Day forty-three: Steal.

Or borrow. Borrowing is good sometimes. So is copying.

Art can sometimes be a cult of originality. When you look a little deeper though, it's usually just a superficial cult. Paintings that look different but end up mining the same ideas. People saying old things with a few new words. Stealing is different. It goes to a deeper place, taking the foundation, what holds the work up.

The art that most moves me is like an onion. There are many many layers to peel back. And which layers are important? Which could be mined for more information? Some contemporary artists, like Bruce Nauman, or Mike Kelly, or Louise Bourgeois, they went through so many ways of working and so many approaches. You could steal from them for years and still be making something new.

It sounds odd, but it's true. Borrowing is great too. I think most contemporary aesthetic is borrowing, and recombining what's been borrowed. I spend hours in the library sometimes, looking for things that excite me or make me want to look again. I'm obsessed with these weird dolls Paul Klee made most recently. I also like to borrow palettes from magazines, taking the way they combine colors in fashion shoots and starting paintings with those collections of color.

Also, copying has it's place. If you're learning new techniques or trying to really master them, copying is a great way to do it. Some of you may have read The Goldfinch. I did not love the book, but I do love the painting, and it's a great one to copy if you're learning how to paint in oil.

Day forty-two: Beauty.

Image by Peter Doig

"On a conscious level, she wasn't sure what the painting meant or even where it had come from, she knew only that it was a work of complicated and unexpected beauty and that she was somehow responsible for it. Beauty! Wasn't that what mattered? Beauty was hardly a popular ideal at that jumpy moment in history. The masses had been desensitized to it, the intelligentsia regarded it with suspicion. To most of her peers, "beauty" smacked of the rarefied, the indulgent, the superfluous, the effete. How could persons of good conscience pursue the beautiful when there was so much suffering and injustice in the world? Ellen Cherry's answer was that if one didn't cultivate beauty, soon he or she wouldn't be able to recognize ugliness. The prevalence of social ugliness made commitment to physical beauty all the more essential. And the very presence of double wide motor homes, mahpgci marker graffiti, and orange shag carpeting had the effect of making ills such as pverty, crime, repression, pollution, and child abuse seem tolerable. In a sense, beauty was the ultimate protest, and, in that it generally lasted longer than an orgasm, the ultimate refuge."

Day forty-one : Create your own definition of success.

Image above, Lee Bontecou in her studio.

A friend posted this on Facebook last week: I've wanted to "make it" as an artist for a while now. Now I'm not sure what that means. What does it mean to you?

What I want for my 'art' and what I want for my 'art career' are different. I keep getting lost in between the two. Then I start to think about all of my goals for what I want to make and that makes the question even bigger. In part, I just want to make art, and be sure that making is some part of every single day. Then it's about what I want my art to do. I started thinking about this during my vacation at at Christmas.

I want my work to be radiant and stop time. I want my work to contain the awe inherent in our awareness of the temporarily of life and the power of our smallest gestures. The wonder inspired by how little we understand in our universe and how much that says about what is possible.

After stating and remembering that, it makes what I want for my art career seem inconsequential. It would be great to show at the Hammer, or be in the Whitney Biennial, or Documenta,to install in Versailles or to suspend work from the now-defunct Bay Bridge. I want to do a Skowhegan Residency and to have a solo show in Chelsea. But that's not the big picture, and I'll be happy with my art career if I never do any of those things. Those benchmarks aren't really what I'm hungry for.

I read a lot of artist statements at work. It gets really old hearing every statement start with "When I was a child..." because every single person does it. And I feel mean saying this, but, no one cares. No one in the art world gives a damn about your childhood unless you make them care, and your work should do that. I say this because I get it. My childhood was really beautiful in some ways and had some really hard parts too. And I carry them with me. And they affect why I make art.

At some point in my childhood I was crawling out of my skin I was so lonely and making art changed that while I was making it. So I kept doing it. I was terrified at strange moments that I couldn't explain, and making art and learning about other artists gave me the courage to take risks, to travel, and to experience things that were unfamiliar to me and to the people who defined my world. Living as an artist has made my life rich and complex and makes me feel whole, when I didn't before.

If I can make art that makes even one person feel that way, then I feel like I've done a pretty damn good job. And maybe I'm just having an idealistic moment, but right now I believe that way down in my bones.

How would you define success for yourself as an artist?

Days thirty-six through thirty-nine: Make work.

That's all.

Day thirty-five: Hope.

military boots and fireworks sculpture by Naufus Figueroa

It can sometimes seems like we are fighting through darkness. Everything ahead is uncertain, and everything around us feels somehow wrong. Everyone is telling us how to do things and we want to agree with them, but there's some illogical voice that screams NO! I'm in a place where I am hearing that voice again and I'm not sure what to do with it. It has been gifting me with some really shitty nightmares lately.  I have a great set up with my life right now. I am content. But there is something else that needs to happen and I don't know what it is.  I know some of what I'd like to change, but  I'm not sure how.  I want to move toward something. I can't name it, but I am searching.

I feel this way in the studio a lot too. I do a lot of experimentation and I have no idea what the end result will be. I work with wonky materials that don't dry the way I expect them to, paint ends up shiny that I didn't think was shiny, etc. One of the things that keep me going in all of this is hope.  I believe that things happen the way they need to, that when we set our intention, the universe moves in our favor to reach that intention. That may be a little stardust and rainbows, but I've always thought that and it has always happened.

The thing is, until recently, I haven't really asked or tried for the big things. I sat and waited for them to come, and I was patient for a really long time. And nothing happened. So, about a year I asked for one of the things I thought that I wanted. It has been messy and scary and one of the most wonderful aspects of my entire life to date. But it's also vague and nebulous and dangerous. Dangerous because that big thing is inspiring me to ask for another big thing that I'm not sure I'm ready for.

So, there's hope. Whoever is reading this, I'm sorry if it's not what you expected. It's not what I expected either. I'm just trying to be an artist and figure out what that means and how it affects everything else, which appears to be leading me to some weird places. Thank you for listening.

Day thirty-four: Become immersed in things outside of art.

While much art is inspired by art, there are millions of curious and exciting things in this world that art talks about. In high school I thought science was lame and to be done away with as soon as possible, even though I enjoyed the classes. Lately science is something I have been constantly nerding out on. Dinosaur bones at the Field Museum in Chicago, A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson, Cosmos by Carl Sagan and the new series with Neil Degrasse Tyson, The Higgs-Boson! I don't make any art about this yet, but I may soon, and even if I don't, it fills me with a sense of wonder that reminds me why all of this that we are surrounded by is so miraculous, especially the things we take for granted. What is it in this world that makes you feel that way?

Day thirty-three: Play a stringed instrument and/or do something you are terrible at.

Apparently Durer apparently once said "A boy who practices painting too much may be overcome by melancholy. He should learn to play string instruments and thus be distracted to cheer his blood."

I bought a ukelele last November. I had purchased and then sold a guitar ten years prior, because it sat collecting dust in a corner after a few feeble attempts. I love music, but I am not a good musician. It doesn't make any sense to me. I'm a good dancer, I have a good sense of rhythm, there are numerous good singers in my family. I am bad at making good music. This can be disheartening, but I keep playing my ukelele anyway. I've come to realize that my practicing ukelele is not about my becoming a great musician, or a youtube sensation, or anything else like that. It's just for me to do something different. To shift gears in my brain. To do something just for fun, regardless of whether it goes anywhere.

It is hard to play when we feel like our play always has to result in some form of success. I have a problem with maxims about seeking failure, but I think there is merit in doing something just for the hell of it. It is another good way to get lost.

I read a great quote last night in Rebecca Solnit's book, "Or you get lost, in which case the world has become larger than your knowledge of it."

Try something you haven't done today. I hope you are bad at it. I hope it reminds you how big the world is and how much there is still to discover.

Day thirty-two: Constantly reevaluate.

This lesson isn't always true, but most of my lessons are that way. You have to learn them in order to bend them. This one is along the lines of never get comfortable. It's easy to get scared if you get comfortable because it seems like you have more to lose. I think it's important to constantly remind ourselves of the impermanence of our existence. That our stability, our safety, is an illusion. This reminder can be terrifying. It also makes me more willing to take chances and to jump when I need to. Art doesn't usually come from comfort. It can, but it is rare. I think this sesne of potential loss is why. So, look around and reevaluate your world. If the world could be anything you want it to be, what would you change? Where would you go?

Day thirty: Do things out of order.

Ha!

Also, these guys are insane in a good way.

One of their videos here.

Day thirty-one: Insecurity.

I'm sorry I haven't been a consistent writer lately. Luckily there aren't too many of you out there waiting for the nuggets I'm throwing into the universe. If you are out there, please say hi, it would be great to hear from you, and  I would love to know if there is something that you'd like to hear about.

I'm having a hard time tonight. It's a combination of big and little things. That's how it is though, isn't it?  A few twigs start rolling down a hill and by the time they get to the bottom they have felled trees. It is hard figuring out what to do as a normal person when your whole life you've just wanted to be an artist. Since I was little the only two things I ever wanted to do were to be an artist and to be rich. Magically rich, the kind that just appears. I never wanted bling, or big toys or whatever. It is more that money means security and stability to me. Money, when I was a kid, meant that no matter what life throws at me I'll be ok. Even though I know better, it still feels like that now. There is no stability in being an artist, but there is no deep joy in being anything else for me. I start to feel strained and pulled too far by all the compromises, the obligations, the weight. Every few years it hits me in an especially hard way, and that's happening again recently.

My aunt, the one I wrote about, passed away this morning. She spent so much of her life working so hard, missing time with her family, waiting to travel and to rest. She got sick less than four months into her retirement. I feel numand not sure how to deal with her passing.

Simultaneously, the city I live in feels like it is under siege financially. It is not the calamity of the protests that have been happening in other parts of the world, it's not that clear. Technology came in a big way, and money with it. New values, new members of a community that don't seem to be into preserving what the city was before they came. Some places that are special to me have recently had the rug pulled out from under them. A new value system is in place, one I don't respect.

I am not a fighter. I can argue, but I'm not very good at it. I'm easy to distract. I get emotionally charged, which makes me all fluttery. I become scared of losing or hurting the person I'm arguing with and the argument wanders into random pastures, no matter who that person is. I used to be very passionate about being part of change, of paradigm shifts that affect how people think and treat each other. I used to believe very firmly in change that happens from the inside out, that by developing a new idea of success that everyone has a stake in, we can affect a larger cultural shift. I'm not sure what I believe now. I want to go sit on a rock in the twilight and watch the trees talk to each other. I don't want to fight, even though I believe that there are many things that are worth fighting for.

I want to be an artist, and what that means seems to change every day. That's confusing too. We only get one chance at this life thing. There are so many things we can do. I applied to some residencies, I'm making some work. I have people I love. I'm looking for some adventure.  I'm ready to take another risk, but I want to move toward something, not away from what I don't want.  I wish that it was easier to name what I want. I'm relatively clear on what I don't want.

I don't want to feel stuck. I don't want to talk people into something that may hurt them more than it helps. I don't want to focus my precious time on things that don't serve my dreams. I don't know what my dreams are anymore, because the only ones I can concretely name are tied to monetary and industry ideas of success that I don't believe in. I've spent most of my years traveling by myself, and I don't want to wander this path alone anymore. I don't want to  define myself by what I see in the eyes of the people around me. I don't want to play by anyone else's rules. I don't know where to start writing my own.

This all feels very naked to me to write. I want to share it because even in this age of over sharing, it is easy to feel alone. Every artist feels some form of fear and insecurity in their identity, their relationship to the wider world. If you haven't already, this letter from Sol Lewitt to Eva Hesse is amazing. Thank you for listening. Good night friends.

Day twenty-nine: Friends.

The idea of the artist as a lone genius is inaccurate. Most artists know this, but still have it in the back of our heads. It's just like the idea that no living artist will ever make any money. I think both of these ideas are somehow tied to Vincent Van Gogh. The thing is, he did have friends, who contributed to his most productive times. He did make money while he lived, his brother was an art dealer who sold his paintings. Was he rich? No. Did he have a place to live, and food to eat and time to paint? Yes.

The contemporary vision of friends more often come from school, or from live/work spaces. Schools have always fascinated me, partly because of their ability to be non-confrontational ways of quickly building a solid community. I am lucky to work in education, to be surrounded by smart, active artists who think in ways that inspire and challenge me.

One of those friends today gave me this marvelous book today and included her notes inside. I am excited to start reading it soon. I'm also in the middle of three other books, Paula Rego by John McEwen, A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit, The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. I've also been fascinated by the articles I've linked about Paula Rego, painting, education, and the art world. I found out about all of these things because of the incredible people I'm surrounded by. They aren't all artists, but they respect what art does and are curious about that process. Friends are very important.

Day twenty-eight: Shit happens.

Today was a shitty day. I think part of it was leftover emotions from last week, and from having a grumpy morning. Some days I can get past that and others not so much. I can sometimes be passive aggressive in my communication. I don't mean to, I think it's a combination of protecting myself and not knowing how to say things that are hard to say. I can be like that in my work too.

In the studio I rarely know why I'm making what I'm making until I'm a ways into it. This is frustrating for a number of reasons. It can mean that I spend a lot of time working on a project that will never be what I want it to be and doesn't feel worth the time I spent. It can mean that I make early decisions that don't serve the end result that I want. It can mean that I'm never able to articulate why I've made what I've made. It can mean that I feel like I'm wasting time, when I have precious little time. It let's doubt creep in.

It's also the reason I keep making, the discoveries. If I already know exactly what I want to make and how to make it, I get bored and abandon ship. I don't like that I'm that way, but I have come to accept that I am. This is why each artists' studio structure is different, because we each have to figure out what stops or breaks us, and how to create processes that keep us engaged.

If we need to trick ourselves into it though, why do it at all?

That is a question for another day my friends.

Image by Ray Mack

Day twenty-seven: Fear.

Today I rode on a tiny plane into a huge thunderstorm. As we descended it created major turbulence that literally lifted my feet off the ground. I get motion sick. I also have panic attacks. This triggered both.

The funny thing about fear is that it is part useful and part destructive. I try to focus on the use value of fear because it has been built into my life for so long that I've come to accept that it will always be there, and it is now my job to use it in whatever ways that I can. In this particular case, I found my way out of panic. I laughed. I took some pictures. I don't know.

There's a book called Art and Fear that many people I know swear by. I prefer the Artist's Way.  Both address the ways that we can get in our own way in the creative process, and present tools for how to remove the blocks that we build. I was looking at this work today and thought, how did they come to make that? How crazy and beautiful and brave is it? What if I never make anything that does that? What if I'm just throwing objects into the world that don't satisfy anyone's needs but my own? What if my chosen purpose is no purpose at all?

We all carry those voices into the studio with us every day, we all carry fear every day. Sometimes it's good to ignore that voice, but mostly I think it's better to use it, however we can.

Day twenty-six: Remember.

Who you were is as important to the work you are making as who you want to be. More important actually, because who you want to be is usually informed with what is already out there. What already looks successful. Who you used to be, and all the things you can remember in your life will show up in what and how you make regardless of whether or not you want them to. So, actively dig into that and see what you find. That doesn't mean that your work has to be personal or self-reflective, in fact that will often bore the crap out of everyone but you. It means that your memories contain references to history and locality and reserves of emotion and images that your can use as you make a new world. Your memories can serve as a map instead of a reflection.

Day twenty-five: Travel

Travel is where you see what else is out there and who else is out there. It's a place to gather images and moments and ideas. Do it as much as you can.

Image by Kristen Pless