Tuesday, October 2, 2012
"The Fair"
For my grad seminar class we have been reading "Seven Days in the Art World." This weeks' focus was on "The Fair" and "The Prize."Author Sarah Thorton gives up a "day in the life of" each of these major arteries of the larger, elite, financed arenas of the art world. For the chapter on the fair, she visits Art Basel in Switzerland. This is one of the premier contemporary art fairs in the world and has also inspired many other fairs internationally. With humble beginnings in the 70's, it has metamorphosed into a sophisticated institution that plays match maker to many of the most powerful art dealers and collectors (and speculators) in the world. Galleries that normally have thousands of square feet to exhibit large scale contemporary or emerging works tightly knit their creme de la creme in 800 square feet. Sarah describes a frenzied scrum waiting in the early hours of the morning for the opening hours for VIP who have mostly arrived on private jets. This is where the big bets, investments and trades are made in the Art industry. This isn't a place for artist's themselves necessarily, as the atmosphere tends to get into their heads in ways that could be detrimental to all involved. They essentially could be contaminated. It was likened to (in two separate instances) as walking into someones or your parents bedroom while they are having sex.
One thing that really stood out to me was that the collectors and dealers often see themselves as playing a vital role in the life of the artist. Some described it as mentoring them. I also found it curious that collectors espoused a value in the integrity of the artist. It was important to them that the artist really believe in something. They really want a stake in something defined and yet they want to influence and shape it as well.
Though I am sure that many are well meaning and do much sincere good for the artist, I was reminded of the ancient proverb from the Hebrew Scriptures:
One thing that really stood out to me was that the collectors and dealers often see themselves as playing a vital role in the life of the artist. Some described it as mentoring them. I also found it curious that collectors espoused a value in the integrity of the artist. It was important to them that the artist really believe in something. They really want a stake in something defined and yet they want to influence and shape it as well.
Though I am sure that many are well meaning and do much sincere good for the artist, I was reminded of the ancient proverb from the Hebrew Scriptures:
"When you sit to dine with a ruler,
note well what is before you,
and put a knife to your throat
if you are given to gluttony.
Do not crave his delicacies,
for that food is deceptive.
Do not wear yourself out to get rich;
have the wisdom to show restraint.
Cast but a glance at riches, and they are gone,
for they will surely sprout wings
and fly off to the sky like an eagle
.
Do not eat the food of a stingy man,
do not crave his delicacies;
for he is the kind of man
who is always thinking about the cost.
“Eat and drink,” he says to you,
but his heart is not with you.
You will vomit up the little you have eaten
and will have wasted your compliments"
Ultimately, it is good to be aware of these practices. It is not inherently bad to be involved with them. However, personally to chase after this kind of exposure or potential financial gain is like chasing the wind. Few artists will find their work in these places and those who do must be careful not to lose themselves in the process.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Studio History Post College
10. The first semester after college I brought my final show home and sold well. Then, I worked from month to month as a mural artist on several large scale projects. By December, I was antsy to move from home and took a job working with 5th graders at an outdoor school. My proudest moment was the organized choas recylcling video that I led my students in.
11. The following summer, I had an opportunity to live in a house in Denton, Texas for cheap rent. I began making and selling my art once again at small festivals, commissions and happenstance.
12. Next, I lived with Libby (an artist friend) in an older home in Denton, Texas. It was big enough and messy enough for us to conduct creative projects. I paid off debt through continued selling of work. Libby and I also worked together as designers for a large conference that year. We collected found objects and materials to pull off the "True Story" theme. We also made an amazing video telling a Bible story using objects and scraps we found around the house.
13. After I joined staff with Cru, and Libby moved to Florida, I moved into a sorority house as a house mom. I don't remember making much art there. I was in the process of having major back surgery which started in January of that year. At the same time I was being connected with a few other artists on staff which would lead to my involvement with Triebca Arts.
11. The following summer, I had an opportunity to live in a house in Denton, Texas for cheap rent. I began making and selling my art once again at small festivals, commissions and happenstance.
12. Next, I lived with Libby (an artist friend) in an older home in Denton, Texas. It was big enough and messy enough for us to conduct creative projects. I paid off debt through continued selling of work. Libby and I also worked together as designers for a large conference that year. We collected found objects and materials to pull off the "True Story" theme. We also made an amazing video telling a Bible story using objects and scraps we found around the house.
13. After I joined staff with Cru, and Libby moved to Florida, I moved into a sorority house as a house mom. I don't remember making much art there. I was in the process of having major back surgery which started in January of that year. At the same time I was being connected with a few other artists on staff which would lead to my involvement with Triebca Arts.
Studio History College
continued from "Studio History Childhood"
6. In college, I returned to art pursuing my BFA. My freshman dorm room had a drafting table which I rarely used. My sophomore year I rarely remember on working on projects outside of the art building. Junior year, I got an easel that I painted my first oil painting on since childhood. I still have and love this easel.It was set up in my room at an apartment I shared.
7. My first senior year, I lived alone in a back house next door to an international family. They yelled a lot. I remember their grown son bringing in massive amounts of tvs one day. In their back yard was mounds of junk. The back house that I lived in was perfect. I was one small bedroom, had a little loft and an open living space with tile floors. I collected items that I found at junk stores on the side of the building. I made some of my best sculptural work at this house.
8. The next year, I lived in Russia. I made a few drawings here and there. I got a nice camera at Christmas and spent the rest of the year taking photos to use as reference material for when I got home.
9. My final year of college I worked mainly in the art department on large scale paintings from my time in Russia. Otherwise, I worked on a video project where I used a question game (The Green Bag Game) to initiate with participants and gathering of found objects.
6. In college, I returned to art pursuing my BFA. My freshman dorm room had a drafting table which I rarely used. My sophomore year I rarely remember on working on projects outside of the art building. Junior year, I got an easel that I painted my first oil painting on since childhood. I still have and love this easel.It was set up in my room at an apartment I shared.
7. My first senior year, I lived alone in a back house next door to an international family. They yelled a lot. I remember their grown son bringing in massive amounts of tvs one day. In their back yard was mounds of junk. The back house that I lived in was perfect. I was one small bedroom, had a little loft and an open living space with tile floors. I collected items that I found at junk stores on the side of the building. I made some of my best sculptural work at this house.
8. The next year, I lived in Russia. I made a few drawings here and there. I got a nice camera at Christmas and spent the rest of the year taking photos to use as reference material for when I got home.
9. My final year of college I worked mainly in the art department on large scale paintings from my time in Russia. Otherwise, I worked on a video project where I used a question game (The Green Bag Game) to initiate with participants and gathering of found objects.
Studio History Childhood
1. My earliest "studio" was my childhood bedroom. One wall had floor to ceiling shelves of books and toys. I loved to get down the encyclopedia and flip through. I remember my first book that I wrote and illustrated in that room with a collection of nice pencil drawings of animals. When I was a little older, my mom had a craftsman make me a small puppet stage. With this, I could write productions: create backdrops, advertising, a script, hand puppets and marionettes. It was so inspiring that my best's friends little sister asked Santa for one the next Christmas.
2. Simultaneously were the outdoor studio sites. In particular, this included the sandbox, the concrete slabs at either end of the dairy barn for nailing and hammering things into boards and finally the dump about a half mile down the road. At the time, it was mostly for rummaging and inspiration.
3. In town, mom had an art gallery and studio where she taught lessons. There I worked on small projects from time to time as her students were working or to kill the time. However, I mostly prefered riding my bike around town and poking my head into this shop or that. I would look through the troughs of cheap goods at the dollar store or walk through antique and hobby shops with hands behind my back to observe their collections. I loved exploring the streets between her shop, grandmothers house, and downtown.
4. I did take art in middle school. I especially remember the elaborate pointillist castle I drew with Pental markers. and the portrait of Wade Boggs that I had to redraw because of excessive erasing marks and smudges. These were mainly created in class, at home, or at mom's shop.
5. I took one semester of art in high school. I hardly made anything to wrote about here. At this time, I was very bust exploring the sports, clubs in school and my social life. I really enjoyed being a part of clubs. My creativity came out through my campaigns for class officer, an over the top Christmas parade float and Halloween costumes.
2. Simultaneously were the outdoor studio sites. In particular, this included the sandbox, the concrete slabs at either end of the dairy barn for nailing and hammering things into boards and finally the dump about a half mile down the road. At the time, it was mostly for rummaging and inspiration.
3. In town, mom had an art gallery and studio where she taught lessons. There I worked on small projects from time to time as her students were working or to kill the time. However, I mostly prefered riding my bike around town and poking my head into this shop or that. I would look through the troughs of cheap goods at the dollar store or walk through antique and hobby shops with hands behind my back to observe their collections. I loved exploring the streets between her shop, grandmothers house, and downtown.
4. I did take art in middle school. I especially remember the elaborate pointillist castle I drew with Pental markers. and the portrait of Wade Boggs that I had to redraw because of excessive erasing marks and smudges. These were mainly created in class, at home, or at mom's shop.
5. I took one semester of art in high school. I hardly made anything to wrote about here. At this time, I was very bust exploring the sports, clubs in school and my social life. I really enjoyed being a part of clubs. My creativity came out through my campaigns for class officer, an over the top Christmas parade float and Halloween costumes.
Dangerous Investigation
There was a pasty blue metal box that lived behind our dairy barn. Daily, it sat upon a metal rack and waited for the rains to seep in over rusty wrenches and nails that lay dormant inside. To me, it was a mystery.
The dairy barn was maybe 100 feet behind our back door. It had functioned as such for the Odoms who owned the home before us and now lived about 50 acres to the west through the pasture. For us, it was in the early years a place for tools, for magical Halloween parties, and general storage. Later, my dad began using it as a place to build custom frames as he started his business. In the side room, he kept loose lithographs, shrink wrap and a few antique finds from auctions.
Behind the dairy barn was a small plot of fruit trees. Two Bradford pears in the back, several peach trees, a few plums and on some years a grapevine. In between though, and resting against the wall was the blue metal box.
I can remember checking on the box one day. From time to time I would check out my curiosity spots around the property. The box held special intrigue as it was just above eye level and I had to get something to stand on to peer in. It had a metal latch which was not locked only crusted shut and needed to be pried open.
As I slowly opened the lid, and began to peer into the deep, my eyes were pounded with the wild fury. A troop of yellow jackets attacked and within seconds my curiosity had been hijacked by buzzes of militant guardians.
The dairy barn was maybe 100 feet behind our back door. It had functioned as such for the Odoms who owned the home before us and now lived about 50 acres to the west through the pasture. For us, it was in the early years a place for tools, for magical Halloween parties, and general storage. Later, my dad began using it as a place to build custom frames as he started his business. In the side room, he kept loose lithographs, shrink wrap and a few antique finds from auctions.
Behind the dairy barn was a small plot of fruit trees. Two Bradford pears in the back, several peach trees, a few plums and on some years a grapevine. In between though, and resting against the wall was the blue metal box.
I can remember checking on the box one day. From time to time I would check out my curiosity spots around the property. The box held special intrigue as it was just above eye level and I had to get something to stand on to peer in. It had a metal latch which was not locked only crusted shut and needed to be pried open.
As I slowly opened the lid, and began to peer into the deep, my eyes were pounded with the wild fury. A troop of yellow jackets attacked and within seconds my curiosity had been hijacked by buzzes of militant guardians.
Early Commute
We were the first to get on the bus and very close to the last to get off. In the late afternoon, I would ride down dusty roads, with windows down looking out onto pastures of clay like cows being squeezed out of view. My legs would stick to those green leather seats. My fingers would run over the duck tape that patched rips or cuts made by older students with pocket knives. My eyes bounced over markered names written on seat backs. It could be lulling in those last thirsty minutes as the final kids slowly clomped down steps towards driveways to ranch houses.
When I got off, I would make the walk down our long driveway. There were familiar puddle holes to dodge or jump in or slide over when icy. I remember that walk being the polishing thoughts, reflecting on the day of friends, puppy loves, or curiosities. Daisy our Springer Spaniel was sure to greet me and chaperone me the rest of the way home.
Through the gate, there might be irises or sweet gum balls to be found. On past the porch and through the door. My mom would be found daily at her easel in the laundry room. I would stand over her shoulder and recount the highlights of the day, watching her scrip line tree branches or duck feathers dipping her brush onto a palette placed on the dryer.
When I got off, I would make the walk down our long driveway. There were familiar puddle holes to dodge or jump in or slide over when icy. I remember that walk being the polishing thoughts, reflecting on the day of friends, puppy loves, or curiosities. Daisy our Springer Spaniel was sure to greet me and chaperone me the rest of the way home.
Through the gate, there might be irises or sweet gum balls to be found. On past the porch and through the door. My mom would be found daily at her easel in the laundry room. I would stand over her shoulder and recount the highlights of the day, watching her scrip line tree branches or duck feathers dipping her brush onto a palette placed on the dryer.
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