February 15, 2017
"I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence,' Toni Morrison wrote in her electrifying piece on the artist’s duty at times of crisis. That refusal can take many forms, but at its richest, it is more than mere resistance — it is, rather, a commitment on behalf of the artist to serve not only truth but beauty by remaining in contact with the timeless and the eternal; to fortify us against the urgencies of a turbulent present and embolden us to transcend our primal reflex of fear, so that we may lift not only our spirits but the whole of our consciousness and continue to evolve toward a more humane humanity. This has always been the duty of the artist, and fragments of it can be found in every single work of art that has endured and has helped humanity endure over millennia of tumult." -Brain Pickings
This sums up how I feel about making art in times of political and social turmoil. I feel morose about applying to galleries. It feels like a fantasy in which I’m avoiding the reality of getting a job (god knows what since I’ve made myself qualified to teach art or wait tables).
February 24, 2017
Simon Sinek says I need to express and sell the “Why” of my art. Why do I paint?
I feel it is important to paint the place I live. There are trends which people follow and I know them to be trends of conformity and acceptance based on the frequency of their prominence. A landscape is permissible if it has the underbelly of our consumption exposed or is all about the light.
I want to paint the poetry of the land I see. If there is any social commentary it will come with time and perspective. These dwindling towns painted in the dwindling light are just down the road from my bustling, rapidly growing home.
I paint because I have something to say and I say it through paint. I’m not trying to say anything new. I think the wordlessness of the clouds has more of a musical translation. I like the transience of light, the visible effect of time. It is reassuring to see past myself and my concerns to the rolling flesh of the land that will remain long past my gaze, that will dance for millennia with the sky, grasses whipped by rain, homes and lives built and abandoned. In the West the muscle of the land is clearly visible, softened by sage brush and golden toned grasses but visibly sculpted by the glaciers and the lack of rain. It is a land exposed. It is depopulating to the cities, leaving the diners almost empty and the imagination full of wonder. Who lived here and why? How do you hear yourself and your dreams under such an expanse of silence? This is the land I was born in and it speaks to my soul. If I cannot stare out at the ocean, the expanse of Montana, Idaho and Utah give my eyes room to see myself as a participant in this new version of the West. History will write it. I have no desire to assess and compare it, but I do want to be witness to the place and the time I live, to depict its transcendent beauty, its stubborn bones, its highways and byways.
I might paint its people as well. I might paint the ones who don’t fully fit in. There is room out here to be your varied self, to play music under bridges and dance naked in the desert. It is a land with room for the magical realism of eccentrics. Maynard Dixon painted his time. He painted a changing and disappearing world, yet I think he would recognize a lot of what remains, if he drove out past the sprawl, into the land. He would see the same plateaus, sage and high arrogant clouds passing over the land. The truth is neither exclusively beautiful nor exclusively dark. It is in the balance somewhere and that balance is tipped depending on the moment in time. Some moments are stunning beyond expression, some darker than it feels possible to comprehend. I want to paint an honest beauty, one that I witnessed. There is enough candy coated imagery out there, the pop music of pretty. It is shallow and temporary. There is nothing shallow and temporary about a voice that can hit all the notes with a resonance of honey that forces you to remember that this level of perfection cannot last, but for this moment it is a part of your world. It is worth the pain and suffering of our lives to experience these moments, and these moments are distilled in art. These moments, these qualities are what life is worth.
March 1, 2017
The mix of contemporary and traditional resonates with my artistic intention. I believe representational art can have a great depth of meaning beyond and including the observation and recreation of that which is depicted. It becomes a curated moment, when you choose to spend thirty hours on an image. It says a lot about the artist. How thoughtful are they? How serious are they? How much respect do they give to the decision of what to paint? I overthink it constantly. What do my painting choices say about me? What do they pass along to posterity? I think there is a lot of responsibility in our choice of subject and how we depict it. There can be a difference between consumption and connection. Consumption has less value.
If you can respect the artist’s choices of what and why to paint the things they do, then you will start to look at the work, to read the content for an intention, a feeling, a connection, a wordless dialogue between the artist and the subject. My favorite is a balance between the grand statement and the personal love.
Art about global warming or glaciers melting is a grand statement, except that Zaria Forman seems obsessed with glaciers. I hope that is the case and it isn’t a form of posturing. I am obsessed with the sky. It is the counter weight of my life. It is an ongoing and epic concert reminding me of the greater truths of life. Everything on the land must bend and change with time, must withstand the wind and rain, must live each moment. It is hard to remember to live each moment. It is hard not to strain and lust after the brighter future one has conjured. And the sky doesn’t care. It is impervious to my small existence.
I’m trying to convey my “why”. I do think it will help me stand out beyond the work. Why do I do it? It makes a difference if you are a robot or a driven, obsessed artist and that comes from a little knowledge of who made the work and why.