"don't cross the streams"

I made this ridiculously heavy sculpture in grad school.  I made it in my dad's welding shop an hour and a half away from campus where it was to be installed.  I wondered how I was going to get it there and pick it up to anchor it into the ground and my dad said he'd just throw it on the big trailer along with the fork lift and we'd drive it over.  Then we'd have the fork lift there to lift it up.  Easy.  Or easy if you happen to have access to a big trailer and a fork lift.  (Re-reading that makes me smile realizing just how awesome my dad was.)

We drove up onto the front lawn of the well-manicured university.  We unloaded the fork lift, then the sculpture and had it installed in minutes.  This was all normal.  All my life I had been doing things like this with my dad.  I had been driving a fork lift for many years, just not on my college campus.  So while it was normal activity, it was not the normal setting for the activity.  And when my sculpture professor walked out to see the sculpture, it started to feel weird.  I introduced my dad to my professor.  They shared a couple of words.  I honestly couldn't get out of there fast enough.  

It took several years for me to understand this feeling.  I loved my dad and was proud of him.  I liked and respected my professor.  They both said nice things to each other about me.  But it was weird.  It was like in Ghostbusters when they keep saying all through the movie that you have to make sure you keep the two streams separated.  Never let them cross.  "It would be bad", Venkman said.    

This happened to one of my students recently and in conversation it sort of came up.  This time I was the professor in the equation but I could totally understand the student's perspective.  You move away and you have these two lives.  Your home life with your family and friends and your school life with your school people.  You decide when to leave one and go exist in the other.  It's weird when the two mix.  

As a professor, particularly a professor with a commute, this is still a thing I deal with from time to time.  I have a life at home with my people on nights and weekends.  And a totally separate life with my other people during the school day.  Text messages are pretty much the only way those two mix on a daily basis.  And that's a very controlled mixing. 

This time of each semester, my home family gets the short end of the stick.  On Sculpture Deathmatch day, I was at school from 8am to 11pm on a Saturday.  Blue had to attend the Film Festival that night, and he wanted to attend the workshops during the day as well.  This created an opportunity for the streams to cross.  From 10am until the after party, G, Blue and Violet were on or around campus.  During part of that time, one or all of them were in the studio hanging out.  I'm betting that seemed weird to some of the students.  I got a kick out of Nick showing me a text message from his friend Amber.  Everyone calls me "McAbee" and since they never have to address G in normal life...when the streams cross there's an awkward pause as they try to figure out what to call her.  Nick had respectfully referred to her as "Mrs. McAbee" in the text and Amber's response was laughter.  I get it.  It's weird.  G would have accepted "Mrs. McAbee" but only grudgingly.  She says it makes her feel old and she prefers Georgie.  But then that's weird for students who think the first name doesn't show respect.  

There have been other ways recently when the streams have crossed in one direction or the other.  A student was present recently when Violet and I got out of a car and walked down a street.  Violet's natural movement when walking beside me is to grab my hand and hold it as we walk.  To see the loud, skull-loving sculpture professor holding hands with his adorable daughter must have been a lot to process.  

My sculpture professor mentioned above, my mentor, was a loud, strong British guy.  He had a big presence.  On good days he'd commend you and tell you to get back to work and do even more.  On bad days he'd shout and maybe curse a little and tell you to get back to work and do even more...but he'd do it with that cool accent that made it sound better and worse all at once.  While I was in grad school, he and his wife had a daughter and the first time I saw her toddling around campus with him chasing after her, it was a life altering experience.  His voice was soft.  He was happy.  He was a dad.  It changed how I saw him as a human.  It also changed how I considered the things he said.  He was no longer just a teacher shouting instructions.  He was a human who knew things that I didn't know and he cared about me enough to yell at me so I didn't screw up.  

At the end of Ghostbusters, it turns out that crossing the streams is the solution to a very big, very marshmallowy problem.  It's not comfortable to cross the streams, but nothing worthwhile is ever comfortable, right?  Maybe it's good for teachers to see their students' other lives.  To see where they came from, what produced them.  To let professors tell parents how intelligent and talented their kids are.  And maybe it's good for students to see their teachers as humans with wives and husbands and kids and dogs and fish.  And for families to see the room full of lives their teacher-family member has the opportunity to impact in some small way.  Maybe it helps them understand the investment of time.  Or the sacrifice of time on their part. 

If you're a student, I'd suggest if you find yourself in such a position, that you address the kids, dogs and fish by their first names.  Maybe use a Mr. or Mrs. with the spouse and let them tell you what they're comfortable with.  If you ever run into my wife, she prefers Georgie.  I'm sure she's heard stories about you. 

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.

my brain is mushy

I've got critique brain.

If you don't teach studio art classes at the college level, that may not mean much to you.  What I mean is, in the last 24 hours I've critically analyzed and thoroughly discussed 30 projects in a critique setting.  

Critiques are fearsome events.  Students dread them for weeks.  This is the time when an art student turns in a project they've worked on for many weeks.  They've invested blood, sweat and tears to create what they hope is their newest masterpiece.  Then we gather as a class and look at each project one at a time.  The student artist will explain what they've done and how they've used the elements and principles of design to create an effective composition.  This is the manipulation of space that causes the viewer to want to look at the work of art.  The behind the scenes magic that designers use to influence your actions on large and small scales.  Once the design is presented, the group then provides feedback and analysis, breaking down each and every part of the design.  They make judgments based on visual evidence and suggest ways to make the designs more effective.  If there's a conceptual problem involved, the success or failure to communicate the concept is also discussed at length.  When all of the formal and conceptual qualities have been sufficiently analyzed and discussed, we move on to the next student's work.  

This can be a treacherous process for students.  After spending so much time creating your design, it can be difficult to separate yourself from the work of art.  Any negative comment about the work can sting on a personal level.  There can be frustration, anger and many, many tears.  Sometimes a student will be overcome with emotion and quietly leave the room in order to shed their tears in the privacy of the hallway or the bathroom.  Less often, the tears fall on the studio floor.  On the really interesting days, students can become offended and lash out at each other's artwork in personal ways.  While this act can be funny to me, I do try to stomp out those flames when they appear as this is not a helpful or professional characteristic of critique. 

The student is not completely off the hook after presenting their design and emotionally surviving the feedback.  Students are also expected to provide analysis and feedback to their peers.  Some offer more observations and feedback than others and their critique grades will reflect this participation.  


However frightful and energy depleting this may be for the students, I will argue that the teachers must give even more energy to the process. 

Let's take a second.  All my students just slammed their laptops down, tossed their phones across the room and whispered an obscenity as they left.

If you're still here, consider the plight of the studio art teacher in this process.  There's the obvious participation in the critique, of course.  We stand there in front of the work and break it down into the most basic components just like the students do.  We follow along, trying to understand each perspective offered and each suggestion, fact checking as we go in case someone is off base.  If so, we offer correction and keep things moving.  Then, when the students are finished talking about an individual work of art, the teacher speaks up to offer the more definitive feedback.  We take all the evidence into consideration and more or less offer a judgment for or against the work of art.  Then, taking it further, we may offer observation and feedback on the student's work ethic, attitude or potential...all things we've carefully observed and even more carefully worded right there on the spot.  At the end of the critique of the first student's artwork, the teacher's brain is warmed up and working just like everyone else's in the room.  

Then we do it again and again until the entire class has been properly critiqued.  That's what the students see.  When class is over I get the feeling they assume we retire to a teachers' lounge ensconced in velvet and drink champagne from our "best teacher ever" coffee mugs.

But they missed a few things.  What they didn't see was how carefully the teacher was also observing students and listening to comments during the critique.  See, those have to be graded, so the teacher has to be paying close attention and perhaps even making notes about each student.  And then instead of retiring to the posh teachers' lounge, we instead walk fast to our offices and answer 40 emailed questions, prepare for the 3 faculty meetings we have that week and when we get home after dark, we kiss our kids goodnight, eat a pop-tart over our computer while we enter grades and grade comments for each student's artwork.  Then we enter grades and grade comments for each student's participation in critique.  In a class of 12 students (the capacity for a space hogging 3D studio) that can take a few hours if you rush.  I currently have 3 classes of the same subject, so after doing this on a Monday, I get to do it again with even more students on a Tuesday.  This semester, my student total for this particular course is 31.  So for every one critique a student must suffer through, the teacher must do that 30 more times.  Then those next two classes must be graded as before and you know those students are going to expect that their grades be ready for them to question the next time class meets, right?  So you go home and yell at the dogs for barking and close the door to your studio so you cant hear the kids playing video games and you get it done.

Of course I can hear the scoffing of the lecture oriented professors from here.  "31 students?  Oh please, I have more than 31 students in each of my 4 or 5 classes!"  That's true but also misleading.  Because you spend 2 or 2.5 hours with those students each week.  I spend 6 hours face to face with my students in the studio each week.  And don't get me started about your little Scantron tests that are graded by a computer for you.  Or maybe you are really classy and you require essay questions on your tests.  That's cute.  You read those and check for accuracy and understanding.  We mentally and emotionally wrestle with each student in critique in order to figure out how to inspire and motivate each one on an individual level.  Really though, I only mock you out of respect.  I know you work hard in your teaching and grading as well.  I just have to take crap from people who still think all we do is sit around and draw little pictures, so I'm a little sensitive.  

My point is only that at the end of a critique/grading cycle I've solved more difficult problems than any one person should have to solve in a year.  I've had to think fast on my feet and come up with some really impressive ideas - ideas I've given over to a student and I'll never get to use for myself!  My brain feels like a wet sock that squishes water inside a shoe with every step you take.  


In spite of this small complaint and my slightly mushy brain, teaching is still the best job ever.  In some weird way, I get energized by the whole process.  I love critiques and how they can be the most effective ways to teach certain things to students.  I love watching students change their behavior in a critique and learn to really dig in and see all the mechanics at work in a design.  I love having them in a critique years later and hearing them still use some of the same language I helped to teach them.  I love it when they email me after 12 years and tell me they still hear my voice repeating critique lines.  I love being a small part of what they become.



But again, my brain is tired.  I'm not even sure those were complete sentences up there.