This past weekend, I opened the doors of my live/work studio as part of the Bushwick Open Studios and Arts Festival in Brooklyn, New York. It was my first open studio, so I had the opportunity to plaster the walls with my art that had been collecting dust under my bed. The art I hung was the kind of artwork that I considered to be my contribution to the history of art—the work that I would want to be a part of the ‘art world’ and more specifically, artwork that I would submit to galleries for open calls. Here is an example of my open studio space:
As I hung my work, I found it interesting to find myself removing other works of art that I had created. However, these works of art, for some reason, are not included in my portfolio. Now, my ‘gallery art’ is mainly documentation of performances and self-portraiture, whereas my ‘decorative art’ happens to be collages and drawings of random things. Oddly, it’s the ‘decorative art’ that I find myself getting lost in during its creation. It is something that has no specific goal other than to explore my mind and creativity. My gallery art, on the other hand, is thoroughly planned (at least as much as I can) and must specifically state the meaning that I am ultimately trying to convey.
For example, here is a detail of my ‘gallery art’:
And here are two examples of my ‘decorative art’:
Of course it would be nice to sell some art once in a while, and I think that most people buy art because it gives them a chance to let their mind wander around something visually fruitful, but in general, I never display my gallery art on a normal day. Within my studio, my walls are splashed with a few of my own decorative art, but mainly with oddities that one would hardly consider art. Now I might be going more into an area of interior decoration, but for example, I’d rather hang my snowboard up above my coffee table before choosing to hang anything I consider my own gallery art. To me, snowboarding is so special and has a lot of meaning, and therefore, a rad snowboard is basically my kind of art. So in essence, my decorative art (collages, drawings, and a snowboard) is what I would hang up and call art, whereas my gallery art (self-portrait photographs) would be what someone else would hang up and call art.
In terms of personal choices, I think it’s interesting to know what an artist considers art. Sure, an artist can define what his/her art practice and specific meanings may be and/or should convey to others, but I wonder: How different do those meanings become when they’re flipped upside down and pointed back at the artist? Perhaps my disinterest in my own gallery art is the result of an overload of time spent creating it. Maybe it’s the type of scenario that is analogous to ‘leaving your work at the office’. I work hard to create my art, but when I want to escape, I turn to other things that have completely different meanings.
Jeff,
I recently went to a poetry reading with music in a gallery/studio/home and there were all kinds of things on the walls, little of it (in the living area) conventional art. But I found it tremendously stimulating just to have so many disparate objects/shapes/textures/colors around, that yet all had some connection to the place or the resident artist. I’m sure it’s a great studio to work in. Recalling that, together with your post today, has inspired me to change what I do myself, which tends to be a pretty conventional photographer thing of putting up prints that are still being evaluated, along with framed work (like your “gallery work”) to show other people.
I do think it can be valuable to take a look at “finished” work after some time, but somehow the idea that it’s finished is usually enough to stop looking at it critically.
I’m not sure what the themes of your work are, but here’s an idea that comes to mind, for what it’s worth: Take your studio in its current or usual state as your set, and have your multiple clones reacting to or interacting with the different artworks on the wall.
Now I gotta go find a place for that salvaged street sign I brought back from Japan…
Jeffrey,
I am delighted to find someone else who categorizes their art in different ways: I distinguish between the “houseable” (that is, what I can stand looking at over my first cup of coffee), “gallery” and “museum.” And of course, “toss-offs” and “studies” by which I mean the stuff I probably won’t show even my best friends.
“Gallery” almost always has the greatest limitations of presentation and presence of the categories — a certain sterility (from my point of view) of sameness. That is, you can’t hang a snowboard and an embroidered nude in the same room or perhaps even in the same gallery, unless someone has a really imaginative art statement and a recognizable art world persona.
Sometimes, much to my dismay, I find galleries boring. It’s a matter of first impressions, not (necessarily) of the art itself. Walking into the white-walled room with framed art at a standard height across the walls, all carefully spaced at fixed intervals, makes me want to flee to something a tad more real.
I was told recently that as textile artists we should work in a standard size because galleries like to hang things that are uniform across their walls. This rankled a bit because, from my point of view, one of the important attributes of textile art is that the sizes are variable at any point in the process — you can add two feet to the left side or crop 2 inches off the right, whenever it seems useful to the whole. Of course this violates the notion of the sacred picture plane and of studied composition, but it is an essential characteristic of the material and obviously has some great advantages. So to be told to present work in a series at the same finished size is aggravating. (And of course, I don’t — but I keep thinking maybe I should).
Your wonderful site photo, with the extravagances of sheer number of works (something no self-respecting gallery would dare to stack in that way) gives me a certain joy. It’s a cornucopia of material. And the portrait of the old guy stops me cold — the composition — the nose echoing the post he leans against, the quiver in his downturned lips, the angles of his features echoed by the angles of the clothing drapes — classic and throat-catching.
The “gallery” example is charming and intriguing, but not immediately overwhelming. It seems more cerebral. And the second “decorative” makes me chuckle. Thanks for an interesting post.
Hanging work for an open studio exhibition is a great way to get a sense of what one is doing. I’ve always found that.
It seems that you are making two kinds of work. One is feeling first, the other is concept first.
It also seems that the ‘decorative art’ is what you find more satisfying, both to make and to look at.
So which work is more important?
This is a perfect example of an artist acting as his own “patron.” The ‘decorative art’ is made to fulfill your own needs. The gallery art is meant to fulfill the needs of others. But who are these people? If you don’t know, how can you fulfill their needs? Are they fulfilling your needs (i.e., buying the ‘gallery art’ work) to the degree you would desire?
Perhaps when you venture back at the art you do for entertainment value you notice that what you drew or painted or photographed was much more then randomness. Everything has an artistic value. Marcel Duchamp (probably spelled that wrong.) was amazing at making ready made art. He could take any object, sign it, and then sell it as modern art.
Art is impossible to define. One’s person’s opinion never equals anothers. Ex. I like sledding way better and therefore would rather hang up a sled than a snowboard.
Steve,
I agree with you and believe that it is absolutely necessary and valuable to look at ‘finished’ work. In fact, the nature of my work (large format photography) is so expensive that sometimes the only finished form I can ever see a photograph is on my computer monitor. Frankly, it’s so special when I do have the opportunity to look at my work the way I really imagine it much like it must feel when you can see your photographs.
But yes, it is absolutely inspirational to visit a studio and see what inspires other artists. That was a big part of my open studio—to reveal my inspirational objects—but at the same time, this was my first big event in a very long time and I really just said “oh to hell with it, I’m hanging everything”.
I have to admit that I’ve dabbled in documenting my real life, complete with my artwork in the background. It’s definitely an interesting combo to think about—art that documents life documenting art. (When I was in Paris, I found a license plate in the garbage and to this day, its one of the coolest things on my wall.)
June,
I dislike gallery size requirements mumbo-jumbo just as much as you and yet completely go back-and-forth wondering if I should just suck it up and conform, just like you. I thnk your comment really emphasizes the specific nature of the requirements pushed on gallery artists. Many artists work in many arenas, but only a few actually have to abide by the rules and regulations of their respective gallery. I think it can be analogous to musicians who are not owned by a record label. They set their own hours, they can do whatever they want, sing wherever they want, and basically have a ton of fun—until they realize they need someone else to promote their work (and obviously more money to keep going) and thus, must abide by the record label company’s contract. How fascinating is it that we are so interested in entering this limiting venue?!
Thank you so much for the feedback on the drawing of the old man. I sometimes call him Bob or Walt. Composition is one of the most important things I consider when making my ‘decorative art’. Since it has no specific conceptual meaning, like Karl mentioned in his comment, I find other things to focus on—such as composition or color.
Karl,
You bring up some really cool things for me to think about. If I had to describe which was more important, I’d have to quickly describe the ‘satisfaction’ that I get. I think with my gallery/concept art, I get an amazing satisfaction during the conceptual process—the initial planning stages. Then, with my decorative/intuitive art, I get an amazing satisfaction during the physical creation. So, perhaps they are two different kinds of importance—one where I can get lost thinking and one where I can get lost doing, both which I value equally.
It’s so true, though, about fulfilling others’ needs! What have ‘these’ people ever done for me?! To hell with ‘em! I don’t even know who they are! Haha, no no, I love them, whoever they are. But its interesting to see that maybe, the fulfillment I am not receiving from external patrons (buying my art) is subconsciously filled by becoming my own internal patron (and making the kind of art that I would buy).
Chris,
Totally feeling you on ‘everything has an artistic value’. Such would be the day that the snot in my tissue would be worth millions… I think for now, I’m trying to get a focused direction and voice within my work. That direction and voice, as sad as it might seem, has to have a gimmick that grabs a gallery owner’s attention. I have always created work that is true to me, but as this post is beginning to suggest, there are various extensions of our own art that we classify and then find the proper venue for. In essence, my aspiration to be a gallery artist requires such gimmicky and ultimately limited artwork, where as my aspiration to become a magazine photographer requires even less artistic creativity and more focus on the designer clothing.
Re: galleries as a limiting venue.
A dealer with regulations is… forget it.
My experiences with art galleries have more often been expansive. I suppose that relates to what has been stated in previous posts about the importance of having a good dealer-artist relationship. It should go without saying that a Shared Vision is a must.
I’m interested to hear that once you’ve established an on-going relationship with a single gallery that “rules” open up a bit. It’s hard(er) for people working in my arena to get that on-going connection. Gallery owners are open (sometimes) to solo shows, but in part because textile art is so difficult to sell, no one has seen fit yet to represent me. So I’m always on the road, as it were, hustling yet another venue.
My suspicion is that this must be true for the quilted textile world in general — it falls into unfortunate cracks, neither here nor there, and so advice given to those of us doing the work tends to turn to “Be professional” — by which is meant — make sure everything is flat and resembles stretched canvas art, including finding a standard sizing.
Sigh. I’m beginning to sound like a frustrated wannabe. It’s been a hard couple of months.
June,
Someone’s gotta be the first! The difficulties you encounter in the gallery world will continue to stand strong until an artist, preferably you, comes along and knocks down those walls.
But yes, it’s all about hustling! As weird as a reference could get on A&P, I read a memorable quote in GQ or ‘men’s something’ that Ryan Seacrest, host of American Idol and arguably the next man to fill Dick Clark’s shoes, said about hustling. He said he did not consider himself to have any sort of talent, so to speak, other than he knew how to hustle. Your work is special and meaningful, and through A&P, you’ve got a supportive audience. Now in the gallery world, you’ve got to keep the work in the back of your mind while you switch gears and focus on hustling, big time. It’s even more important for you to hustle because you’re working with a medium that is untraditional to the gallery world that we speak of.
I’m a frustrated wannabe—I won’t deny it. The best thing I can do is channel the energy from the frustration and impatience into my art making and hustling. Don’t give up—hard times are an artist’s occupational hazard. Plus, you’ve got A&P to let it all out!
June, I think you should consider extending your work into a more Fine Art World. Certainly the relationship between your painting, quilting, drawing, writing, photography, etc. makes your experience unique. Though, I agree, it is hard.
I think when you meet a dealer interested in your work you (at least, should) know their intentions and commitment. My wife worked in a museum for a long time and at first, their discussions were mainly curatorial. Later, they became more about Numbers (Visitors, Admissions, Contributions, Purchases, etc.) She quit.
D., June,
On the gallery commitment: I don’t think you can always hold out for the right intentions and commitment, or even clearly known intentions and commitment, but you should at least be able to evaluate the situation well enough to know whether it’s worth it from your point of view. In my case, with my new gallery, I have to admit that despite a generally good vibe, I don’t really know yet how much they will do or will be able to do for me. But I am convinced it will at least be a good learning experience that won’t cost me too much.
Jeff,
From reading your blog, it sounds like the open studio was a very positive experience. Do you think it would have been better if you had kept some of your more “decorative” pieces up? They might be good conversation starters just because of their differences from your “gallery” work.
Steve,
I just think artists can get too soft around dealers, hoping…
And to go even further, I think if one is too soft, one should reconsider what one is doing in the first place. But that goes back to our discussion about Intentions and that I think we have already agreed to disagree upon.
Steve,
Some of my decorative art pieces were, in fact, just lying on the floor. Occasionally I would get a visitor who questioned the disparity between those, and the work on the walls. I had to keep in mind that it was an open studio rather than a gallery reception. However, this was the first time in over a year that I had the opportunity to show gallery art to new people. Of course my former professors advised me stay clear from commerciality, but I just had to go all out. I got some great feedback, so in retrospect, it was a great decision on my part. But let me say for the record, it was definitely stressful thinking about that commercial factor. So, I solved it by creating a pamphlet that described my studio practice and the reason for seeming so commercial. A lot of other things were around too, like sketchbooks, my Nintendo, and personal library—so I tried to have a sense of personal space present as well. Definitely in the future, if I am lucky to have another open studio, I will definitely keep more decorative art on the walls.
D.,
Guess my memory is going. Though I remember some disagreements, I feel in accord with you on this. At least, with the understanding that my apparent looseness/softness in dealing with the gallery so far is more about how I work with people than about any artistic compromise. I feel more and more that my current path will, in fact, lead to my work becoming less salable (until the museums wise up, of course!). I’d rather be wrong, of course…
Jeffrey:
Walt recreates an icon. As you may be aware, the Old Man in the Mountain fell within the last few years. One could look up upon his craggy visage on Cannon Mountain from various spots on the floor of Franconia Notch in New Hampshire. Your image, looking up at the man, takes me back.
The hair catches me. Walt emerges from his primal cloud of charcoal as both old and young: he has a face that only time can create while his hair falls youthfully over his forehead. It reminds me of Steve’s last waterfall picture for some reason.
Jeffrey, I understand the idea of creating different work with different intentions, but I find it interesting that you call your paintings “decorative art” and the photographs “gallery art”.
Seems to me that pretty much all visual art has a certain decorative component (including your photograph, which reminds me of Italian Renaissance compostions). Are you saying that your “decorative” art is only decorative (in the sense that it has no concept behind it)? That doesn’t appear to be the case.
I’m curious as to your thinking on that, not so much why you work in two different ways, but why you choose to use the term “decorative” to describe the paintings.
Jay,
You’re amazing! Thanks for the description.
David,
You got it, man. My decorative art is merely decorative with no concept behind it. I’m just pouring out my personal aesthetics. Plus, it’s cheaper to make something pretty than to go out and buy a poster.
It’s neat to read that you might see some kind of concept slipping through my decorative art, but such is not the case. I flip through magazines and find a pretty image, I find a pretty paint color, and then pull out a random color from my pencil/markers/crayon box. I enjoy being specific with my color choices in my gallery art, but my decorative art is totally random.
Bottom line, I really just let loose and get lost. Sure, they are wonderful exercises, but for my personal definition of gallery art—concept driven work—these decorative pieces are simply not defined that way.
I flip through magazines and find a pretty image, I find a pretty paint color, and then pull out a random color from my pencil/markers/crayon box.
I think that’s how Rauschenberg works :)