When I started this blog a few years ago, I wrote a series of myths about being an artist. They come from a presentation I gave to people who want to be artists, but are held back by many of the common misconceptions on what that entails. For example, you don't necessarily have to starve in a garrett. Most people avoid pursuing their art because the fear of starving holds them back. Although, curiously, this life seems to hold some attraction for many teens.... In fact, I just realize I still have half a dozen myths to go. More on this to come, then.
At any rate, I consider these "major myths" about artists.
Today I'm sharing what you might call a "minor myth" about artists. It's the myth that artists don't care what you think about their work.
There are many artists who really do act like they don't give a damn. I've met them. I'm sure you have, too. You look at their work and look at them. They are usually NOT looking at you. They are fiercely gazing somewhere at a point on the horizon, no doubt thinking gravely about their next magnum opus.
You offer a comment and receive a gruff response instead. Or no response. I once asked a craftsman at a fine craft show if his sculptures were painted wood or tin. He glared at me—and stalked away. I couldn't figure for the life of me what I'd said that was so insulting. He didn't have a single damn sign up in his booth telling about the work, and I didn't think he'd want me touching them. I guess mental telepathy was to be used. (In hindsight, maybe I could have SMELLED them...)
Or you may ask them what the piece is about, and they sniff, "My work speaks for itself." At which point I sometimes ask if they'd be willing to translate.
What you need to know is we DO care what you think. We care very much what you think.
We're just afraid you're going to tell us.
Bottom line--we want you to love it. And it's so, so hard to hear if you don't.
This need to have our work loved is so powerful, I hate to share it with you. Because it's a terrible weapon of knowledge in the wrong hands.
I don't mean we'll necessarily change it if you don't love it. We have our integrity after all.
Bwahahahahahahaha.
No, seriously. What we are willing to change in order for you to like will vary for every artist. There's the artist that will not add a single dot to please you, and there's the artist that will make it in pink, or blue, or puce, if that will make you happy enough to buy it. That's a matter of how wedded an artist is to his artistic vision, and how flexible/encompassing that vision is. Purely a personal and aesthetic thing. I am happy to make that necklace for you in browns and blacks only, but personally will not make a Lascaux cave kitty artifact. But I'm happy to refer you to another artist who does cats.
I'm talking about when we've spent hours in our studios making something, working feverishly to get just the right affect we're after, when we've put together just the right beads or achieved the perfect composition on the canvas, or created a wildly beautiful new image, and now it's time to bring it out into the world. We can't wait to show it to someone. Someone, hopefully, we love and trust, who will gaze on it admiringly and say slowly,
"It's BEAUTIFUL! Tell me more about it."
I think I could sit all day and listen to people tell me how much they love my work. I do not think I'm unusual as an artist in this regard either.
It's one reason my friend Lee the artist comes to my studio every Friday morning for coffee. He can't wait to tell me about his latest work, or drag me back to HIS studio to admire it.
And it's why I look forward to his visit so much. Can't wait to show him what I'VE been working on.
Recently, I did a commissioned piece for local art patrons John and Judy Rogers, owners of the Prime Roast coffee shop here in Keene. They asked about a dozen of their regular customers who are artists, to create a special table for their store. You can see most of the finished art tables at their store. When the series is complete, they will be available for viewing on-line.
I finished the table about a month ago. In fact, this is the table for which I sliced two tips of my fingers. You might say my very lifeblood went into this table.
I did a sort of "faux museum exhibit". I made all kinds of artifacts with coffee beans, created imaginary coffee lore, invented a tongue-in-cheek history of coffee. With enough real beans, lore and history thrown in to keep you guessing. I hoped it would be funny, delightful, whimsical.
I was so excited I invited the Rogers over to see it the minute I was done. Never occurred to me they might be working. Or busy. I just wanted them to see it, NOW. They understood. (They have a son who is an artist.) They came over an hour later. They oohed and ahhed gratifyingly.
I think I've been back in to visit the table twice a week since it's been installed in the store. I've taken friends in. Sometimes we ask people sitting at the table if they can move their cinnamon roll so we can take another peek at it. We wait til Judy isn't looking when we do this.
And when Judy says, "People just LOVE your table!" I shuffle my feet and do the mumbled "aw, shucks" thing. But inside I'm humming with joy.
But the world is not kind to artists. Human beings are creatures of opinion, and we have a lot of them—on everything. Even art. Even art we really do know nothing about, and especially the art made by people whose dreams and aspirations we know nothing about. It is SO EASY to criticize what someone has made. It's harder to dig a little deeper and learn WHY they made it this way instead of that way, why they used THIS color instead of THAT color.
Because, in the end, it isn't about what an artist makes. It's about the story, the song, the poem in their heart that has to come out, that has to be shared with the world. It's their own personal vision that is to be shared, to be given. It may only appeal to one person in a thousand, or even a million. In other words, it may not appeal to YOU. But it may mean the world to that tiny, special audience.
Do your part to contribute to the creative energy of the universe.
The next time someone shows you their latest creation, be enthusiastic if you love it. If you don't, be gentle. Be kind. Especially if you love them. Try saying, "I really, really like what you're doing here. And this, THIS is lovely! I think this little part could be...I dunno. What do YOU think?" Make it a conversation, a give and take.
And Lord love 'em for having the courage to make the stuff at all. Because you now know how brave they were to let you see it at all.
