Art...the aftermath

I recently had an art opening for an exhibit of my paintings. I arranged the show last September, and at the time, a late March opening seemed so far into the future. That was good though, it left enough time for me to amass the 16 or so pieces I'd need to fill the space, but was a reasonable amount of time that wouldn't have me slaving away at something that is supposed to be fun. And it was.

Starting in September of '06, I began sketching and writing, which is typically how I start my artwork. By December, my studio ready to go, several rough ideas for paintings, I had at it, holing myself away for a couple of hours here and there, blissfully painting away. Some days were more productive than others, which is to be expected. Some paintings were better than others too, but again, to be expected.

I kept painting and somewhere around early March I realized that I had to stop , sort through my work to select the pieces I wanted to show, and begin framing. So I did that, and framed and framed and cut myself, then framed some more. Typical really. Then as the opening neared, I took half a day off to set up, sent out postcards and emails to invite guests and helped prep for my "final friday". Then it was here, opening night, the usual wine and cheese and music and lots of friends, some family and some strangers. The place was quite full, I sold a few pieces and then just like that, it was over.

I've been reflecting on things since the opening a week and a half ago and I think I see a pattern. My normal job has several similarities to the artistic creative process, except for 2 things. 1, we're paid far more and 2, we have far less say in the desired outcome(the key reason for my love of painting is that no one tells me what to do nor how to do it). We speak to clients about projects, write proposals, strategize the path, design, review, test, design some more, and after weeks or months we deliver. Project complete.

What happens then is that you're sort of left there in a daze, wondering what's next? I've just spent the last several weeks of my lfe fully immersed into a project, everyday knowing what needed to be done next, then just like that it's finished. What do I do now?

I seem to experience that at work and at home and it makes me think how accurate a certain saying is, the one that goes...'it's not the destination, it's the journey'. Whoever wrote that was one insightful individual. The journey is always the best part. Even if it sucks, it's the best because it's usually the most memorable.

Take going on holiday as an example. You and your mates pile into a van for some crazy road trip with absolutely no plans of where you're going or staying. Not a worry to be had. Ultimately you'll end up somewhere that's ok, you'll drink, eat, sleep, maybe meet some girls, and then you'll pack the van back up and be on your way home. Years later you'll reminisce about how during that trip Jason had the worst gas and stank up the whole van, or when Tony got really slap-happy and was screaming the lyrics to Mr. Roboto, while also doing the robot. Even flat tires or accidentally running off the road and crashing the car can be nostalgic. It's because the journey is really the best part.

In contrast, Tuesday I was driving through northern Indiana to and from Chicago. If anyone has ever been to this god-forsaken region of the world, you know that it is quite possibly the worst 2.5 hours of your life you'll ever pass. It's long, flat and has no interesting scenery. To top it off you not only have redneck Indianans in their massive pick-up trucks and SUVs barelling up your boot, and the random stench of shit from the occasional pig farm, but there is also a stretch of something like 30 miles, where the trees in the median between the north and south highway lanes get really odd and creepy looking. Like something horrible happened here and the trees were the only witnesses, but cant have catharsis because they cant speak. They're kind of like what I imagine the trees in Chernobyl might look like. Just sort of off, you know?

In hindsight, the whole "enjoy the journey" bit doesn't really seem to apply to northern Indiana, but it does to most everything else you'd ever do. Especially any creative effort. The emotional experience of creating is unmatched and as I went down to my studio the other night to grab a bottle of wine I looked around at my own "aftermath" and it just looks so sad. I think I need to start a new journey.

The thing about parents...

As a designer and artist I (my work,actually) have, through education and practice, been subject to years of highly subjective, deeply critical and sometimes downright nasty commentary. By now, having suffered through that gauntlet of professors, clients and random passers by, I have grown a pretty thick skin. If you can't take some abuse (remember, it's aimed at the work, not you), you just shouldn't pursue a creatively focused career. Otherwise you'll end up like countless other creative types before you and just go fucking nuts, shooting your ashes out of a cannon, cutting off your ear or hopefully at least coming up with a more creative way "out".

For the past several years I seem to periodically go through a cycle where I need to feel creatively productive. This is due in large part to this most common of occurences. Guy goes to (insert type of schooling here), he gets really good at what he does, he gets a good job, works hard, management says 'heck, if he's that good on his own, maybe he can lead an army of his clones', guy then moves into management. Hopefully he gets good at that too, otherwise he gets canned. Remember, you can't get promoted back to what you were originally good at if it doesn't work out. So, what happens in this process is that eventually you are no longer doing what you love and instead you are trying to train monkeys to be like you. Not fun...mostly. To help you reconcile this, they give you bigger paychecks. That doesn't suck. The thing though is that there is a creative form of expression that's lost. I imagine it's kind of like making it big as a musician, where the charm that got you there is what they want to strip from you to make you appeal to a broader audience. My audience is small.

I was getting to a point, being the need to still have a creative outlet. Those last several years I was talking about, I have been (when motivated) painting. This isn't something that I do for long stretches of time. It sort of goes in waves, say like every 2 years I'll get in a groove for a few months and crank a bunch of stuff out. Then something in my house breaks or I get really busy or there's a sale at Barney's and I fall off the creative wagon. It's a bit manic, but longer term. I'd like to do this more often. Paint that is, not stop and start like some crappy tv you bought at a thrift store because it was a sweet deal. Now, if I had a benefactor or sugar mama I could have been a painter full time. Granted I'd get bored and take breaks from time to time, we are flaky us creative types, are we not? As it stands, I squeeze a few hours in here and there between errands, chores, socializing, etc. Seems though, when I finally get all the shitty work out of my system, I have to stop.

I come from a family of artist, designers and architects. We can take critcism well, but also like to give it. Anyway, a funny thing happened yesterday and it started something like this:

My dad, who is a brilliant man (an accomplished architect, urban planner and economist, not to mention a gifted artist to boot) came by to see the work I have been doing during my most recent period "on". I have a show coming up next month and I thought I could use the feedback. My studio is in my basement, so I brought a couple pieces upstairs for better lighting then took dad downstairs to see the rest of my work. We (more like he) probably spent about an hour all told going through each of 10 or 12 paintings. It started with the usual (but uncomfortable), "hmmmm". Then in detail, my dad with his still strong accent (even after 35 years), begins to critique my work to pieces. Being a proffesor , he's trained to inflict crushing blows with minimal effort. The overall feeling was a sort of 'better learn how to walk before you try to run'.

Funny thing is that after the weeks of my friends and my wife all saying that my work was great, I really just wanted a real opinion and some tough love frankly. You could say I asked for it.

What I find most interesting about yesterday's events though is that, at this point in my life and career, I can have my work (or anything else for that matter) torn to shreds and I'll just brush it off. For some reason though, and I imagine no matter how old you get, the criticism our parents give us always seems to sting a bit longer.