Art & Perception

Paul Butzi recently showed this photograph on Art & Perception. I fell in love with it at first sight. There was no discussion of the image in the post itself. I asked Paul if he could write something about the picture, and he did. At that point, I decided to buy the print.

This weekend Paul’s print arrived in the mail. I was not sure exactly what to expect, because Paul uses an Epson printer to produce his prints, and I had no idea what the result would be. Now that I have it here, I am surprised but pleased with the result. The print is crisp (despite my lousy photo of it above) and has lovely gray tones. It is not like a “normal” photograph, however — it is matt rather than glossy. This does not diminish its beauty, but does give it a different feel — say, like a fresco as compared to an oil painting.

Am I ready to “upgrade” to the 40″x50″ print for $2500? I’d like to Paul, though I’ll have to wait on that one. But I am most encouraged with my first foray into the online art market.

Still life by Hanneke van Oosterhout, detail

Last Friday I helped Hanneke and Maurice set up the exhibition at Galerie de Provenier. While doing this, I started to ask myself, “What does it take to be an art dealer?”

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Making money at art is as easy as jumping off a cliff.

Therein lies the rub, as has been said.

Antaeus, Robert Liberace

In high school, starting when I was about sixteen, I fell in love with pastels. Not those hard waxy kinds, but the good old fashioned soft oils. Some artists naturally gravitate towards figure drawing, and I was definitely one of those. People are ever interesting. Always different, every blessed one of them beautiful in some way. Being something of a jock, it came naturally to draw the football players practicing, the divers taking high leaps, the basketball players dunking, the cheerleaders dancing.

I became a regular fixture at practices, whatever the sport. I’d do these wicked fast gesture drawings, then take them home and work up some more elaborate studies. There I’d discover what parts of the figures I needed to pay attention to (the hands — geez) and watch and draw some more. Then I’d start combining the figures in multi person action scenes, and these would become pastels. I had only a little paper, and the pastels, given me by my mom, were dear, so I developed a deft, no mistake kind of style.

One day, one of the deans asked to see my finished stuff. I brought a portfolio to his office. He already knew I had no interest in art classes, so he wasn’t one of those dumb counselor types who thought I should be taking art classes. No. He happened to have some connections with a local newspaper and a gallery, but he insisted that if I wanted him to make some calls, then I’d need to become more involved with some school activities, like helping out at functions where he’d be happy to see my work displayed.

So that was my first show. A pep rally. All the adulation was pretty embarrassing to me. I was not comfortable with all the attention, but it got worse. I got a call from a gallery and then a newspaper reporter.
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I’ve been reading a lot about how certain conversations and comments have a way of halting the progress of an artist. I was surprised to learn that a positive remark has the same or similar effect for some artist

What happens is that our (individual) need for approval shows up and unconsciously we try to replicate the applause. In both cases, negative or positive, the artist moves away from his or her personal intent to “what can I do that will please others or at least avoid ridicule”. As result the artist becomes “Stopped” and avoids creativity in his or her work.

Does this ring true for anyone? I ask the question looking for ways to support the teaching of art and creativity.

I have made my living with a camera for over 20 years. Photography has been at the center of my life for perhaps double that time. Having the day job also be my creative life has lots of interesting implications.

My father prides himself on the fact that he has never taken money for his photographs. He started photography as a teenager, headed the local camera club, and at 83 he is conversant with scanner settings and monitor profiles. He is in love with the creative act of making images, and has never wanted to be hemmed in by the requirements and dictates of doing it at someone else’s behest.

It is a common solution to the dilemma of “whose work is this anyway.” There is a kind of purity in the amateur’s approach to any medium, and it is to be respected. Creative activity is an important piece of a well rounded life for many of us.

I chose a different course, because I was a really intense kid, and because I wanted no barrier between who I was and what I did. That said, it took a long time to accept that my creative voice was something I could rely on to be at the core of my livelihood. There was about a ten year period of scratching at the margins, trying to get a foothold in the profession, before it finally took hold. It wasn’t until I stopped trying to be a “commercial success”, trying to fit into a mainstream image of what my work should look like, and instead pursued the photographic vision that was most compelling to me, did I finally begin to achieve a measure of professional success and security.

There is an inevitable, and useful, tension between being a commercial photographer and being an artist trying to push against boundaries. My success as a commercial shooter is contingent upon replication–I am hired to do the same thing over and over. My economic life is dependent upon regular praise for it. But without my alternate life as an artist, pushing at new ways of seeing, the commercial work would lose its edge and quickly become stale.

I have always had personal work that I did just because I had to. I have a continuous photographic trajectory I have followed in that vein, things and environments I work on, processes I master, print quality that I value. That specific work is not what built my commercial career however. Clients don’t hire me because I can manage chaotic complexity in landscape photographs. Nonetheless, because I have my particular attentiveness to a photographic sensibility, and a relationship to my surroundings because of my camerawork, I can bring that to bear when the job is to fulfill a client’s need. It has more juice behind it, even if what I am hired to photograph has no apparent bearing on my personal work.

It means I can be both very attached to the manner in which I make photographs, be completely engaged in the situation and the way the photographs come about, while having no attachment whatever to how the photography gets used in the end. That’s what they pay me for—to stay out of the room where those decisions are made. I have a blast on assignment. I love being completely engaged on a job. I may like seeing the finished product in print, but I never think of that as the “real” work. It pays the bills, and keeps me in equipment and in frequent flyer programs. But it’s not how I identify myself in the end.

Artist and writer Jannie Regnerus has collected three paintings by my partner, Hanneke van Oosterhout. I went to Jannie’s house today to make a photograph of one of the paintings and to see if there was any chance that she would consider reselling them.

KARL ZIPSER: What do you think about these paintings you bought?

JANNIE REGNERUS: I like the intimacy of the painted objects. They have been cut off from their former lives as useful or functional things — especially the ginger pot. The ginger pot whispers its own history and has its own universe. The pears have a different feeling, they are sensual, almost like human bodies. And the strawberries have some humor because the proportions are confusing, the giant berries in the tiny cup.

KARL ZIPSER: Don’t you find these pictures a bit too dark?

JANNIE REGNERUS: I like the way the objects sink within this black background. They are very silent, but also very strong. I like these better than the paintings with the light background. Hanneke is very good in this dark and intimate night atmosphere. l like the tempered light, the sun has set, this is the best time for objects, they become more mysterious than they are in the broad daylight.

KARL ZIPSER: Would you sell these paintings? Perhaps you could buy something different, like a new stereo system?

JANNIE REGNERUS: Of course not. I bought them because I love them. I saw them and I wanted to have them close by. I didn’t buy them as an investment. When people come to my house they also want them. Hanneke made one picture for friends of mine who saw her work here. Every time I visit Hanneke’s studio I see new things, so it is very difficult for me to go there.

KARL ZIPSER: But you don’t like everything she makes.

JANNIE REGNERUS: Sometimes she works too long on a painting and I think that I liked it better at an earlier state. That is normal, it happens to me, I think it happens to every artist sometimes.

KARL ZIPSER: I agree, working too far is often a danger.

JANNIE REGNERUS: So Karl, what will be the prices of Hanneke’s paintings in the exhibition that begins this Friday?

KARL ZIPSER: That is an interesting question.
. . .

Hanneke’s show opens 15 December in Haarlem at gallery De Provenier (which does not have its own website). What will be the prices? Which pictures will she select for the exhibition? Will she, should she, sell on-line as well? All of these questions are unresolved. Hanneke will discuss the progress of the show on her own site.

Jennifer Hoes at her self-wedding in Haarlem, The Netherlands, 2003.

KARL ZIPSER: Jennifer, why did you marry yourself?

JENNIFER HOES: I married myself at the moment I was prepared to embrace my own life and agree on the responsibilities that come with that. I married myself at the age my father died, I decided not to stay in the shade of his death at thirty.

Jennifer Hoes in her studio in Haarlem speaking, about porcelain objects cast from her body, with her mother.

KARL ZIPSER: Is it not a bit self-centered to marry yourself?

JENNIFER HOES: I believe if a person is loyal to him- or herself, he or she he has more to offer to others — to be active, straight and involved in relationships. Therefor, by no means, is marrying yourself a self-centered act. In my wedding I needed my family and friends there as my witnesses and it was also a celebration of my relationships and intentions with them.

Installation at a big plant and flower fair in Holland: Jennifer Hoes is “Eva” in a back-projected movie within the installation; her porcelain objects represent the animals in paradise.

KARL ZIPSER: Marriage is of course more than a ceremony. There is also a wedding night . . .

JENNIFER HOES: The wedding night I spent alone and slept like a baby! I feel my wedding-night was the most logical one after a hectic day!

KARL ZIPSER: There is also a honey moon . . .

JENNIFER HOES: Unfortunately I had no money for a honeymoon, that would have been nice and welcome after the hard work.

Jennifer Hoes’ porcelain vases based on cast of her thighs [photograph: Eric van Straaten]

KARL ZIPSER: Also there is the rest of your life “together.” How does self-marriage affect your life on a day to day basis? Do you find yourself a good life-partner so far?

JENNIFER HOES: My wedding ring says “I will return to my heart every time.” I read this every day. I think the values to an individual life are pretty much the same as in a marriage, it is about how you’ll behave, about taking responsibility, about being a loving person. The promises you make in the ceremony concern good intentions. The intention to do your best, be involved, be sincere, etc. and the ceremony is something you do for the moment later when you’re making a mistake in the relationship, to remind you of your promises and to make up for your mistake. To always try your best. Of course, I’m not always happy with myself and the things I do.

KARL ZIPSER: Does your self-marriage preclude you from a traditional marriage with another man or woman?

JENNIFER HOES: I can still marry a partner. But I do feel I had my moment in white, so I’m not eager to take the trip to the city-hall again.

A nipple montage by Jennifer Hoes

KARL ZIPSER: Would it be fair to say that your wedding was an “art event”?

JENNIFER HOES: I don’t claim my work (or wedding) is art. I do, and make, what I feel I have to do or to make. The “art” label is given by others. The media, because of the wedding, tried to own me, make me say or do things. I had to verbally fight with reporters and kept most of them out of my wedding ceremony. I did not invite them. The truth is I did not reject them altogether when they did come. I enjoyed the attention, but to an extent.

Jennifer Hoes beside a nipple montage

KARL ZIPSER: Jennifer, you indeed got a lot of media attention because of your self-marriage. You present your “wedding” as an important personal experience. Wasn’t it just a publicity stunt to promote your art?

JENNIFER HOES: Today people still ask me when the next big “stunt” will be. I am hurt when people degrade my very being to a stunt. The wedding cost me a lot of time, effort and money. Also, very important, I did not make any money out of it, would also not justify it being a stunt for the sole purpose of entertaining others.

Karl, I don’t make a distinction between my life and work. Therefore my wedding can be considered “work.” It also explains why I can so easily use my own body as a tool. I believe life is a matter of design — for the biggest part we are the designers of our own lives. I believe we have more influence on our own lives then we sometimes realize. It is about taking responsibility and accountability. I use this concept in my work. At the physical level the work is based, sometimes literally, on the from of my own body. But the work is also is a projection of my heart and mind. The wedding, as something of heart and mind, is just as relevant to my work as a cast of my nipples.

Jennifer Hoes in her “Summer dress made of silk and silver.”

KARL ZIPSER: Will you take questions from readers here on Art & Perception?

JENNIFER HOES: Yes.