sharing secrets

Several months ago, I was invited to have a solo exhibit at The Arts Council of York County in Rock Hill, SC.  This was significant to me because of my history with Rock Hill.  I always say yes, so I said yes and began planning the exhibit.  Devann, the Gallery Manager, was really great to work with and she helped get everything approved and organized so that the show could be what I wanted and what would serve the community best.  When the time came to load up artwork and install the show, I was very busy but also very excited.  

The semester of classes had just ended and I had a couple of other art happenings going on.  My mind was in a million places as I drove into Rock Hill on a Sunday morning and as soon as I could see the Winthrop water tower, nostalgia kicked the door open and started flooding my brain with memories.  

I went to Winthrop in the fall of 1990 as an undergrad art student.  I graduated in 1994 and left town.  Then, in early 1999, I drove back into town to meet with one of my mentor professors to talk about grad school.  I enrolled in a class to get back into the groove in the fall and then was formally admitted into the MFA program in January 2000.  I worked full time in Spartanburg and commuted through grad school.  I graduated in spring of 2023 and continued teaching adjunct for the next 7 years.  That spanned a lot of trips into Rock Hill and seeing that water tower when I was close to campus.  

Devann helped me unload the artwork and within a couple of hours, I was drawing on the walls.  One of the first things I drew involved a valentine style heart and I can’t think of hearts without thinking of the late Paul Martyka.  Mr. Martyka was my 2D Design professor in my very first semester and what a wake-up call that was.  He was the most challenging and enigmatic professor and a real art and design legend at Winthrop.  Even today, you say the name “Martyka” and you’ll get a strong response either positively or negatively.  

Mr. Martyka was a great teacher and he wisely told us to never draw hearts.  Also, no stars and no glitter, though I may have just added the glitter part when I became a professor.  I genuinely think he would have decapitated you if you used glitter in his class.  So I drew the heart and immediately thought of him.  I wondered if he would appreciate my use of hearts, stars and glitter in this body of work.  (As a side note, there is glitter in this exhibit and you get bonus points if you can find it.)

I can’t think of Mr. Martyka without thinking about a moment I shared with him on my trip back in 1999 to talk about the possibility of going to grad school.  We met officially and he gave me advice.  Then we adjourned for coffee at a local shop and he suddenly became very human.  In a moment that I still don’t quite comprehend, he lowered his guard enough to share a very personal story with me about his recent loss of a young granddaughter.  It was a heartbreaking story of her untimely death followed by an eerie moment of him discovering a blooming violet in the middle of his yard under a pile of leaves.  The violet was the granddaughter’s favorite flower and he told me he knew this was a message from her indicating that she was at peace and that he could let her go.  

I was stunned by the magnitude of such a powerful story being shared by a man who shared absolutely NO personal information with his students when I was in undergrad.  This was a moment I would recount in my head for years as I learned more and more about loss and love and grief.  It was a story that immediately came to mind when I thought of him while drawing on that wall.  

When I do murals like this in exhibits, I have no preconceived plans about what I will draw.  I take my sketchbook and I allow myself to be inspired by the artwork and the place.  Without hesitation, I began to draw an animated skeleton, a ghost, a heart, and a violet in bloom.  This was my head nod to Mr. Martyka.  I hope he would be proud of me.  

During my freshman year, Tom Stanley was introduced to me as the Gallery Director at Winthrop and he was a frequent guest speaker in our Art Education classes.  His wife, Kathe was one of the great local K-12 art teachers and Tom was a great speaker.  When I came back for grad school, Tom was still doing the gallery job and soon he took over as Department Chair.  He kept hiring me back as an adjunct and was kind enough to promote me to other universities when they were looking for full time professors.  Tom recommended me for the job I have now and I have no doubt, I was considered because of him.  

After I went to Lander full time, Tom continued to support me in various ways.  He was very generous in donating several of his extremely wonderful paintings to Lander in recent years and just last summer, he and Kathe surprised me by coming to a public art event reception to see me.  

My undergrad roommate, Chad and I skipped class one day and took a daytrip to Asheville back when we were in school.  We looked at a bunch of art and in one of the hip galleries, we saw a painting by Tom.  This was the first time I really thought about my professors and mentors being real artists and what that meant.  I was so proud to find Tom’s artwork in the real world.  When we walked the halls of the Art building at night, you’d most likely see Tom working on paintings in the hallway.  His office was small and dominated by a very cool (at the moment) transparent Apple computer and a collection of folk art.  When he painted, he often spilled over into the hallway.  Eventually he started using the hallway as his studio where he would paint themes of architecture and ships.  

When I think of Winthrop, I think of Tom.  He had to be a part of my nostalgia trip to Rock Hill for this exhibit.  This ship/house is my figurative high five to him.

When I went back to school in 1999, my first semester back was Shaun Cassidy’s first semester in town.  He was the new sculpture professor.  He was British, he was funny, he yelled a lot and he was great.  I learned so much about teaching from him.  I was really fortunate to have a great undergrad sculpture professor and a great graduate sculpture professor.  

One of the best things about Shaun was that he was such an active art maker.  He was ALWAYS working.  When he wasn’t making 3D things, he was making hundreds of 2D things.  When I graduated, we agreed to trade artwork.  I gave him one of my favorite sculptures and I got a very cool framed 2D work from him.  He was always experimenting and he had discovered a way of putting many coats of paint on a piece of paper, placing that paper over an object and then sanding away the layers of paint to reveal a ghost of an image of the object.  The one I got was called “Mr. Rabbit”, as it was a sanding/rubbing of a stuffed rabbit toy.  My nod to Shaun is my own version of Mr. Rabbit.

One of the only times I drove back to Rock Hill since I stopped teaching there was for Alf Ward’s celebration service. Alf was also legendary but not just in Winthrop lore.  There’s a full post about him somewhere on this blog if you search his name.  If you don’t want to bother, just know that Alf was also British and that in his lifetime he counted several Rolling Stones, Steve Winwood and Christine McVie as personal friends.  (If you’re young, you should Google those names.)  Alf was Department Chair when I was in undergrad and he continued to teach his mastery of metals to generations of students long after I departed with both degrees.  You know how you can remember specific words spoken by someone for many years after the moment has passed?  One of my high points in life was when Alf complimented my steel sculpture in a faculty exhibit when I was teaching.  The king of metals liked my metal sculpture.  There was no higher praise.  I was elated.  

During one of several talks I got to hear Alf give, he told stories of enduring German air raids as a child.  He told us about the characters Punch and Judy and their symbolic life now among his paintings.  At his celebration service, one of his paintings had been reproduced as the card for the event.  The painting featured Punch and a little lamb wearing a pointed hat.  That image became very important to me.  Not only have I referenced Punch in one of my ink drawings in this exhibit, I also wanted to include the hat wearing lamb in the mural.  That one is for you, Alf.  Thanks for the compliment.  

I mentioned Devann already.  I met Devann for the first time on that Sunday for installation but because we both earned our MFAs from Winthrop, she felt very familiar to me immediately.  I joke that this is “trauma-bonding”.  All of the gallery people were encouraging as I drew on the walls and I can’t begin to tell you how important that is.  I wouldn’t want people to know this, but an artist can feel very insecure doing an installation like this.  I’m drawing with no plan, no pencil lines and absolutely no guarantee that it will look right.  Every mark is public and terrifying.  The encouragement is so helpful and Devann was a constant source of positivity.  She would walk through the gallery and smile or laugh and say something nice.  On one of her passes, she joked that I could draw her and her crazy hair.  I hadn’t noticed any crazy hair, but I instantly began planning to include her.  I let my mind run with some fun ideas for a while and soon I found a perfect spot.  The cool bird with “crazy” hair is my head nod to my new friend Devann.  (She was also fond of the tooth image.)

It was during my third year of undergrad at Winthrop that I took my first Sculpture class.  Up to that point, I was focused on 2D art.  I loved to draw.  I got to have Marge Moody as my Drawing 1 professor and she taught and encouraged me well.  When she included one of my drawings in a student show, I knew I was going to be a drawing person forever.  Then I walked into the Sculpture studio and felt like I was in a cleaner version of my dad’s shop.  I felt at home but I also already knew how to work all of the equipment.  What I did not know is that I was now a sculptor, too.  

Mary Mintich was the Sculpture professor and she was also a bit of a legend.  She was a very small, very quiet lady who wore fun socks with Birkenstock sandals every single day.  She loved to tell stories and she had a very old fashioned way of teaching with words more than with actions.  She could explain things to you in several different ways until it clicked in your head.  As I was a young student just discovering that my professors were basically famous artists, I started to notice their artwork.  Mary’s work was always larger than her.  She combined things like fine metals and resin to combine minimalist geometry with organic imagery.  It was so good.  I would make excuses to go to her office to look around at her work stored in the room.  

Space is always an issue for sculptors and Mary had a sculpture in the hallway just outside her office for many years.  It took me a while to realize it was created by her, but it stood guard in the hallway for the four years I was there and probably many years before and after.  I would love to know where it is today.  The sculpture was a tall pyramid with a mirror finish front.  Near the top was a metallic resin cloud intersecting the pyramid.  It was beautiful and elegant.  I have recently discovered some significance related to this sculpture that will likely result in its own post.  Until then, this sketch of her sculpture is my nod of respect to her.

One of the obstacles to planning an installation like this is finding a free place to stay for several days.  I’ve had hotels put me up in return for some social media publicity.  I’ve had inns and B&Bs put me up as a donation to the exhibition space.  A school was kind enough to put me up in their special alumni housing.  This time, one of the arts supporters in town offered to allow me to use their bonus apartment for the week.  At the end of the first day of installation, I met Gale and Henry and one of their cats.  They let me in their house and offered me food, tea, coffee and anything else I might need.  They stocked the apartment with water, orange juice and cinnamon rolls.  They led me to the apartment and made sure I knew where everything was and gave me a key.  They were so much more hospitable than a hotel.  Gale also had a Winthrop connection.  She worked at the Ida Jane Dacus Library on campus, partially during the time I was there as a student.  

They were so kind and loving to me, they had to have a drawing too.  I have now forgotten the cat’s name twice but he was a cute cat sleeping under the dining room table when I visited and he was very important to Gale and Henry.  He had successfully endured chemotherapy and he paid me absolutely no attention at all.  He fit perfectly with the mural imagery.  Those of you who know me, know I don’t draw cats.  I do, however, make exceptions for special people.  The cat dreaming of a mouse is my thank you to Gale and Henry for their immense kindness.

Kevin was in a stacked Sculpture class with me.  He was in undergrad when I was in a grad class.  I remember his sense of humor and I liked him a lot.  He made a giant Lego piece that I can still picture in my memory.  I’ve kept up with him in the years since he graduated.  He’s now married to a professor at Winthrop and he spent years working at a sculpture supply warehouse.  A while back I ordered some casting materials for my students and when he packed the box, he included an original drawing that I still have in my office.  

We joke with each other on Instagram sometimes and back during quarantine, I started giving him a hard time about some flower imagery related to Georgia O’Keeffe.  We goofed back and forth about it while trying not to go crazy during the pandemic.  As I was drawing and thinking about my connections in Rock Hill, I just had to draw Kevin an iris.  That one under the dinosaur is all yours, Kevin.  *blows kiss*

During our last couple of years of undergrad, our friend Stan moved in with my original roommate, Chad and me.  We upgraded our apartment and also upgraded our ridiculous antics.  We built a life size paper-mâché cow in our kitchen.  We started painting all over Chad’s truck and made it a work of art.  

Stan and I started running at night from our apartment, across the adjacent neighborhood and around Winthrop Lake.  It was a 5 mile trek and we did it 5 nights each week.  Each run was a talk session as we decompressed, made jokes and talked about ridiculous things.  Stan’s great aunt was the source of a lot of funny stories.  She was very, very old and because of her health, she was being cared for by family.  One story featured her eating from a bowl of decorative plastic fruit.  She ate some fake grapes.  

She was such an enigmatic figure for me from Stan’s stories, I decided to create a drawing based on her and it hung in our apartment, then in my first house, and now in my school office.  Aunt Gene’s fake grapes live on in this exhibit and one of the grapes is wearing Stan’s trademark glasses.  

So that’s, what, nine of the images from the exhibit explained?  It’s just a small sampling of the imagery in the show from the murals and also in the drawings and sculptures.  Does everything have a deep meaning like these?  Maybe.  The fun thing for me is that none of the images have a singular meaning.  Everything can be interpreted multiple ways and that’s the joy of it all.  You don’t have to know the scoop to be able to enjoy the narratives.  I do hope you’ll visit the exhibit before it ends on June 7.  I can almost guarantee you’ll leave in a good mood.  

the numbers are in

As I type, there’s still a week left in 2023 but all of the art places are closed for the Holidays and the only outstanding entries I have left are scheduled to notify in January.  It looks like the working year is over so let’s have a closer look at the numbers.

25 rejections compared to 12 acceptances.  That’s at least the starting point but since you can use numbers and data to say anything you want, I’d like to look at the entire picture so that I’m not misleading in any way.

First, does this mean I applied to 37 shows/opportunities this year?  No.  The number is actually a little higher, but some notifications will not come until the new year so they will not be counted on the 2023 list.  But still, that’s a lot of applications.  And if you consider that 90% of them had an entry fee of $25-$45, that’s around $1,000 spent just on entering shows, so it’s a lot of applications and it’s a lot of money.  

Second, what kind of applications are we talking about here?  Many were applications to national level juried exhibits.  These charge $35-$45 and allow you to enter 2-3 works of art for consideration.  This generally involves uploading digital images of the artwork along with an artist statement, bio and a CV.  On the best sites, this will take 15 minutes, including paying by card.  On the worst sites, it may take an hour.  I appreciate galleries and museums who use CallForEntry.org or Slideroom.  Some applications were for solo exhibitions or for grants/fellowships.  These take a little more time as they have to be customized for each venue and for each unique set of requirements.  If you have your stuff together, you can do this in an hour

Third, does this mean I was in 12 shows this year?  No.  Some of the things I was accepted into will occur on the 2024 calendar year.  I think one was even for 2025.  

Fourth, am I sad?  Quite the opposite actually.  When I posted a new rejection throughout the year, many of my kind friends would send a sad face or express disgust with anyone who would reject me.  That was super nice of them but I wasn’t really sad.  At least not 5 minutes after the rejection.  Actually, that’s not totally true for all of them.  It did burn extra bad to get rejected from the Winthrop Alumni show.  I was not a scrub when I was there and I’ve been pretty successful since leaving, so I thought I had a good shot at getting in.  I totally did the comparison thing when I saw what was accepted and I judged things harshly, but I got over it.  It just took more than 5 minutes.  Either way, going 12 for 25 on the year is pretty amazing.  I had a lot to be grateful for in the art world.  

Fifth, should I explain that more?  Yes, I should.  Any artist applying for exhibits and opportunities should expect a lot of rejection.  It is part of the daily life of an artist.  I teach my students to expect a 90% rejection rate.  Apply for 10 shows and expect to get in 1.  Some artists I know don’t even get that.  This is just getting into a show, we’re not even talking about any awards.  I know many artists who have never won an award of any sort.  I think I got some sort of merit award this year, so 12 letters of acceptance and an award?  That’s great.  Well above the expectation.  If you apply to 10 shows and get accepted once, you should feel really good about yourself.  Anything above that 10% is a bonus.  

Sixth, what’s hidden by these numbers?  When I started the list at the beginning of the year, I thought it would be accurate to track just rejections and acceptances.  My assumption was that I would apply for all the things and just keep track of the notifications.  I did that and did it well.  The thing I didn’t really plan for was how to track things that just happened without me applying.  This isn’t a thing that happens regularly, but from time to time, someone will have an open exhibition date or be trying to fill a calendar and they’ll contact an artist to see if they’re interested in showing.  Since I didn’t know to track this, I didn’t write it down and at my age, the brain is pretty full so unless I know it’s important, we just discard those memories immediately.  A few months ago I could remember between 5 and 7 things like this happening through the year.  Some of these events occurred this year and some will happen in upcoming years.  At this point, there may have been 10 or so of these things that just happened to me without applying for anything.  So there’s a lot more success than what shows up on paper.  These are more reasons to not be sad.  

There’s also artwork sales to consider.  I’ve sold a decent amount of things this year which means that someone liked my work well enough to invest in it and to live with it on a daily basis.  I probably don’t even think about this enough, but if you consider that someone chooses to wake up and see your work in their home every day, that’s sort of a big deal.  

The other consideration is positive comments.  This is also something I probably don’t think about enough, but sometimes people say really nice, encouraging things.  This year, I was told I was “brilliant”, “amazing”, “extraordinary” and “crazy” and I think they meant crazy in a good way.  Several people told me in passing that they loved my work or that they were “fans”.  Sure, you could argue that some of these are just happy talk but remember, if you believe the bad, you have to believe the good too.  I definitely let the bad comments linger, so I need to let the good ones linger too.  All of these things make the rejections a tiny bit better.

Seventh, is it painful to be rejected 25 times?  Of course.  It always stings.  In the moment, I feel judged as a failure.  For that 5 minutes, I feel that my art is not good and that everyone hates me.  Luckily, the old man brain helps me forget things quickly so after 5 minutes, I’m usually good.  If you’re wondering if it gets any easier, I don’t think it does.  You get better at dealing with it, but a no is always a no.  

So there’s that.  If you’re an artist, you get it.  If not, I appreciate you reading this to understand better.  Many people think that artists just live this romantic life of doing what they want to do all day.  I don’t know a single artist who does that.  Most people outside of art never have to consider what it’s like to make something with all your heart and to immediately have that thing judged as good or bad, worthy or unworthy.  It’s tough out here for a thug.  Artin’ ain’t easy.

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.

avett things

 I've been listening to the Avett Brothers for a long time.  G and I saw them live for the first time eons ago at The Handlebar in Greenville, SC.  Langhorne Slim opened for them and we were hooked on both bands since.  In those early days, I had a cool email conversation with Scott Avett about some things we had in common.  Both our dads were welders.  Now the Avetts are famous and I think Saturday Night Live is the only late night show they haven't been on.  

One of the cool things about the Scott and Seth Avett is that they are both also visual artists.  Scott, in particular, is an exceptional printmaker and painter.  Here are a few examples of his paintings swiped from Instagram...

During an artist talk at Soco Gallery in Charlotte, NC a few weeks ago, Scott gave some really honest and interesting answers to questions posed by the host and by the audience.  I was able to listen to a live stream and I was interested enough in some of the ideas he discussed that I wanted to remember them.  File this under "selfish post"...you're welcome to read it but I admit it's mostly for me.

Speaking about portrait painting, Scott said that portraits of others are really just self portraits.  This felt true to me.  I rely on models and photos of people in various poses when I lay out my drawings on wood.  These references are rarely chosen because of who they are.  They are often chosen for the pose of the body, because they fit the compositional need or because they just feel important to me...but almost always, they are referencing some part of me.  Sounds selfish, but it's true.

Answering a question about spiritual content in his work, Scott said "It's all spiritual."  I'm not sure you can ever separate the spiritual from the artwork.  There is something at the very core of creating that is spiritually connected.  This is not really a religious thing, just an indication that there is something more than the visible at work in visual art.

"Fall on canvas"...when asked about how much preliminary sketching and studies he does for a painting, Scott indicated that he does very little planning before getting in front of the canvas.  He said he always wants to get to work and learn from the composition as he goes.  He said it was important for him to be able to fall on canvas, to make mistakes and learn from them during the creation of the work of art.  

He also said that he was working on an album with another of my favorite musicians, Eef Barzelay.  I'm pretty excited about that too.

I'm closing my computer now and going back on fall break.