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Sorry this is so complicated.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
"So, what do you do?"
Remember when your mother used to stand towering over you with her hands on her hips and scold, "What did you do?" Your answer was inevitably, "Nothing." There you'd stand, jam on your face with a slice of white bread (missing a corner in the shape of a tiny bite) peanut buttered to the floor precisely two tiles over and one tile down. It always seemed at this point that a puddle of yellowish liquid formed at your two-year-old feet. The peanut butter, jam and bread had started out to be food but ended up floor art, unappreciated by your demanding public, Mom. With any luck, the family dog would wander by and quickly dispose of the evidence, thereby saving the day, sort of.
Isn't it oddly ironic that we still get a version of the same question today, "What do you do?" Unfortunately, the question instills a feeling of fear and self-loathing in some of us, hopefully without having to stand in that tell-tail puddle. Mom has long since given up asking that dreaded question but has turned the job over to other important people in our lives, potential buyers and admirers. Even the dog has given up on saving the day. The reply can no longer be, "Nothing", but must be a short, precise description of your current work, a description that makes you feel good about yourself and fosters interest in your work. Be clear about at least two things, "What is your style and medium?" and "What phrase best describes your work?"
“What do you do?” Your reply must come seemingly spontaneously and naturally, if well rehearsed. Why is this so important? You are assuring your inquisitor that you are, in deed, inspired and confident in your work, and in what price range you’re willing to part with your masterpiece. Make your tormenter want to dig deeper, to demand to hear and see more. As with any inquisition, the impression will be instant and rarely based on actual fact. "Is this work witch craft? Must the witch be tortured and ultimately introduced to the flame? Or, are you actually the creator of REAL ART, art that must be possessed at all costs?" So you see, it's an important issue to be clear about. Your answer must be well thought out to the point where you are comfortable with it and yourself.
Clichés are obstacles to be avoided at all costs. They will cause eyes to glaze over and the chances for a quick sale to thud sloppily and noisily at your feet. Your style is a box that people want to put you into. Your job is to describe what you do outside of the box. That is what will make you unique, interesting and saleable. The key to your all-important one liner may be in the follow up question, "What is your inspiration?" What is the undeniable driving force that prompts the first stroke of your brush, that all important instant that you decide to click the shutter, that spark of recognition that ignites the passion within you to start a new piece of work? It's the excitement and certainty of completing that last brush stroke, the moment you step back to take one final look at your creation and say confidently and proudly, "Yes, this is mine and I LIKE IT!" (Note: if you don't feel all of this at the end of your project, fake it. If you can't fake it, put it away for six months and reevaluate it then.)
An assignment to all of us is to make a list, as long as it needs to be, of sentences that describe the uniqueness of our work precisely and passionately. Present your list to that friend who will tell you honestly, "This is a load of hooey" or "there may be something in your sixth statement". Decide on the best and make it better. There will be a pop quiz.
Dave
Remember when your mother used to stand towering over you with her hands on her hips and scold, "What did you do?" Your answer was inevitably, "Nothing." There you'd stand, jam on your face with a slice of white bread (missing a corner in the shape of a tiny bite) peanut buttered to the floor precisely two tiles over and one tile down. It always seemed at this point that a puddle of yellowish liquid formed at your two-year-old feet. The peanut butter, jam and bread had started out to be food but ended up floor art, unappreciated by your demanding public, Mom. With any luck, the family dog would wander by and quickly dispose of the evidence, thereby saving the day, sort of.
Isn't it oddly ironic that we still get a version of the same question today, "What do you do?" Unfortunately, the question instills a feeling of fear and self-loathing in some of us, hopefully without having to stand in that tell-tail puddle. Mom has long since given up asking that dreaded question but has turned the job over to other important people in our lives, potential buyers and admirers. Even the dog has given up on saving the day. The reply can no longer be, "Nothing", but must be a short, precise description of your current work, a description that makes you feel good about yourself and fosters interest in your work. Be clear about at least two things, "What is your style and medium?" and "What phrase best describes your work?"
“What do you do?” Your reply must come seemingly spontaneously and naturally, if well rehearsed. Why is this so important? You are assuring your inquisitor that you are, in deed, inspired and confident in your work, and in what price range you’re willing to part with your masterpiece. Make your tormenter want to dig deeper, to demand to hear and see more. As with any inquisition, the impression will be instant and rarely based on actual fact. "Is this work witch craft? Must the witch be tortured and ultimately introduced to the flame? Or, are you actually the creator of REAL ART, art that must be possessed at all costs?" So you see, it's an important issue to be clear about. Your answer must be well thought out to the point where you are comfortable with it and yourself.
Clichés are obstacles to be avoided at all costs. They will cause eyes to glaze over and the chances for a quick sale to thud sloppily and noisily at your feet. Your style is a box that people want to put you into. Your job is to describe what you do outside of the box. That is what will make you unique, interesting and saleable. The key to your all-important one liner may be in the follow up question, "What is your inspiration?" What is the undeniable driving force that prompts the first stroke of your brush, that all important instant that you decide to click the shutter, that spark of recognition that ignites the passion within you to start a new piece of work? It's the excitement and certainty of completing that last brush stroke, the moment you step back to take one final look at your creation and say confidently and proudly, "Yes, this is mine and I LIKE IT!" (Note: if you don't feel all of this at the end of your project, fake it. If you can't fake it, put it away for six months and reevaluate it then.)
An assignment to all of us is to make a list, as long as it needs to be, of sentences that describe the uniqueness of our work precisely and passionately. Present your list to that friend who will tell you honestly, "This is a load of hooey" or "there may be something in your sixth statement". Decide on the best and make it better. There will be a pop quiz.
Dave
Friday, May 16, 2008
Landscape - To Look If Not To See
A landscape is more than the space between here and there. It’s the place that catches our eye and usually evokes a feeling, a link to a distant past, real or imagined. Sometimes it fosters fantasies of what it might become. As artists, photo or otherwise, our interpretations of what we see become the essence of our work.
To interpret a scene is to feel some inner flame ignite and increase in intensity the longer we gaze upon the scene. Before we raise a camera or a brush to record what we see it’s our responsibility to ourselves, and to those who will view and probably own our work, to identify what turns us on in the scene. Is it the quality of the shape defining light that warms us? If we take off our glasses or look through squinted eyes, is it the beauty in the fuzzy colors and amorphous shapes that move us? It doesn’t matter what ignites us but it is important that we burn with a heart quickening passion when we fire that shutter or make that first brush stroke.
Digital photography makes my process much easier because I no longer must wait for hours, days, weeks or months to get my film back, often to realize that I didn’t actually capture the grandeur that moved Me. My results are immediately available, giving me the opportunity to correct an exposure, the time of day, the angle, to re-crop or to take another look at myself and how I fit into my fantasy of the scene. Will this scene become complete later as I work and live with it? What will the final outcome look like? That’s what I call pre-visualization. I'll discuss pre-visualization in depth later, I promise. For now, it’s important to me to recognize how I feel about what I'm seeing and figure out how to put my feelings on canvas or paper.
We all see landscapes in our own unique way. Our job as artists is not to make it real but to record for ourselves, and to convey to others, just how we feel about what we see. Don’t make it real, make it really yours.
Dave
To interpret a scene is to feel some inner flame ignite and increase in intensity the longer we gaze upon the scene. Before we raise a camera or a brush to record what we see it’s our responsibility to ourselves, and to those who will view and probably own our work, to identify what turns us on in the scene. Is it the quality of the shape defining light that warms us? If we take off our glasses or look through squinted eyes, is it the beauty in the fuzzy colors and amorphous shapes that move us? It doesn’t matter what ignites us but it is important that we burn with a heart quickening passion when we fire that shutter or make that first brush stroke.
Digital photography makes my process much easier because I no longer must wait for hours, days, weeks or months to get my film back, often to realize that I didn’t actually capture the grandeur that moved Me. My results are immediately available, giving me the opportunity to correct an exposure, the time of day, the angle, to re-crop or to take another look at myself and how I fit into my fantasy of the scene. Will this scene become complete later as I work and live with it? What will the final outcome look like? That’s what I call pre-visualization. I'll discuss pre-visualization in depth later, I promise. For now, it’s important to me to recognize how I feel about what I'm seeing and figure out how to put my feelings on canvas or paper.
We all see landscapes in our own unique way. Our job as artists is not to make it real but to record for ourselves, and to convey to others, just how we feel about what we see. Don’t make it real, make it really yours.
Dave
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