to me, probably because most of the time (though admittedly not all) I imagine the retreat being on a farm or acreage outside of a city. This enticing piece of property is fostering this new line of thinking. Regardless, for any of the things I’ve brainstormed to happen we’d want to start by garnering interest from the residents. In many ways I’m thinking like a community planner here, a facilitator with the best interest of the place and its people at heart.

“Art was not made for evangelism”

This is an H.R. Rookmaaker quote that I read on Rebecca Horton’s Passionately Alive blog quite a few months ago. It’s chalk full of pithy goodness on a few different topics.

    So there are many strange problems in our culture. We have to think and work to solve these problems. They are not just Christian problems but problems of culture in general; many people are working on them, and no one has yet been able to find a solution. Now, the solution is never just a little book or a little definition or a little plan, and it will certainly take one or two generations to accomplish. The answer is not another kind of utilitarian art, Christian utilitarian art, because we shouldn’t be prostituting art to become something it was never made to be. Art was not made for evangelism. We should start a new development that bridges the gaps and solves the problem of the unreality of art in the museum. But first we have to pose the right questions. However, we are only just beginning to see those questions.

Patron on a postal salary

I finally finished reading Mako Fujimura’s latest essay. On the last page he mentions the Vogels, art collectors of very modest means. I Googled “Vogel collection” to find a little more biographical information on these renowned patrons and learned quickly that a documentary about the couple is due out in June.

[YouTube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vma2T5luy08]

Mako points out that “The Vogels were not Guggenheims [or, if I might add for my Northwest Arkansas readers, Waltons] with inherited endowments, nor were they hedge fund managers with millions of dollars to spend: remarkably, they were civil servants who worked at postal offices . . . ” From the website for Herb and Dorothy, the aforementioned documentary:

    He was a postal clerk. She was a librarian. With their modest means, the couple managed to build one of the most important contemporary art collections in history.

    Meet Herbert and Dorothy Vogel, whose shared passion and commitment defied stereotypes and redefined what it means to be an art collector.”

The Vogels have pledged 2,500 works — stacked away in boxes and tucked under their bed — to 50 museums in 50 states. Most of their contemporary collection possess a minimalist aesthetic. They bought pieces decades ago from virtual unknowns that are now important modern artists: Robert Barry, Sol LeWitt and Richard Tuttle are among 170 different artists in their personal gallery.

Your own aesthetic may not be drawn to such minimalist and non-representational art, but trust me when I say there are other artists out there you will like. There are more stories like Herb and Dorothy’s waiting to be told, and waiting to be created. Visit your local gallery today. Find something you like and can afford and buy it. You’ll be making an investment not just in a financial sense, but in a cultural sense.

    A friend mused recently to me: “We may not see a Wall Street boom again for a long time, certainly not in our life time.” Because of the banking crisis and possible nationalization of them, we may end up with a long protracted recession at best (which would make the U.S. more like Japan, by the way). Possibly so, but what if in lieu of a Wall Street boom, we “invested” in different capitals, capitals of the gift economy . . . we learned from artists and nature what it means to have sustainable growth that re-humanizes, rather than a expedited, de-humaized growth . . . Had we known that our 401(k)s will be “201(k)”s as one commentator recently put it, would we have reconsidered our investment in something more generous, more life giving than protecting our wallets?

Read more about the couple and the documentary in this Washington Post article.

You don’t have to be wealthy to be a patron

Yesterday I watched a video over at Diary of an Arts Pastor. In the spot, David Taylor talks specifically about his vision for artistic renewal in Austin, Texas. I’m not exactly sure what I think of the video, but it did convey some worthwhile ideas. One idea that I latched onto is one I’d already been thinking about this year:

“You don’t have to be wealthy to be a patron.”

This is probably coming out of my burgeoning desire to be a catalyst (a desire that’s been burgeoning, as it were, for the past ten years). It was helped along by the ceramic art my wife gave me for Christmas.

I haven’t fleshed this idea out yet, that you don’t have to be rich to be a patron of the arts, but there seem to be some basic places a person could start. Add new art to your budget, for instance. Give art as gifts, as my wife did. Befriend artists and become part of their street team; word-of-mouth is the best marketing.

If you don’t think you have money in your budget to buy art you haven’t visited the right venues lately. Look at Etsy (yes, there are imaginative and well-crafted plastic arts on this website amidst the ubiquitous jewelry and handbag collections) or other online galleries. Seek out aspiring artists who don’t charge as much for their pieces, which is the best kind of artistic investment anyway. Barter works as well. Maybe you’re a web programmer; trade website design for a painting or sculpture.

Any other ideas?

David Taylor video

IAM Encounter: To be a creative catalyst

I was pleasantly surprised yesterday by an acquaintance’s proposal in my inbox, inviting me to be part of a small publication intended to encourage artists of faith in their craft. I have a lot of questions before consenting to the idea, but I’m hopeful it will work out.

This has me thinking again about my role as, employing the phraseology of the IAM Encounter conference, a creative catalyst. I attended the conference as an artist, but ended up being surprised at how much I was drawn to the role of catalyst once I was there. Ideally, and I believe this manifests itself quite plainly on this blog, I would be both a sculptor and encourager of artists.

One of my concerns with respect to the aforementioned proposal is how it will — and it will — cut into my own time working in the studio, time that is already very limited. However, I’ve talked about this kind of project in the past. From a September 2006 post:

    I am glad for the plethora of books on Christians in the visual arts, although I have one complaint. Most of these books are not written by visual artists. Elsheimer is a writer. Author Jeremy Begbie is a theology professor with a background in music. Rory Noland, author of two popular books on the Christianity and the arts, is also coming from a musical perspective — and there are three or four more of these examples on the cusp of my keyboard. Schaeffer and Rookmaaker were philosophers and cultural thinkers, and their writing is important. However, they were not visual artists either.

Since posting that I’ve found a couple examples of writing by Christian visual artists; Mako Fujimura’s Refractions was just published last month (It is, in essence, a compilation of his blog entries.). As [an aspiring] visual artist, to be involved in such a publication would further my own desire to see more writing on theology and the arts coming from a plastic arts perspective.

It would also mark a more formal foray into the realm of catalyst, although I don’t really see myself becoming an author. My dream, the idea that mostly makes me think of myself as a creative catalyst, remains: To birth or play a significant part in a center for artists of faith.

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