unsolicited advice

I received a letter of acceptance to a national exhibit this week.  This is, of course, reason for celebration, but an artist can always find a way to over-examine a situation in search of the the darker side.  Part of this has to do with the automated notification system that makes life easier for artists and for exhibit hosts.  For this exhibit, I entered three drawings.  One drawing was selected and two were rejected.  Or "Not Invited" as the email stated.  I'll admit that sounds less negative.  Kinda.  The first email was the "Invited" one.  I was thrilled.  The next time I checked my mail, the second email had arrived with the "Not Invited" entries.  This allowed me to properly celebrate with a happy dance and then a while later, mourn the fact that not every human on Earth loves my work.

My university hosted the annual student juried exhibit recently and each year this is an opportunity to teach my students how to deal with the process of entering exhibits and dealing with the results.  It's a lesson in maturity, human nature and the mechanics of the art world.  And even though I know these things well enough to teach them to my students, I still find myself dwelling on the two uninvited works.

While I'm easily distracted, and Lord knows that during the semester I have plenty of things to distract me, my mind eventually circles back to the exhibit.  I have to put it on my calendar and make sure I ship the work to a state many hours away so I have to be reminded not to forget.  And even when I'm taping up the box of art I know I'll still be wondering why the juror chose this drawing but didn't chose the others.

Academically speaking, I know the answer to this question.  Artistically speaking, I know the answer to this question.  But as a human trying desperately to hide his sensitivity about something he created, I'm tempted to dwell on the negative and to even think negatively about this mostly ridiculous thing called The Art World.  Just a few weeks ago I waded into a conversation about the art world with my advanced sculpture students.  I love my students dearly and I want to fuel any excitement I see in them as it relates to studio art.  Many of them have traveled to art fairs or the Venice Biennale or will travel to them soon.  All of them have the current celebrities of the art world on their Instagram feed so it's easy for them to think that this is the sum total of what it's like to be an artist.  Of course I want them to see contemporary art and to also have goals of obtaining gallery representation if that's the best path for them, but I also feel the need to spring a little honesty into that constant barrage of happy art stuff.  

They're going to be rejected.  Many hundreds of times in their career they're going to feel that burn.  They will be passed over for great jobs, they will have work rejected from exhibits and they will have galleries delete their emails on a regular basis.  They will watch artists they know rise to unimaginable heights and be promoted to celebrity status while they may never win a single award and may struggle to get work in a local exhibit.  This is a weird area of studio art education and one that is mostly overlooked by universities.  We want to pump our students up about possibilities but I think we have a responsibility to prepare them for the certainties.

So let's look at some observations together.  And let's be honest about the observations and say that they are the observations of one mid-career artist.  (Am I really a mid-career artist?)  Other artists may have different experiences and not all artists may agree. 

1. Exhibit Jurors are biased.  Juried exhibits, large or small are chosen by single humans or small groups of humans.  Humans with personal interests, particular tastes and individual built-in biases.  I've been a juror for exhibits and I would want you to think that I can be totally unbiased.  I would argue that I chose the absolute highest quality work for the exhibit and for the awards.  I could justify it all on paper.  But the truth is, on a different day of the week, with different weather and with a different amount of caffeine in my bloodstream, I may have chosen slightly different work.  Of course I had a list of criteria points but those points were chosen by me.  If a juror is experienced in a certain area, they may be hard to impress in that area.  At the same time, they may have expertise that informs them that a work of art in that area is exceptionally well handled, even if it's not the "best" in the pool.  You will also notice that not all jurors are exhibiting studio artists.  In fact, many are not.  Now the interests and biases have changed.  If this juror also owns a gallery (and many do) what personal interests might also be in play?  Most often the entries are meant to be anonymous but some established styles don't need a signature to be recognized. You could pick my work out of a lineup right now.  I could probably pick yours.  

I would suggest that the best approach with juried exhibits is to understand the built-in flaws and see the exhibit for what it is.  Not a show of "the best" artwork submitted, but a show of high quality artwork selected by a particular juror.  

2. Favoritism is a real thing.  Some days it will work to benefit you and other days it will not.  It's not cool to accept one side of that coin and to complain about the other side.  I've been very, very lucky as an exhibiting artist.  I've had gallery owners take chances on my work because they responded to it positively.  They've actively promoted my work to collectors, telling them my work was good.  While this was great for me, I have to be aware that a choice was made and while that choice put my work in someone's home or office, that same choice left another artist's work unsold.  One person liked my work and told someone else to like it.  I've been in situations where I'm sure that an exhibitor liked me and my personality as much or more than they liked my work and that has benefited me as well.  Late night host Conan O'Brien said "Work hard, be kind and amazing things will happen."  Every artist can't be the best.  I'm pretty sure math doesn't work that way.  But if you're good and you're likable, you put yourself in the best possible position to succeed.

Instead of complaining about favoritism, perhaps you could spend some time and energy working hard and being kind.  There's no downside to this suggestion.

 3. It's not fair.  That person in your Instagram feed is a hack.  That painting that won Best In Show is terrible.  That artist's work really isn't any better than yours.  You will have these complaints and more and you will be totally justified in having them.  There's nothing fair about a system designed around making a profit.  If collectors are not art savvy, gallerists may resort to pushing the lowest common denominator to ensure a sale.  This has much more to do with a healthy bottom line than being fair.  That artist who always makes the most gigantic pieces for shows always seems to win the awards while your tiny but exceptional work of art goes unnoticed.  Maybe you like to work small or maybe you don't have a warehouse studio or a truck.  And that artist representing that country at the Biennale isn't the best artist in that country.  They were picked up by a gallery, then chosen for a fair and then promoted to a committee.  They are exceptionally lucky and probably very grateful but what they really are is a person who was in the right place at the right time and it turned out that what benefited them was coincidentally something that benefited someone else.  

Worrying about what's fair or unfair will not make a new body of work for you.  It will not show your work to the new gallery and it will not make you a better artist.  Getting in your studio and working hard will make you successful.  Focus on you, not them.

4. The value of your work is decided by you.  Is your work any good?  Is it worth making?  Is it worth sharing?  This is not a choice left up to any outside source.  The gallery director/owner may know very little about art making.  They may or may not have a degree or any experience in art.  The juror for that exhibit may have terrible taste.  And even the ones who love your work are not the ones who give it value.  You decide if your work is worthwhile.  You decide if you will spend your life sharing it with others.  But here's a tip:  if there's something inside you telling you to make art, you need to make it.  If someone doesn't pick it for a show, you still need to make it.  If you don't win an award, you still need to make it.  If your jerk professor hates your project, keep trying.  It's fine to get down about a rejection or a negative comment, but remember the person who rejected your work or made a negative comment is not the reason you made the artwork.  

Making art is bigger than you.  It's bigger than the the exhibit.  Take a moment to say a bad word, have an ice cream and then get back in the studio and get to work.  Someone is waiting to see it. 

5. If it was easy, everyone would do it.  This is a cleaned up version of something my dad used to say when I complained that something was difficult.  I love the idea behind the phrase.  It suggests that of course this is tough to do and that you should feel honored to be good enough to do it.  Art is hard.  Ask any of my current students.  Better yet, ask the students who changed their major to something easier after the first year.  Not only does it require a ton of physical effort and mental strength, it also requires an emotional maturity to be able to deal with negative feedback and keep moving forward.  Studio artists, we get to make art.  It's a privilege.  An honor.  You may get a "not invited" email and you may not get represented by the good gallery but you may also inspire a young person to pick up a drawing pencil.  You may make a viewer smile.  You may make something so powerfully beautiful that your work of art touches a nerve in the heart of a viewer and changes their life forever.  

It's not easy.  Nothing worthwhile is.


That's probably enough for now.  I hope it wasn't too much of a fortune cookie.  I just want you to know some of the things I've learned so far.  Maybe it will help you be better prepared for life after art school.

the art of showing up

I'm sitting here in my office at the end of the semester.  There a student's graduation cap on my desk.  Classes have ended and exam week is upon us.  My students are feeling the pressure of a thousand projects all due during the same week.  I, along with most of my peers, am anticipating those projects, assessing the semester and thinking about what I need to do differently next year.  This is a really great characteristic of an academic job.  Each semester provides a new start.  

As I reflect a little this morning I was reminded of a silly thing that happened last week.  Tuesday afternoon was a slogging day.  After a full day of studio classes and running around non-stop, we had a meeting and then three of us headed out for a 3 mile slog.  The two students who joined me, Bolt and Gazelle, were the most dedicated sloggers for this entire year so we actually didn't slog at all, we ran.  We made our way over to the athletic facility and ran around the bouncy track a few times before hitting our mileage and running back to the main campus.  As we made our way down the big hill we could hear the thumping of music.  It seemed an impromptu circus had made it's temporary home on our campus.  None of us were sure what was going on, but as we got closer we saw the inflatable bouncy house type things scattered across the front lawn.  

These two slogger students are the kind of people who are up for whatever, whenever.  When I have one of my hairbrained ideas, they're right behind me.  As we slowed our roll to survey the situation, we saw snow cones, popcorn, a rock climbing thing and a mechanical bull.  We decided we were going to have to participate.  Bolt and Gazelle started messaging other art people to come out.  My phone died at the end of our run so I couldn't round up the troops or take photos of the fun.  It took a while for a group to assemble but we got everyone to ride the bull and climb the weird palm tree rock climbing things.  It was a lot of fun.  As soon as everyone was finished a lady came over to us and asked us to be the judges for the costume contest.  Apparently this was an advertised event and students were asked to dress up in beachwear.  So there we were, the art kids, standing in a line judging the group of people in grass skirts and flower shirts while they pranced in front of us doing all sorts of funny things.  We laughed our butts off.  We chose the obvious winner and then headed out having enjoyed ourselves.

I didn't get the email about this thing.  My students didn't know about it.  We were planning to go play tennis after the slog.  But we saw an opportunity and we showed up.  We got free snow cones, had lots of fun and judged the contest for the school.  All because we showed up.

People have been talking about showing up in the weeks since the Boston Marathon.  The lady who won gave a quote about showing up and doing the work.  You may not be considered the best in the game but if you keep showing up and doing the work your day will eventually come.  And logically, if you don't show up, you have no chance.  You miss 100% of the shots you don't take.  

This seems like such a no-brainer but many of my students are afraid to try.  I've noticed this tendency in my own kids as they are offered the chance to try new things.  If they don't think they'll be great at it or if someone else at school is really good at it, they don't want to try.  They're afraid they wont be good at it so they would rather pass.  Sometimes I'm able to get them to try anyway.  Sometimes they're great at it.  Sometimes they're not but we still have a lot of fun trying it.  

My mentor professor in grad school gave me some advice when I graduated.  He told me that if I wanted to show my work I was going to have to apply to everything, enter everything and show up at galleries to ask for shows.  He told me that the opportunities would not come looking for me.  If I wanted to be successful, I was going to have to show up.  I took his advice and I've been lucky and blessed so far in my career.  

As I look at this graduation cap on my desk, I offer the same advice to my people who are leaving the nest next week.  Try.  Show up.  Put in the work.  Apply for the dream job.  Go to the gallery.  Enter the contest.  Ride the mechanical bull.  Don't miss a single opportunity because of that little voice inside your head.  Tell that voice to shut up and hold on.

By the way, I held on for 12 seconds.

life after advice

My undergraduate degree was a BA in Studio Art with teacher certification.  I wanted to be a teacher and I thought that working in a K-12 public school was probably the way to go.  Near the end of my degree, one of my mentor professors had a conversation with me and told me I should switch to the BFA degree.  At the time this was nonsense to me.  I had a year to go, I was going to get married and I was going to coast into a teaching job.  

That professor was Paul Martyka.  If that name means anything to you, you will understand just how significant it was for him to be encouraging me to move into a more professional studio art degree.  I understood that he was wise and quite good at discerning artistic ability in a student, but I was not able to clearly see what he saw.  Even while knowing that he must have been right, I could not take his advice.  

A year later I was graduated, married and dreading the process of interviewing for the teaching jobs.  I had a very eye opening experience while student teaching during my senior year and I knew that I probably wasn't going to be happy teaching K-12.  Martyka had been right, as he always seemed to be, and now it was too late for me to follow his advice.  

I only interviewed for a few teaching jobs but I lucked into this weirdly advertised job as a graphic artist for an embroidery company.  After a couple of years, I managed to turn that into a great paying job.  But designing for not-so-creative customers was not exactly thrilling.  It wasn't something that energized me and made me a better person.  This was not my place in the world.  It was simply, a job.  After another couple of years I found myself in Paul Martyka's studio back on campus talking about coming back to grad school for an MFA.  Only now can I appreciate how he must have felt having that conversation.  I'm sure he wanted to shake me and say, "You idiot!  Why didn't you listen to me years ago?  I could have saved you so much time and effort."

I've been teaching at the university level now for almost 15 years and in that role I've found myself on Martyka's end of those types of conversations.  With the aid of experience and "old people perspective" I can very often see where a student is headed either personally or professionally or both.  But most often, the student can't see it.  Even when they understand and logically they agree, they often can't bring themselves to follow the advice.

This is frustrating beyond explanation.  

And I'm not even talking about unsolicited advice.  Lord knows I give that on a daily basis.  I can't stop myself.  I see it, I say it.  I hear it's hereditary.  What I'm talking about here is someone coming to me and explaining a situation and asking for advice.  I assess the situation and factor in what I have figured out about that person and I provide guidance out loud.  Then the seeker ignores the advice.  

Sometimes I'm wrong.  It happens.  And when it turns out that I'm wrong, I don't sit around and marvel at the advice seeker ignoring my advice.  I'm just glad they did.  It only bothers me when I'm right.  

I've thought about Paul Martyka's advice recently.  What if I had taken it?  What would my life look like now?    

If I speculated, it would look a lot different.  In fact, I'm not sure that I would be in the wonderful place I am now if I had listened to him.  It's weird to think about it that way.  He was right, but I had to ignore his sound advice and accurate assessment of me in order to be where I am today.  I had to take the wrong turns in order to realize where I did not want to be.  I gained experience along the way that better prepared me for the day I got back on track.  

The five years of working as a graphic artist-turned-graphic designer not only showed me that I didn't want to work for customers, it also gave me a background and interest in typography, surface design and composition.  I also had five years of being a "semi-adult" which gave me some life experience to draw from conceptually.  Each of these Legos stacked up, one on top of the next until I was prepared for grad school.  

It's tough to be on the student end of these situations.  You're trying to figure out why you're in college - like, really why you're in college.  Not because it's expected or you were encouraged.  You're trying to figure out how what you've learned is going to be applicable in the years after college.  You're struggling with the youthful idea of rebellion against authority and the semi-adult idea of trusting respected sources of information.  And there's some part of you that just wants to just get a job and a mortgage and a family and try out being a real citizen.  

I'm realizing it's even tougher to be on the Martyka end of these situations.  You can see clear as day what path a student should take.  You can pull strings and send emails and open those doors for them.  You have been there already, you can stand in the path and tell them which direction is best.  And then you have to sit silently by and watch them ignore your advice.  You have to watch them struggle and stumble and fall.  

Eventually they'll learn and experience what they need and they'll have an epiphany.  It won't feel like an epiphany, but they'll start stacking up their own Legos one by one, each decision better than the last.  They may be back for advice or they may just find their own way.  It may take a couple of months.  Or a couple of years.  Or a lifetime.  And maybe they'll send an email so you can enjoy their success.  

But you'll keep giving advice because they keep asking.  And because that's a part of your place in this world.  And you'll realize how lucky you are to be able to give it.