The End of an Era

This month, March 2023, marks the end of an era. After 27 years building the Coors Western Art Exhibit & Sale, an exhibition under the auspices of the National Western Stock Show, several men on the Board of Directors at the Stock Show, none of whom collect art anymore (or ever did), have decided to eliminate my position as curator. 

Yes, you read that right: the Coors Show will no longer be an independently curated event. A committee will decide. 

The art, I have been told, will reflect them (white men) and their traditional values, whatever those are. 

Is the hair on the back of your neck standing up? Art + committee + traditional values…. Yeah, it hurts my heart, too. 

Uninspired

This is an old story. Art exhibition has great success; egotists take over after deciding they can do it better despite having no understanding of the art market; art show dies; no one cares.

It’s not just art shows either. Think of all those funky neighborhoods where artists lived and worked until someone thought it’d be really cool to buy up the shabby-chic (read: cheap) real estate and suddenly the neighborhood becomes a cookie-cutter version of every other formerly artsy outpost. Rents go through the roof and the artists can no longer afford to live and work there. Creativity grinds to a halt without artists and soon the cool neighborhood becomes another cliche. 

The Big Backlash​

When I told the Coors Show artists what was happening and that I wouldn’t be back, many  reached out in texts and emails expressing their anger and incredulity.

One conversation in particular set me back on my heels. Melanie Yazzie, master print maker and a university professor said that this kind of thing was happening all over academia.  

What we’re seeing across the country, she told me, is a backlash against the #MeToo movement. Out of fear, certain people are doing everything they can to maintain control. They’re deceitful, conniving, and ruthless.

As she talked, I flashed back on the years working in the National Western culture of good old boys and saw vividly the scene that decided my fate.

Minding My Manners

Last year, I and two other women filed a complaint against the CFO of the National Western for bullying, harassment and retaliation. The president of the National Western, which is the company I worked for as curator of the Coors Show, hired an outside firm to interview everyone and, well, cover their asses.

Well behaved women rarely make history.

Our intention in filing a complaint with the National Western was not to be litigious but to make the bully stop. 

What happened, however, was jaw-dropping. The man with the outside firm who conducted the study came back with his findings: the women were not credible; the man was. 

When my contract was up, I was offered a “constructive discharge,” i.e., a contract written to force me out. In the contract were two stipulations. One, that the National Western would select a committee to curate the show with me (that committee would then take over in a couple years, presumably, after I trained them), and two, because of my “problems” with the CFO, I was not allowed in the offices where he was–which are essential to doing my job.

The bully is protected. The bullied is shamed and fired.

Yes, this is still 2023. I just checked.

When Committees Tell Artists What to Make

There are numerous reasons why art by committee guarantees a weak, milquetoast exhibit and mediocre art. 

First is the committee itself. Who joins a curatorial committee? Often it’s collectors with a limited palette. They have, thus, a dog in the fight; their goal is to substantiate their own collection and stoke their egos. They often know enough about art to be dangerous. They purchase what they like, not what is artistically important. 

Next is the problem of casting off anything that offends anyone on the committee. When all the offensive work is removed, what’s left is safe, mediocre.

And then there’s the issue of censoring and silencing voices. Artists who need the show and rely on those sales will rein in any thoughts of pushing themes or style or subject matter. Safe gets you in; experimentation and expansion of ideas gets you kicked out. 

When Politics Trump Art

Throughout history, politicians and religious figures have imposed their will upon artists, writers, and philosophers. In 1633, Galileo was found guilty of heresy for saying the earth rotated around the sun, not the other way around. He lived the rest of his life under house arrest. By the way, it took the Catholic Church more than 300 years to admit they were wrong and clear Galileo of heresy. 

Oscar Wilde was convicted of gross indecency with men and jailed from 1895 to 1897. 

And then there were the artists in Europe in the 30s and 40s who had the audacity to make work that pushed forward the ideas of what art is and its purpose. When Hitler came to power, part of his hatred was turned on modern art and the “degenerate” artists who made such things. The only art permissible was that of bucolic countrysides or heroic images of beautiful Germanic people.

Stalin, too, mandated that art could only depict the communist party and people in a positive light. Art created during his reign was used as propaganda to convince citizens to fight for the motherland and that the conditions under which they lived were really not so bad. 

From where I’m standing, I see modernist structures, and the only hint of a classical building I can see is the top of the U.S. dome. That is not what our founders had in mind.

In 2020, then President Trump signed an executive order called, “Make Federal Buildings Beautiful Again.” This order, which has since been rescinded, put forth that all new federal buildings should be beautiful because the “modern” federal buildings, according to Trump, are “just plain ugly.”

Ah, hubris….

Forgetting we belong to each other

Western art is the ugly stepchild of the art world, with good reason. Traditional Western artists who strictly adhere to the genre are often white men who paint pictures of cowboys and Indians. These old tropes are not only derivative but reductive; they perpetuate prejudice and lies. As Dakota Hoska, the curator of Native American Art at the Denver Art Museum curator put it: “Why don’t they tell their own story?” 

My goal as a curator of “Western” art was to exhibit art pertaining to the Western U.S. that was relevant and vital and alive. Because we are a strong community of artists, the vast majority of whom want to create work now, not work that looks backwards.

Curating the Coors Show for nearly three decades was more than a job to me. It was a community of people who brought fresh ideas to the table, each and every year. We made something that challenged the common perspective but did it in a way that invited conversation. The show was, ultimately, a place where artists could be seen and have a voice. 

It’s bigger than a job. It’s bigger than sales. It’s about being part of this life. It’s being human and understanding the true meaning of what Mother Theresa diagnosed as the ills of this world when she said, “We have forgotten we belong to each other.” 

Blessings in Disguise

Recently, over lunch, I told a dear friend what happened. After listening patiently, he sat back, took a breath and said, “Congratulations!” 

He meant it. And though I wasn’t quite ready to look back and laugh, his comment did help me put things into perspective. 

After nearly three decades working to build something, it was time to move on. I would not have left had I not been pushed. 

And, so, what else is there to do but feel grateful, turn the page, and start anew.

UPDATE

Since posting this, I’ve been told that the people at National Western who did this–and signed the contract that fired me–are telling people my blog has “gross inaccuracies.” So, here’s what you need to decide for yourself….

1. Here’s the proposal I sent the CEO of the Stock Show: 2023 Curator Compensation Proposal.

2. Here’s a copy of the contract I was presented: NWSS Best and Final Curator Contract offer.

3. Check out the site Non Profit Light. They list earnings and salaries for the National Western Stock Show. Note that Paul Andrews is paid nearly half a million a year and that all but one of the directors are men. 

4. And here’s the ethical standard for non profit pertaining to paying commissions, which they call, “not appropriate.”

Please feel free to leave comments below and, as always, thanks for reading!

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The Death of Art Criticism

The loss of local newspapers has led to the decline in coverage of the arts and the near extinction of art criticism. 

I get it. Papers have had to slim down, cut the fat, make their staff wear many hats. I also understand that reporting on the arts is not exactly hard-hitting journalism. But what really frustrates me is that papers have deputized any old staff writer as “Art Critic.” The result is that the deputized journalist is let loose to wander into the art world with a head full of hubris and a mind lacking true understanding. 

A Tale of Two Meanings: Crit-ic (noun)

Definition one: 

A person who judges the merits of literary, artistic, or musical works, especially one who does so professionally, as in, “A film critic.”  

Similar: commentator, observer, pundit, expert, authority, arbiter, appraiser, analyst.

Definition two:

A person who expresses an unfavorable opinion of something. 

Similar: detractor, censurer, attacker, backbiter, vilifier, denigrator, belittler, traducer. 

What's in a Name

The biggest problem with the ersatz art critics of the world is that we have come to accept their writing as actual art criticism. It simply isn’t. It’s just one person’s negative opinion, i.e., too much backbiter and not nearly enough authority.

Because knowledge is power, I’m diving into art criticism and what makes this form of writing so valuable and what we’re missing when we don’t get real critics to do this work.

Wayne Thiebaud on Left-handed Compliments

In my 2009 interview with Wayne Thiebaud (1920-2021), I asked about Edward Hopper.

Thiebaud called Hopper a very good painter of whom the art world had done a disservice. He brought up Clement Greenberg–arguably one of the most influential art critics of the 20th century–as an example.

Greenberg says something like this, and it’s an art world kind of way of putting down someone but not too far because they are so well considered by so many people…Greenberg says,

“If Hopper were a better painter, he wouldn’t be such a great artist.”

You give that to a student and the student has to puzzle that out. If you are useful to the student, you make sure that he understands something like that because it’s a central question.

Tennis, Anyone?

Speaking of left-handed compliments, here’s one I recently endured courtesy of the Denver Post’s “art critic” Ray Rinaldi.

The annual Coors Western Art Exhibit has been going on for a good 30 years now and, like a lot of things at the National Western Stock Show, its value comes from the fact that it never really changes.

From here Rinaldi talks about how the show has expanded and diversified…so not stayed the same. Then he writes that the scenery is on repeat, which he follows with a comment stating that the show is staying current by raising issues in the West. It continues in this manner–a nauseating set of left-handed compliments–to the end.

To make matters worse, he sprinkles in his own experience at the exhibit, complete with misspellings and personal meanderings that reflect more about himself and almost nothing about the art.

Nancy Bass, "At the Museum (After Mel Bochner)

At one point Rinaldi states that “walking into the show can be a lot like joining a family holiday.” But that’s the extent of his analogy; he never completes the thought beyond suggesting that artists in the show get on his nerves.

He does list the names of artists he’s familiar with–and with whom the art world greatly respects and so he can’t say anything too terrible about, as Thiebaud suggests. But he then goes on to belittle and dismiss everyone else. Sadly, he misinterprets one piece based on its title. This becomes a missed opportunity to delve into the artist and backstory. Not only does he glance over the sculpture but he misidentifies the work as a “hog,” not a coyote. Had Rinaldi looked just a little longer and dug just a little bit further he might have learned not only about art, but about animal behavior that so brilliantly sheds light on human behavior. 

Most unfortunately, what we never get from Rinaldi’s writing is a true dialogue about the show, the subject matter, the artists, or the reason for the show. 

In other words, his job of guiding us through an exhibit as an authority who is judging its merits never happens. The “review” comes off as petty. In fact, we learn more about Rinaldi’s temperament and inability to extricate himself from an experience than we do about the experience. 

Ah, hubris.

Christopher Knight: the Unicorn

So what does good art criticism look like?

There’s a reason Christopher Knight won the Pulitzer Prize in 2020: he’s really good. He brings a depth of knowledge and intimate understanding of the LA art scene from museum to street level. He looks. He digests. He finds meaning. He does this by spending time with art in order to understand the work and make important connections, which actually help us interpret it and, thereby, our world. 

Knight shines in his review, “Unicorns are just one of the wild rides in the Getty’s ‘Marvelous Book of Beasts,'” from July 23, 2019, LA Times.

In it, he draws on his vast knowledge of art, history, and Christianity. He kicks off the piece with a bit of insight into the life of Marco Polo who had thought he’d seen a unicorn on his travels, which he wrote about as, “‘Tis a passing ugly beast to look upon.” Of course, Polo hadn’t seen a unicorn, Knight points out, but probably glimpsed a rhino. 

Here’s an excerpt:

Unicorns proliferate in the first room of “Book of Beasts: The Bestiary in the Medieval World,” a sumptuous exhibition at the J. Paul Getty Museum. An animal surrogate for Christ’s cleansing purity, unicorns turn up in pictures drawn and painted in the vellum pages of books, carved into the side of an ivory box and the seat of a parade saddle made of bone, woven into a wool and silk tapestry, stained into window glass, hammered into a brass dish, molded to form a ritual water vessel and embroidered into delicate linen cloth.

Knight proceeds to walk us through the exhibit as if we were asked to join him. He regales us with more insights and points out hidden gems along the way. He refers to the curator’s writing and didactic materials, and soon an exhibit that, upon first glance sounded like a stuffy theoretical walk through the Getty archives, has come alive. 

But when he takes us to the final room in the exhibit, he offers this: 

If only the exhibit had also ended there. Unfortunately, there’s one more room to go, and it misfires.

Wait! What?

I’m hooked on this show because Knight has, through his well-trained lens, offered me a deeper understanding of the exhibit and drawn insightful connections to the human condition. But why did the show misfire? My curiosity is piqued and so I read on.

Seventeen minor specimens of Modern and contemporary art…suddenly catapult us almost 300 years into the future. The exhibition’s closing narrative is disjunctive. What happened between the 17th and 20th centuries is anyone’s guess. 

What We Learn

Personally, as a curator, I truly appreciate and am grateful for this section of the review. First and foremost, I want to get better at my work, so hearing why an exhibit misfires is instructional. But too, I know I’ve fallen into the trap of trying to do too much, thinking more is better (which would have been a legitimate critique of the Coors Show).

Knight gives us the reason why this final room of art does exactly the opposite.

Art museums now seem to feel that topical relevance is somehow served by appending recent art to exhibitions otherwise anchored in a historical epoch. Here, reducing the medieval bestiary to a contemporary footnote makes for a listless conclusion to an otherwise strong and compelling show.

I Think I Finally Understand

Rinaldi’s article showed up on one of my social media feeds along with his comment, “I think I finally understand the Coors Show.” If he did finally gain some understanding, he didn’t share it with us. 

The late, great art critic, Peter Schjeldahl, in his farewell column to readers of the Village Voice, beautifully addresses the kind of ambivalence Rinaldi stumbles over: 

I hazard that about 80 percent of my Voice writing was strongly affirmative in tone, with about 10 percent strongly negative and the same proportion sullenly mixed. Regrets? A few, mostly in the “mixed” category. Critics should shut up when they can’t decide how they feel, not that it’s always possible on a deadline.

Amen to that. 

Check out these Critics to read more good writing about art...

Peter Schjeldahl (1942-2022) wrote for The New Yorker for many wonderful years. Here’s a link to “T.C. Cannon’s Blazing Promise,” the review of the 2019 retrospective of Cannon’s work at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian.

Cannon dealt directly with being at once Native and American and, while he was at it, a citizen of the world. He did so in the name of a higher, though difficult and lonely, allegiance. He wrote in a letter from Vietnam, “How thoughtful of God to provide such a life-stream such as art.” -Peter Schjeldahl

Rebecca Solnit is an incredibly prolific writer. Here’s a quote from an article in Cosmo titled, “How I Became a Writer, Historian, and Activist”:

Counter-criticism… seeks to expand the work of art, by connecting it, opening up its meanings, inviting in the possibilities. A great work of criticism can liberate a work of art, to be seen fully, to remain alive, to engage in a conversation that will not ever end but will instead keep feeding the imagination. Not against interpretation, but against confinement, against the killing of the spirit. Such criticism is itself great art. -Rebecca Solnit

Roberta Smith is an art critic for the New York Times. Check out “Roberta Smith on Donald Judd’s ARTnews writings: ‘A Great Template for Art Criticism.’

Everything around you can be analyzed in terms of its visual presence…the great thing about art is that there’s more than you can ever know about, you can’t learn it all. And you’re lucky if you get to spend your lifetime trying to. –Roberta Smith

Michael Kimmelman, critic for the New York Times has several books out. One of my favorites is “Portraits: Talking with Artists at the Met, the Modern, the Louvre, and Elsewhere.” I’m including him here because he’s not the usual critic. Here’s an excerpt from an interview about his book, “The Accidental Masterpiece”:

To keep your eyes open can be remarkably difficult. People typically go to museums and feel that unless they have been told where and how to look, they won’t know what they’re seeing. So they don’t trust themselves to look. No wonder they’re resentful and feel left out. I know the feeling. It took me a while to learn how to open my eyes. Talking with artists helped. I once wrote a book about going around museums with artists and I saw how they looked at the same art differently, through their own perspectives, which proved that there is no single, correct way to look at art. That’s the essence of art—good art—that it refuses to be reducible to one message or idea, so the more you look, the more you can find. It’s a metaphor for life, I think. –Michael Kimmelman

For more insight into the history and genre of art criticism, check out “16 Art Critics Who Changed the Way We Look at Art,” in Artsy. 

Want to read that entire Wayne Thiebaud interview? Here ya go! Enjoy.

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The Memory of Things

Here’s something I’ve been wondering. Is it possible to feel an artist’s intention through a work of art? In other words, does art hold the memory of the hands that made it?

Stop Making Sense

Yes, I know I’ve been missing in action for a couple months (no, not ready to go there yet) and now I’m hitting you up with this bit of metaphysical silliness. But the idea that things carry the memory of their creator has been on my mind for some time now.

Maybe it’s this time of year, my favorite time of year: short, cold days and long quiet nights that beg for stories to be conjured. 

And so, here are a few winter stories, just for you…

One: The Art of Sushi

Jan Weiss Sushi Manifesto
"Sushi Manifesto" by Jan Weiss

Years ago, my friend Quang Ho and I were eating at a sushi place we love. We sat at the bar, in front the owner, Toshi, who was making the most beautiful plates of food, each morsel a tiny mouth-watering sculpture.

Needless to say, we ate until bursting and then ate some more. Quang and Toshi, who had known each other for years, caught up on family and friends and the art world. But Toshi was visibly irritated throughout the course of our meal.

Suddenly, he nodded toward a chef at the other end of the bar and said he would never eat that man’s food. We were puzzled. The offending chef was gregarious and had the couples in front of him in stitches. Toshi shook his head, disgusted. He said that people in Japan will wait in line for hours to order sushi from their favorite chef because each chef puts his intention into the food. The gregarious chef, Toshi said, was not paying attention to his work; he was more interested in being the center of attention. Because of this, that chef’s food would surely induce indigestion.

Two: The Sound of the Ocean

I am 7 or 8 years old, standing on a beach washed in the guazy light of a summer sun, the sound of the waves lulling me into drowsy contentment. 

Here, give me your hands, my father says. I reach up and he sets a conch shell on my open palms. The magnificent shell is sun-bleached on the outside but as I turn it over there, inside, it is smooth and pink and curves and spirals in on itself. What a beautiful puzzle.

Hold it to your ear, I am told. Shh. Do you hear it? That’s the sound of the ocean, the  sound of the waves. The shell remembers the waves and sings when you hold it to your ear.

How sublime! And yet how sad to carry a memory as a song for anyone who picks you up to enjoy while you wait helplessly to be returned to your home.

"Luminous Conch," Stephanie K Johnson

I don’t know why I looked up this phenomenon of shells and the sound of waves, but according to an article in Live Science, Trevor Cox, a professor of acoustic engineering at the University of Salford in the United Kingdom explained it this way:

“The seashell is like a wind instrument. It has a set of resonant frequencies where the air inside the shell will vibrate more strongly. Hold the shell to your ear, and it is those frequencies in the ambient sound that get amplified. Because the sound changes, your brain pays attention to it.”

Yeah, whatever, Trevor… 

Three: The Song of a Soul

Jump ahead for our next story. A tale from this summer past, remembered in the twilight moments before I drift off to sleep, my dog Buster lying next to me, his old, achy body curled up close to mine. He is warm and asleep in moments while I try to get comfortable without disturbing him. Finally, I lay a hand on his back and breathe with him, slow and deep. 

In the morning, I wake carefully feeling him next to me. He doesn’t stir. This is new. He is always the first to wake but now he sleeps late and waits until the last possible moment before leaving the warmth of the bed. 

He is here this week then back to stay with my ex, who doesn’t let him sleep in the bed. But even after he leaves, it’s like he’s here because I see him in the usual places and talk to him before I catch myself. Oh, right, I am talking to a memory.

How surreal, to feel his presence in his absence, in the middle of the night and throughout the day, to catch a glimpse of his ear twitching from where he normally sleeps on the couch with his paws resting over his nose. 

Maybe it’s nothing more than my deep desire to have him back but the memory of him is so vivid that, for a few unhurried moments before reality comes sharply into focus, I know he is with me. 

It was selfish, maybe, to keep him alive for so long. But what a burden to make a decision for a being who cannot express his own desire. His heart was giving out, the vet said. Yes, but he’s still eating and happy, I replied. My boys agreed and added, He’s happy and active, so why are you writing him off?

Looking back, I think Buster kept going because it was his job to watch over us. On the day he passed from this world, I held him and told him we would be ok, he could go. I didn’t believe a word of it.  

It’s been months and here, in the heart of the winter, the physical sensation of his presence is still sentient. And no, I don’t believe in ghosts, not exactly. What I’m suggesting is that I think people, animals, and even certain objects carry a spirit–an echo, maybe–that we can feel and connect to whether the living, breathing body is there or not. 

“Dogs come into our lives to teach us about love. They depart to teach us about loss. A new dog never replaces an old dog, it merely expands the heart.” -Erica Jong

Four: The Here After

My friend Cathy came over a couple weeks ago. Late afternoon coffee turned into dinner followed by cups of tea. We curled up like cats on either end of the sofa and talked into the evening. At some point, I can’t remember why or how, the conversation turned to the afterlife.

Do you believe in reincarnation, I asked, sensing she was headed there but unsure of whether to broach the topic. I do, she said, yes, I do. In fact, she added, I’ve learned I had past lives.

I do like the idea of reincarnation, partly, because I was raised Catholic and never felt satisfied with the tight-laced answers the church offered. I am now more of a traveler through other mythologies and have come to believe that if there is a god and a divine order to life, that god would have to be, first and foremost, hysterically funny and second, way, way, waaayy smarter than all of humankind put together.  

So, why not past lives and the recycling of souls? It’s a rather comforting notion, isn’t it? I’ve even read that, in the ranking of past lives from young souls to old souls, when you make it to the level of dog, you’ve reached your highest incarnation and can finally come to peace. I like this idea best of all. 

Five: A Creation Myth

Let’s say we are surrounded by souls and that we are souls on our own private journey just trying to figure it all out–that the physical body is a vessel from which we will move on–could that also mean that we can impart our spirit (or the impression of our spirit) into the things we touch?

People bring their own baggage to every experience especially when looking at art. I talk about this in my blog, Defending the First Artist In. But I’m not sure that fully explains the abrupt sensation an onlooker has when standing in front of certain works of art. The same can be said about music, literature and poetry, though I think visual art, because it doesn’t move past you in the same way, allows viewers to tune in differently. 

"The Horse Rider," Marc Chagall, National Galleries of Scotland

Six: What the Dickens?

Maybe it’s the Ebenezer Scrooge effect. You know how Scrooge denied the first ghost of his dead business partner by telling him he was a bit of bad porridge? It took three more ghosts before Scrooge could see the path he was blindly headed down and how he had missed the true joy of connection with others. But it’s never too late!

So, what about this? What if, in the process of creating art, an artist surrenders to a truth, which is the authentic voice of his or her soul? And what if, in doing so, observers throughout time who come with open hearts and minds can take part in the experience the artist had in the creation of this art? Is it possible then that looking at art might be akin to walking with spirits?

Yes, maybe art is simply a shell that, instead of echoing the sounds of the shifting winds blowing past, reflects the mind looking in. 

I think, though, because it’s winter and because I like a good tale, that maybe the objects we make with our hands, the things that we pour our life’s knowledge, understanding, intentions, and love into, maybe those things carry a piece of our soul, which can be felt and heard without words by those souls who are open and ready to settle in for a long winter’s eve to hear a story.

Wishing you the happiest of holidays. And, as always, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comment section below. 

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Defending the First Artist In

Here’s something I don’t get. Why do people lose their minds over art they don’t personally like or understand? I’m talking, write-letters-angry. Call-your-congressman-angry. Bring-a-crowbar-to-the-exhibit-and-destroy-offending-art-angry?!

Why not just, I don’t know, leave? 

I can’t speak for all curators, but many of us  are trying to put shows together that have a reason for being, that do something more than lull people to sleep. We want people to see something new, to consider the world in a fresh way. And, whenever possible, we want people to feel something. 

Maybe that’s the real question. 

Why do people get so angry when art makes them feel an emotion?

This is nothing new, people getting their undies in a bunch over art, but in this day and age when zealots can arm themselves and destroy works of art (or attack people making that work) because it offends them, it seems like it’s time to talk about…

How to talk about art. 

In 2010, the Loveland Museum of Art enraged people by displaying a work by artist Enrique Chagoya, "The Misadventures of the Romantic Cannibals", a 12-panel lithograph that some felt denigrated their religion. Kathleen Folden drove from Kalispell, Montana, entered the museum with a crowbar, smashed the display case, and damaged the work.

Years ago, while wandering through Dia Beacon, in New York, with a dear friend, we were confronted by Robert Smithson’s Map of Broken Glass (Atlantis). We were silent for a while until my friend leaned over and whispered, “That’s art?” 

Robert Smithson, Map of Broken Glass (Atlantis), 1969
Robert Smithson, Map of Broken Glass (Atlantis), 1969, DIA Center, NY

I’m going to admit a few things here. First, I didn’t connect the sprawling broken glass sculpture to the Robert Smithson of the Spiral Jetty fame, which is also owned and maintained by Dia. 

This lack of knowledge brings me to my second admonition: Fear. 

Fear of saying something stupid. Fear of sounding pretentious. Fear of not having the facts or correct terminology or even a good reason for defending something.

That day, standing in front of Smithson’s work with my kind and sophisticated friend who really didn’t get it, we had a great conversation about a pile of glass. (I know, a lot of you are dubious, but stay with me on this.)

I, like many of you, do not hold a degree in art history. My understanding is from years of research, conversations with curators and artists, and more than a few boozy evenings with arty friends discussing, arguing, complaining, and defending art.

And so, after 30 years and more than my share of tequila, I present to you a not-art-history-major’s best tips for understanding and enjoying art, whether you like it or not.

One: Understand Where Art Comes From

I don’t make art for the same reason most people don’t make art: I have nothing original to say in paint or print or clay or any other medium. It’s not my calling.

What I know for a fact after years of working with amazing artists is that it’s really hard to be original.

It’s so hard to be original that, when confronted with something stunningly original, we the viewers owe it to the world to stop and pay attention, whether it’s our cup of tea or not. 

I’ll go one step further. Putting yourself in front of art, especially when it elicits an emotional reaction, is vital on a personal and societal level. Artists with truly original visions are the ones who speak the truth when others look away. 

A lot of times, art (and theatre and music and film, poetry and writing) that makes us feel agitated is also making us see the world differently; it makes us reconsider our beliefs and values. 

And those brave souls who created some of the most challenging works of art are people I call the “First Ones In.” These men and women made works of art born out of, as Mary Oliver called it, “the wild, silky part of ourselves.” The First Ones In did this work knowing the thing they were making would be criticized. In fact, they did it in spite of this awareness. 

Two: Maybe your kid could do that BUT he didn't

Yes, there’s some crazy stuff out there that’s called “art.” I’m not part of the inner sanctum of museum curators and gallery directors who push forth sharks in glass cylinders or bananas duct-taped to walls, but I do pay attention when I feel uncomfortable, curious, or agitated by a work of art. Something important is happening here and I need to figure out what that is.

Maurizio Cattelan, Comedian, sold at Miami Art Basal for $120,000
Maurizio Cattelan, Comedian, sold at Miami Art Basal for $120,000

NOTE: The banana thing, in my mind, is derivative of Macel Duchamp’s piece, “Fountain.” Duchamp submitted a urinal to be displayed as a sculpture in the first Society of Independent Artists exhibition held in New York, in 1915. Though he was one of the founders of the Society, “Fountain” was rejected from the exhibit, which caused quite an uproar in the artist community because, principally, the Society was formed to create a place where all art could be exhibited and not censored. According to writing on the Tate Modern website, “Fountain” has been seen as the quintessential example of what Duchamp called “readymade” art: an originally manufactured object designated by the artist as a work of art.  

Marcel Duchamp, Fountain, 1917, signed "R. Mutt". The original was lost but the replica (1964) resides in the Tate Modern and is on display, marking a turning point in art where the artist states what is art history where the artist asks and answers: What is art?

Here’s some text about “Fountain” that appeared in a 1917 article called “The Richard Mutt Case,” that was published in the Blind Man and accompanied by a photograph of the original work taken by Alfred Stieglitz:

Mr Mutt’s fountain is not immoral, that is absurd, no more than a bathtub is immoral. It is a fixture that you see every day in plumbers’ shop windows. Whether Mr Mutt with his own hands made the fountain has no importance. He CHOSE it. He took an ordinary article of life, placed it so that its useful significance disappeared under the new title and point of view – created a new thought for that object.”

In a nutshell...

You would have one hell of a brilliant kid if he or she created work like Pablo Picasso, Jackson Pollock, Joan Mitchell, or Frida Khalo without prior knowledge of these artists’ existence. But your kid didn’t. The kids who made those ground breaking works only existed for a brief, beautiful time; when their lives ended, that work was complete. Everyone who’s made similar work since then is inspired by or simply copying.

This isn’t a bad thing. In fact, so much of what we see in the art world was done by artists who, as Wayne Theibaud put it, stand on the shoulders of giants. In other words, most artists have been trained by someone and have been influenced by many, many others who came before. 

In this light, you can consider “Fountain” as the springboard for all kinds of compelling and annoying art like much of what Andy Warhol did by making work that became a running commentary on consumerism.

Bottom line: not all art has aesthetics as its main or only purpose in the world; sometimes it’s a protest, a nudge or a shove into modernity. It is there to make us see our world and the issues we face in a new way.

Three: Make room for the intensity of ambition

In his 2013 critique of an exhibition held at the Museum of Modern Art in New York titled, “Inventing Abstraction, 1910-1925: How a Radical Idea Changed Modern Art,“ Peter Schjeldahl wrote about the Wassily Kandinsky painting, “Impression III (Concert)”:

Impression III (Concert) Wassily Kandinsky, 1911
Wassily Kandinsky, Impression III (Concert), oil, 30x40 inches

There is something forced, a hysteria of will, about the work, as there is about the drive of Italian Futurists to represent motion, which stumbles on the fact that paintings hold dead still. But the intensity of ambition of the Futurists and Kandinsky batters misgivings.” 

Shows like “Inventing Abstraction” illustrate the very best and most important thing art–especially art we don’t understand–can do for us: it let’s us peer into the world of other cultures, times, and lives. We can read history and memorize dates, but isn’t the history of mankind made more alive with color, shape, and texture as attested to by those who possess an “intensity of ambition that batters misgivings?”

In other words, artists are searching for meaning and new forms of expression. Their work doesn’t hinge on whether you like it or not. Your job is to simply let them do their job.

Four: pause

When art makes you react, even negatively, that’s exactly when you need to stop and pay attention. Then start asking questions.

I dropped in an Agnes Marin painting here to talk about taking a breath before dismissing something or getting angry. 

White paintings seem to really piss people off. Below is a video that talks about white paintings and adds some very funny clips of people getting all verklempt. 

Suffice it to say, white paintings were not created to piss you off; you really didn’t figure into the creation of them. So, take a breath and consider what the painting is doing inside of you.

Agnes Martin, White Stone, 1964, oil and graphite on line, 72 x 72 inches
Agnes Martin, White Stone, 1964, oil and graphite on line, 72 x 72 inches

Some highlights of this video that I love…

“With a white painting, you have to do a lot more work,” said Elisabeth Sherman, assistant curator at the Whitney Museum, NYC. “But it can be a lot more rewarding.”

“White paintings are a fabulous kind of Rorschach test because they offer viewers an ambiguous canvas upon which they can project their own interpretation, emotions, beliefs, and stories onto,” said Dean Peterson, producer of this video.

“It very easy to be dismissive of things we’re not immediately attracted to, so if you have a negative gut reaction of defensiveness or fear or anxiety or rejection, try to move past that to see what’s available afterwards,” explained Sherman and added, 

It doesn’t have to change your mind but sometimes moving through the reaction is when you learn the most about the work but also about yourself.”

All this to say that when challenged by conceptual art, ask questions. You don’t have to like it or want to live with it. In fact, whether you like it or not is completely irrelevant when it comes to experiencing art. Consider these experiences as an opportunity to do a little self-reflection.

Five: If you can't say something nice...

I think disparaging art or anything or anyone you don’t understand is a kind of intolerance that leads us down a slippery slope toward censorship, hate speech and violence. Sorry if that sounds hyperbolic, but you don’t have to look too far into our past to see the ways people have caused tremendous destruction simply over an unwillingness to accept that others have differing opinions or ways of looking at the world. 

And really, life is short. Why not let yourself feel your emotions as a way to understand not only art but our collective history?

If you can’t do that, please remember the words of Thumper’s mom–go ahead, say it with me: 

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The Art of Pricing Art image

Making Sense of the Price of Art

What artists and collectors need to know about the valuation of art.

I am frequently asked about the price of art. Beginning artists want to know how to get started when they don’t have a track record and established artists wonder if their prices are where they should be. Conversely, collectors want to know how an artist came up with his or her prices and if those prices are appropriate. Thus, a blog to help you do the numbers. Lots to cover, so let’s jump in.

Check for a Pulse

If you are a living artist or a collector, presumably living, and you’re wondering how art is priced, this section is for you. 

(Dead artists and deceased collectors, please feel free to skip ahead. You earned it.)

Artists, god love ya, but you can be all over the map with pricing and it’s making my head spin. It’s also causing collectors to wonder if what they’re buying is worth it.

Collectors are buying a product–yes, a work of art they have fallen in love with–but it’s a luxury, which is why they compare your prices to other things they also need or want. Once collectors start doing some mental math and making comparisons, you can bet they’re going to second guess you and themselves.

So, how do you keep collectors from second guessing themselves right out of a purchase?

Excellent question.  

Do you need new friends?

I’m sounding like a broken record here, but the art world is famously opaque. Let’s face it, we like obfuscation. It’s, well, arty. And fun. Really fun. Which is why I love writing this blog. The art world provides an endless well of secrets from which to draw. 

Artists, here’s the deal. Collectors are smart people. We know they’re smart because they like art. Their friends know they’re smart, too. Their friends are also smart, but not necessarily interested in art, which means they’re not as smart as collectors. Are you with me? 

So, these non-collector friends try to hide the fact that they don’t care about art and would rather spend their money selfishly on themselves (kidding…kind of…actually, they’re not reading this so, not kidding). And, non-collectors who haven’t invested the time and energy into learning about art try to hide this lack of savvy by making fun of the art that their collector friends have chosen. 

Not cool. But it happens all the time. 

Apart from the obvious solution–get new friends–the collector needs access to more knowledge about you and what you’re up to as well as some solid intel when it comes to how you price your work.  

Ground Rules

In a nutshell, please adhere to the following:

1. DON’T price by the amount of time it took you. Some pieces take a ridiculous amount of time, others just flow. That’s the life of an artist; you learn to take the victories with the struggles. 

2. DON’T price by how much you love the thing you just created. You will create something you love even more. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but you will. Let it go and trust in the process.

3. DON’T price based on what other artists your same age or socio-economic or education level are pricing their work at. This isn’t a race. Wish them well and get back to work. 

4. DO, for the love of Pete, price consistently by the square inch. (Dead artists, hang on, I haven’t gotten to you yet.)

Ugh! Math...

Yeah, I hear ya, you went to school for art not math. Don’t worry, we’re not getting fancy here. 

Step 1. Figure out the square inch, which is height x width. 

8 x 10 = 80 square inches

Easy peasy. 

Step 2. Assign a dollar amount. (I’ll help you figure this out next.)

Here’s what happens when you pick one amount and stick with it for every size painting you create.

8 x 10 inches = 80 x $5/sq in = $400

16 x 20 inches = 320 x $5/sq in = $1,600

30 x 40 inches = 1200 x $5/sq in = $6,000

The small ones are a little low and the big ones are kind of high.

The Sliding Scale

When you adjust by assigning the smaller works a higher square inch price and reduce that amount as you get bigger, it starts to feel more equitable. And, for lots of artists, this gets a little closer to assigning an hourly wage to the work, since creating art takes time no matter what size you’re working on. 

8 x 10 inches = 80 x $10/sq in = $800

16 x 20 inches = 320 x $7/sq in = $2,240

30 x 40 inches = 1200 x $5/sq in = $6,000

Where to Start When You're Starting

My very best advice for those of you who haven’t started selling your work (and no, sales to friends and family don’t count):

Price it low, sell it fast, and use the proceeds to buy more supplies. 

Here’s why. When you over-value your early work–yes, it took you a long time and you’re proud of the breakthrough pieces–buyers don’t get why a novice’s work is so expensive relative to artists who’ve been in the market a lot longer.

The next thing you know, the collector is making comparisons. End result: no sale.

Same with dealers and curators. If you price your work too high, we evaluate your work based on what’s out there, but when we check out your accomplishments and don’t find any, we know you have an unrealistic and overinflated sense of your work, and will take great offense if we even brooch the topic of prices. So, we take a hard pass. 

The other really, really important thing about selling work at affordable prices when you are just starting out is that you won’t have stacks of inventory piling up. This means you won’t be hanging on to that one amazing work that is your all time best ever. Because when you hang on to the best ever thing you’ve made, it will sit in your studio and taunt you. It will whisper: You’ll never do anything better. Give up. It’s useless to continue.

When to give yourself a raise

There are a number of factors to suss out before raising your prices.

1. Consider taking a 10% increase every 1-2 years. This is a small enough amount to not be readily noticed and scare people off, but big enough that collectors can see that their “investment” in you is going up. 

2. Check the economic forecast. If we’re headed into a recession, maybe hold off another year. 

3. Know your client base. If you’re clients are in the tech industry, for example, consider how things are going in their world. If everything is booming, no matter what the economy is doing, you might be ok with a price increase.

NOTE: If you never take a price increase, you could see your collector base become as stagnant as your prices. Keeping your prices at the same rate may feel safe, but in the long-run, that security blanket will drag you right into obscurity. The market wants to see a recognition of your growth and success in the form of a price increase, so take it. 

Can I adjust for gallery commissions

That’s a big NO.

Think of your work and the prices you command like any other commodity. There is a price it trades for, that price is listed in shows, on wall tags and websites, which means it’s verifiable. And collectors WILL verify your prices. If they see prices are higher in one place and less elsewhere, two very bad things happen.

First, buyers will go around your galleries and exhibitions and call you directly. Dealers always hear about this and will kick you out of their world faster than you can say, “Oh, crap, Rose warned me about this!” On top of that, now you’re in the position of having to haggle and sell yourself when you really should be in the studio making art.

Second, you have devalued your work to the lowest number listed anywhere your work is for sale. Why would anyone pay more? 

Remember, collectors don’t always know why something is priced as it’s priced, but they are smart enough to know when things look fishy. And there are simply too many terrific artists who are being consistent with their prices; collectors don’t need to go through the hassle of figuring out a pricing system that doesn’t make sense.

Framing and other considerations

Instead of adjusting your prices to the frame, select frames that are roughly 10-15% of your retail price for that work. For example, a $1,000 painting should have a frame that cost you $100-$150. 

Shipping…yeah, that’s a tough one. And now most shows won’t pay for work coming to them or going back to you. Consider investing in air float crates. They are pricy, but you can reuse them many times. Plus they weigh less than wooden crates, which are unwieldily and cost ridiculous amounts of money to send. (And often arrive damaged because delivery people drop them or run fork lifts through them….)

Buying from the dearly departed

COLLECTORS, if you’ve dipped a toe into the deceased art market, you know all bets are off when figuring out pricing.

I covered some of this in my last blog, Collect Like a Pro, which gave you all tips and tricks for navigating the market. Basically, when art hits the secondary market, the prices are determined by a few factors:

  1. Supply and demand
  2. Importance of that work amid the artist’s entire body of work, i.e. was it a seminal piece that marked a major turning point in the aritst’s career?
  3. Quality of the work–is there any damage, has it been conserved, etc.
  4. Provenance–who owned it and whether that collection was important. 
  5. Exhibitions, awards, honors, etc., for the work and the artist.

Collectors who are considering buying historically significant works would be best advised to work with an art consultant or go through a trusted gallery. There are a LOT of fakes out there. An advisor can help you find and buy work that is within your budget and has the pedigree you want for your investment.

An Art Afterlife insurance policy

ARTISTS, this is important. When you’re gone, dealers and collectors will be the judge and jury of your work using the above criteria. Remember when I said not to price things based on how much time it took you or how much you liked a work of art? It still doesn’t matter…right now; what does matter is that you keep a record of those breakthrough works and why they were important. Also, record info about your process and who you were palling around with at the time. 

The things that hurt the secondary market valuation of art:

  1. Bad auction sales
  2. Lack of visibility in national shows
  3. No catalogues or other critical writing about your work (i.e., astute writing by authorities in the art world)

Here are some things to do now to support the valuation of your work and boost your prices while you can enjoy the dough:

  1. Write things down about work that is important to you.
  2. Try to get your best work into major exhibitions so there is a record of those pieces.
  3. Work with galleries to get prominent collectors to purchased important works.
  4. Seek museums to collect your work, even if that means a discount or donation.

If you’re still wondering about pricing, ask fellow artists and dealers to chime in. And feel free to send me an email. I’ll take a look and give you my two-cents. 

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Collect Like a Pro

From genealogy searches to knowing how to sniff out pinnacle works of art, adopting the habits of serious collectors can make you a more savvy collector.

No big surprise here: art collectors are a curious breed. Curious for many reason but one of my favorites is that many believe they were born collectors, like it’s a genetic thing. (OK, personally, I kind like this theory; it makes me sound less like a common hoarder and more like, well, an eccentric hoarder.) 

Collectors are also quite rare. According to research by Larry’s List published in 2015, there are just 8,000 to 10,000 art collectors in the world. The world. Seriously, there are like a bazillion people in the world, give or take, so you do the math. 

Lewis collection Francis Drexel Smith, Twilight in the Garden of the Gods, 1920 c, 35x40
Francis Drexel Smith, Twilight in the Garden of the Gods, 1920 c, oil, 35 x 40 inches

By “collector,” I’m talking about people who are avidly putting together a body of work that has a focus. Often their collected works far exceed their wall space, which doesn’t phase them. Collectors are in hot pursuit of the perfect object, always, whether they’re looking or not. And, yes, they’re always looking.

There are, of course, lots more people who buy art to have a few nice things. Their buying habits are a little different than the highly dedicated collectors and range from making impulse purchases while on vacation to buying because they met the artist at an event and really like him or her.

Some buyers work with advisors or interior designers and get things that, well, match the drapery. I’m not knocking drapery or saying you’re not a real collector if you aren’t buying with some lofty goal in mind; art speaks to us all and, heck, if it happens to tie the whole room together–bonus! (OK, now I’m thinking of  Jeff Lebowski’s rug, the one that tied the room together….  But I digress.)

Desperately Seeking Art Wonks

Because I love the diehards, the wonks, the nerds, and the poor souls who fall down the rabbit hole of any creative pursuit for days on end, this blog is all about what makes the hardcore art collector tick. 

ARTISTS: My hope is that this will help you better understand what collectors are looking for when they buy. 

ART BUYERS, PATRONS AND ENTHUSIASTS: read on for some great ideas that might help you in your own pursuit. 

And so, to tackle the ins and outs of building a collection, I called on long time Denver art collector, Rob Lewis, who believes that anyone not born a collector has a hard time understanding the passion of those who are and that at the heart of the collector is an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Amen to that.

Lewis, Robert Reid, Nude, 1920 c., 16x12 inches, oil
Robert Reid, Nude, 1920 c., 16x12 inches, oil

Finding Your Niche

According to Rob, the most natural place to start a collection is with things you love. Truth be told, I’m not the biggest fan of this approach as a stand-alone and write about some ways to avoid making too many costly mistakes early on. Check out: Buy What You Love or…Try This Approach Instead for ways to help refine your search.

But, at the end of the day, buying what you love and what most intrigues you is exactly how Rob started collecting, and is his best advice for novice collectors.

Vance Kirkland Explosions Near Scorpio, 66x75 inches, oil
Vance Kirkland, Explosions Near Scorpio, 66 x 75 inches, oil

He went on to say that when you buy what you love, the objects you collect are imbued with personal meaning; they tell a story. Over time, these objects come to connect your life emotionally, aesthetically, intellectually, and financially. 

He delineates art buyers from serious collectors in this manner:

“Collectors don’t buy things to decorate their home or office; we collect to fill our lives.”  

Rob discovered his passion for the American West not long after moving to Denver. “I wanted to learn about the art that was being created in this region during the 20th Century. It was perennially overlooked and under-appreciated. The more I learned, the more I realized that there was an incredible body of work that was readily available. I started in the early 20th century with post-impressionism and followed the progression of Modernism to Abstract Expressionism.”

Over time, he learned to discern the quintessential examples by artists from each era. Along the way, he says he’s made many mistakes but that every mistake was an important learning experience. 

It’s also expanded his world in ways he hadn’t expected when he started. “One of the most valuable benefits of collecting has been the acquaintances I’ve made. Artists, family members, scholars, curators, dealers, and most especially, other collectors. I’m truly grateful for all those who have shared their knowledge and friendship with me.”

Guy Maccoy, Cripple Creek Fram, Colorado, 1933, 36x48 inches, oil

Check out the website, Modernist West, to see more of his dedicated collection.

Good, Better, Best : Becoming a Connoisseur

Developing a great eye and aesthetic sensibilities comes with time and exposure to art through reading, visiting museums, attending lectures, and talking to experts such as curators, dealers, and other experienced collectors. In my experience, I’ve found that people in the art community are very giving with knowledge, if you ask, but they can suss out the folks who aren’t in it for the right reasons. More on this later.

Lewis William Sanderson, Brief Encounter, 1951, 20x16 inches, oil
William Sanderson, Brief Encounter, 1951, 20x16 inches, oil

“I think the art of collecting is connoisseurship,” Rob said. “You learn to distinguish between good, better, and best by looking at objects and learning why one is better than another.”

Think of connoisseurs as the ninjas of collecting; they have the ability to see which objects among an array of similar things are superior. Part of developing this knowledge comes with understanding the evolution of an artist’s career. Early on, an artist emulates his or her teachers. A connoisseur knows this and avoids buying derivative works, which will not hold as much value as the later pieces that carry the artist’s individual voice.

“A successful artist,” Rob said, “will create something truly original: a unique artistic expression. A connoisseur strived to acquire an example of an artist’s work that demonstrates the artist’s unique contribution.”

And he added, pieces you consider buying should be ones that are immediately identifiable as being by that artist. 

“It should be a quintessential example at the height of their creative output. It should be a work that is closest to the moment of the artist’s unique artistic inspiration. Later works that repeat and refine the original inspiration are less satisfying.”

Quality is paramount, and yet, all too often art buyers are looking for a bargain. “A great work of art is far more valuable than a great deal,” Rob said. “Size is not the determining factor; a small gem may be far more valuable than a large, unsuccessful piece.” 

Buy the Best, Avoid the Rest

Rob collects with this motto in mind: “Buy the best, avoid the rest.” He actually uses a little more colorful language, but basically, you want to get the seminal works by every artist you collect and take a hard pass on the lesser works. This is where having a focus and doing some leg work will really help, in particular, when buying work by deceased artists, which, in Rob’s case, is all he collects.

Beatrice Mandelman, Winter, 1955 c., 30 x 40 inches, mixed media
Beatrice Mandelman, Winter, 1955 c., 30 x 40 inches, mixed media

With living artist, if you are seriously wanting to get into collecting, I strongly suggest you get to know the artists whose work intrigues you.

The the most satisfied collectors I know are the ones who have developed personal relationships with the artists they collect. In so doing, everything they own has much more personal meaning. It tells a story–yes a story of the artist–but the collector gets to add his or her own story to it.

This is easier said than done, especially if you are not immersed in the art scene. And, honestly, some of the most important works done in an artist’s lifetime are sometimes the most difficult to live with; they are too confrontational or too intense. Sometimes it takes years for society to catch up with what artists are putting out in the world; it’s easier and safer for people to poo-poo something strange or radically new than it is to stand up for works of art that make others feel uncomfortable. But this is the art the connoisseur wants because it will bear witness to something very personal and, in so doing, something universal. 

Because connoisseurs want quintessential works of art, they can, in their haste when something comes up for sale, be fooled by an imitation—that piece of art that was too good to be true. Knowing how much research Rob does, I was surprised by his answer when I asked if he’d ever bought a fake.

His response:

"You haven’t lived until you’ve bought a fake."

How to avoid buying a fake?

In a word: provenance. 

Provenance is the record of ownership and is used to establish legitimacy of a work of art by tracing it to the source, whenever possible. If you’re buying from a living artist, provenance is easy. Your job is to keep good records should you decide to sell. With deceased artists, it can get murky and often requires some sleuthing, but this will be time well spent, especially if you can avoid a costly mistake.

George McNeil, Smoke and Steam at Laramie Station, 1946, 22x28 inches, mixed media
George McNeil, Smoke and Steam at Laramie Station, 1946, 22x28 inches, mixed media

When researching provenance, Rob suggests asking the following questions: 

Where and when was the piece created? What were the circumstances of its creation? Was it exhibited? Where and when? Are there written reviews of its exhibition? Was it acquired by a museum or someone important? Was it stolen? Is the piece signed by the artist? Is there an inscription on the piece? Was the piece conserved or altered in any way?

Collecting on a Budget

Jean Charlot First Steps Litho
Jean Charlot, First Steps, 14 x 9 inches, lithograph

We are all bound by our financial circumstances. Luckily, there are many places to start that do not require large sums of money, such as hand-pulled prints and photography. But again, consider first and foremost what most intrigues you. From there, Rob stresses that you should never pursue collecting for financial gain.

“If you acquire the best of the best,” he said, “and you have a bit of luck, your collection may appreciate substantially.”      

Here’s a little known secret of the art world…

Lots of collectors and dealer won’t sell to someone who is buying for the wrong reasons. I know this sounds crazy, especially if you’re under the impression that everyone in the art world is starving. 

The art market can be exclusionary, secretive, and opaque. It is also very small and gossipy, so much so that bargain hunters might discover that they have been blackballed on a national level from buying desirable works. They may also learn they have not even been given the opportunity to buy seminal pieces.

There are several reasons why. Bargain hunter’s collections are often replete with inferior works purchased for the autograph, not the quality. Dealers and artists don’t want important work seen amid a sea of bad art. 

Second reason: no collectors want to discover their efforts in finding quintessential pieces was for naught, that those pieces have been locked away in storage. Many collectors won’t sell their best things to a rookie buyer but will instead hold out for the opportunity to place those important objects in a museum where they can be shared with a larger audience. 

The third reason is that bargain hunters, simply by making low-ball offers, have shown their lack of commitment to collecting and their inferior aesthetic sensibility. 

Emerson Woelffer, Birds and Black Sun, 1956, 40x30 inches, oil
Emerson Woelffer, Birds and Black Sun, 1956, 40x30 inches, oil

Paying a Fair Price

Part of connoisseurship is understanding the market. To build your knowledge, keep track of national sales and auction results. Over time you’ll see how works of similar sizes, by the same artist, go for very different prices–sometimes dramatically different. You’ll learn, through this exercise, what makes one work of art more desirable than all the others.

The mistake new collectors make with this information, however, is vital to understand. Pricing by the square inch is for works by living artists. Pricing of work by deceased artists is based on provenance—who owned it—and by those quintessential qualities that make that particular piece more desirable amid an artist’s entire oeuvre.

Lewis Mechau Tom Kenney Comes Home, 1944, 31x48 inches, tempera on board
Frank Mechau, Tom Kenney Comes Home, 1944, 31x48 inches, tempera on board

Experienced connoisseurs often know the works they want to add to their collection and where those pieces are hiding or where they were last seen. They also know that the most prized works rarely sell in a gallery or at auction; they are bought and sold quietly and discretely and only into collections where the work will be cherished, protected and available should a museum want access.

So, what do you do if you find a work of art you desperately want only to learn the price is out of your range? You have two options: pony up or walk away.

Finding Unique Objects

Collectors are hunters; they are constantly on the prowl.

“The internet is a godsend for collectors,” Rob said. “I research the period that I collect, and delve into archives to find newspaper articles, exhibition catalogues, inventories, and correspondence. I will even do genealogical searches to track down family members and colleagues. I’m in contact with dealers, galleries, auctions, curators, and scholars. And, most importantly, I communicate with other collectors.”

Ernest Lawson Rocks and Plains 1927 16x20 oil
Ernest Lawson, Rocks and Plains, 1927 c., 16x20 inches, oil

Know What You Don't Know

“As a collector, I have learned so much from so many,” Rob said. “I’ve had many mentors, advisors, and colleagues. It’s what makes collecting so gratifying. I have been surprised at the willingness of others to share their knowledge and insight. Everyone as an opinion, and it may not be the same as your own, but it may be valuable. You may start as a collector, but if you listen carefully, you will become a connoisseur.”   

Want more about collecting? Check out these blogs:

Insider Tips for Buying and Selling at Auction
How Personal Is Your Collection?
Art Buying Etiquette 101

Please leave questions and comments and, yes, feel free to share my blog with friends!

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Studio Mojo: The Potential Power of a Home Studio

Meet Nancee Jean Busse

My friend, the wonderful artist Nancee Jean Busse, dug into the pros and cons of establishing a home studio. I love Nancee’s wry sense of humor and candor. In Studio Mojo: the Potential for Power in a Home Studio, Nancee addresses some of the practical needs–more space and ways to organize–along with the mental side of carving out solitude.

For more about Nancee, click here.

Studio Mojo: the potential for power in your home studio

By Nancee Jean Busse

Nancee Busse studio

I’ve been either an illustrator or a painter for almost 50 years. During those decades I’ve created art in wildly varying spaces, most of which were problematic. I worked in an office for some of those years, but when my son was born in 1984 I decided it would be a swell idea to work from home; a very small, very humble home.

So let’s have a little chit-chat about some of the home-studio issues that came up over the years for me and how I solved (or attempted to solve) them. Here’s a list of studio problems and how to solve them.

Issue: I don’t have a spare room for a studio.

Yes, that sucks. For years I painted at the dining room table. Whenever the cat was unhappy he would jump up on the table and vomit on what I was working on. I was also fair game for every family member to unload their problems on. That was fun. If you have to work in your home’s family space, get a compact, folding table easel and work at the kitchen/dining room table. Store your art supplies in plastic tubs. In order to keep from driving yourself mad with clutter, put that stuff away when you’re not actively painting. Your sense of space and privacy will be greatly compromised, but I found headphones to be helpful…and ignoring the sound of breaking crockery.

Issue: I can use the spare bedroom, but it’s tiny!

Not ideal, but a step up from wiping someone’s dinner off of your work!  Minimize everything and keep your creative sanctuary as uncluttered as you possibly can. One easel, good lighting, a cabinet with drawers or shelves for paint, and storage for supplies that you don’t use daily are all you really need.

If you have the space, a bookshelf for your reference materials, instructional books, and any other print material that inspires you to jump into your creative endeavors with both feet.

Busse storage unit idea

Issue: I don’t feel the sense of privacy I need.

To a great degree, this is inner work. Requesting alone time and setting boundaries is, for some people,  one of life’s greatest challenges. My completely dysfunctional style was to be kind and polite with every interruption until I reached my limit of tolerance and then became a screeching bitch. I hope you are better at this than I was! From a practical perspective, having a door that closes is helpful. Letting others know when you’re unavailable is another helpful tactic, but I realize that even mentioning the fact that you’re “unavailable” is offensive to some people. This whole “I need to be alone” thing is icky tricky and I’ve been helped along its path by reading books on setting boundaries and co-dependency issues. 

Issue: I have a studio, but it’s a cluttered mess.

Clutter impedes creativity. If your beautiful paintings are piled in with a bunch of clutter it will diminish them in your eyes and the eyes of others. Marie Kondo the hell out of your studio and give yourself room to breathe and think. Get rid of old, ugly paintings, dry paint tubes, broken or useless brushes, old magazines, etc. Be ruthless.  Try to avoid letting family members use your studio as a place to store their excess possessions. If there’s anything in your creative space that depresses you or makes you feel anxious, get it out of there. 

Issue: Well crap, my studio is full of unsold paintings.

Hoo-boy, that one totally sucks. There are solutions, but none as good as actually selling the work. First, take a look at your work with a critical eye. If the painting is just so-so, take it out of the frame and store it that way. If it’s really an embarrassment (I have some of those), gesso over it and breathe a sigh of relief that no one will ever see it. If you can find a local restaurant, doctor’s office, or business who would like some art on loan, then you can place them where they will have visibility. Document the agreement and get a receipt for your pieces. Set a specific time frame for your art to be displayed. If all else fails, you can start foisting them off on relatives in the form of gifts. They’ll either be thrilled or appalled, but either way they’ll probably smile and be nice about it.

Issue: I can’t feel creative when I know how much I need to do around the house.

I’m so familiar with this one. Remember the old Peggy Lee song, where she sang that she could bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan, then wash up 44 pairs of socks and be ready to boogie by nine? Well, I ain’t that broad, and you probably aren’t either. 

Make a quiet and solemn agreement with yourself to be in your studio at a certain time each day. If you’re going through a time in your life when chaos reigns and it’s all you can do to get through the day, then I believe your Muse will not only understand, but will wait patiently and lovingly in the wings for the chance to be with you again at the easel. 

Issue: I get bummed when I go to my studio and can’t think of what to paint.

Have a comfortable chair in your studio. Make a cup of tea, put your feet up, and know that it happens to every artist. Flip through some art magazines or art books. Watch a YouTube painting demo. Light a candle. Play some music that has creative substance, nothing that is as familiar as an old pair of shoes. This “time out” is a gestational period.  Have total confidence that your creative juices will flow again soon, because they will. You can’t stop them, even if you tried. 

Issue: There are so many artists who are better than I am. Why would I need or deserve an art studio when I’m just mediocre?

First of all, don’t judge yourself. There are plenty of people out there who will be happy to do that for you.

Know that the cocktail of creativity, desire, time, repetition, and passion is a powerful one. When you have your own dedicated space, rituals, and consistent work habits, you WILL grow as an artist and your work will improve. When I look back on some of the paintings and illustrations I did 20 years ago, I cringe.

I would also suggest that you find some art books, magazines, and references that inspire you. Absorb them. Watch YouTube tutorials, artists’ biographies, and art history videos. There’s bucketloads of wonderful, inspiring content on YouTube and other sources. 

You don’t have to muster up a bunch of self-esteem that isn’t there yet, just trust the process and watch your progress over time for affirmation of your growth.

My studio has become an extension of myself. It holds my favorite toys (art supplies), the representations of hours and hours of time, care, devotion, frustration, victories, and losses. Along with the usual furnishings, my studio has an old sofa, a small espresso machine, an electric teakettle, and a jar of chocolate chips. I say good morning when I enter, and tell all my favorite things goodnight when I leave. My studio is a comforting constant in my life. No matter what is happening outside my studio, when I’m there I only have one job to do: CREATE!

Let Nancee and others know about your favorite studio tips, tricks, and stories. We all appreciate the quest for a place to add beauty to the world. Add your brilliant advice in the comments section.

And to see Nancee’s work and read more of her blog posts, visit https://www.nanceejean.com.

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Building Creative Minds

In “The Long Lasting Benefits of Childhood Creativity,” published in Psychology Today, November 2021, Victoria Prowse, PhD looks at research from the National Child Development Study (NCDS) that has followed nearly every child born in the UK the first week of March 1958.

Though the study was established to learn more about infant mortality, it was extended after a few years to look at issues in education. Of the many amazing things this study has uncovered, Prowse takes a deeper look at the link between creativity in children at age 7, as noted by their teachers, and their achievements later in life.

After controlling for economic background, parenting styles, and the like, Prowse says, “Those who tested as more creative children earn more and reach higher levels of education, and tend to work in better-quality jobs that require experience.”

Yes, my friends, you read that right...

Every child is an artist, the problem is staying an artist when you grow up. -Picasso

Most artists I know enjoy sparking creativity in children. It’s an honor, really, to pass on the creative spirit. And while working with other people’s kids is not in my wheelhouse, I so enjoyed teaching my boys to draw, paint and write, and loved joining them at play in their imaginary worlds.

But time marches on. This fall they’re off to college, which is, I find, bittersweet. I’m thrilled they are about to fly away, off on their own adventures and I feel confident, (fairly confident, anyway), that I’ve given them the tools to do so, in particular, tools that will help them see the world through a creative lens. And yet, the thought of not being able to sit around the dinner table talking about things of great importance or of little consequence, that does sting, just a bit. 

Just a Hobby?

And so, with colleges selected, orientations lined up, and financial aid packages turned in, I keep reminding them of their creative penchants–one in writing, the other in photography–and have suggested that they take courses in these fields.

To my chagrin, neither is pursuing anything in the arts, not even as a minor. 

I don’t know how this happened.

In fact, whenever I bring up the possibility of taking an art class even as an elective, they shrug and respond:

“Mom, that’s a hobby not a career.”

and

“You can’t make money doing that.”

But why is art a hobby? And, what’s more, how is it that even my children, who have grown up surrounded by art, who have met successful artists, and have been encouraged and praised for their artistic ability–why do they still see art as a lesser calling?

The World needs creative minds

Play Video about Temple Grandin Ted Talk

In her TedX DU talk from May 2011, Temple Grandin, expressed the need for creative/visual thinkers. Grandin is autistic and has, throughout her life, had to deal with considerable obstacles. Check out this video for her insights into how her own unique brain works.

Despite her disabilities, Grandin holds a PhD from Colorado State University and is renown in the cattle industry for revolutionizing the way animals are treated, which she was able to do because of the way her brain works.

A creative visual thinker, she realized early on that she could see solutions to problems that pattern thinkers (engineering/math-based minds) couldn’t. Grandin insists that different kinds of minds have to work together in order to see all sides of a problem.

One of the issues we face today, she believes, is the specialization of educational paths and the lack of creative training. In the linked video, she talks about the nuclear power plant disaster that occurred after a tsunami hit Japan. The brilliant engineers who designed the plant didn’t consider safe guards should a tsunami strike. A creative/visual mind, she believes, would have foreseen such an occurrence and planned for it. 

If we're all born creative, how do we lose it?

I’m a big fan of Brene Brown, the social scientist who specializes in vulnerability and shame research. I highly recommend her talks and books, in particular, the audio seminar, “The Power of Vulnerability.” 

Part of her research delves into the qualities of “whole-hearted” people. She describes these people as possessing the ability to embrace life to the fullest. They are healthier than most because they have learned how to shake off life’s struggles, disappointments and fears like water off a duck’s back.

One of the key characteristics that every whole-hearted person has and actively pursues as a form of expression is–you guessed it–creativity. 

Brown, who has the most delightful self-deprecating sense of humor, talked about how frustrating this discovery was for her personally. She said that when friends would invite her to join them in some artistic activity, her response was an emphatic: “No thanks. You,” she would say, “can do your A-R-T but I have a J-O-B.”

Both Sides of the Coin

In her research, Brown discovered something fascinating about people who eschew creativity. They could go back to the exact day in their lives–most often in middle school–when a teacher ridiculed their attempt at art.  

Shaming a child at this formative stage had, in every case, the devastating effect of shutting off the spigot of creativity.

I don’t mean to get down on teachers; it’s a tough job and they could use more support. And, sure, the negative stuff always seems to hang around in our psyche somewhere, even when we’ve also been exposed to teachers who have inspired greatness.

For me, inspiration came from Mr. Snow, my fifth grade English teacher, whose tough critiques of my writing pushed me to be better. My memory of Mr. Snow was that he treated me like a writer. Mr. Snow believed in me.

Art Finds You

I still hold out hope that my boys will take an art course or two in college and continue to flex their creative muscle, even if they consider it a hobby. 

Thinking globally, however, if creativity in kids is, as the UK study suggests, an important factor for success later in life, shouldn’t we all be doing more to support access to the arts for kids?

In her April 2020 TEDx talk, Jane Werner, the director of the Pittsburg Children’s Museum, explained that children are constantly questioning their model of the world. Encouraging experimentation in kids is paramount and includes developing spaces with great design. Kids innately love design, she said, which is why they often enjoy the box their toy came in more than the toy. Joy, she added, also needs to be woven throughout kids’ experiences.

Practical ways to Inspire Creativity

Victoria Prowse suggests adults can inspire creativity by encouraging independent thinking in several ways. Try asking questions with no right or wrong answer, for example. And, give kids challenges that can’t be readily solved using the logical steps they’ve already mastered. Most importantly, support children when they are faced with resistance to their creative ideas. Not everything will be great, but recognizing originality should be encourage. The goal is to support the never ending flow of creativity. 

Here are some easy ways to inspire. 

  1. Keep acrylic paint, crayons, brushes, paper, canvas, clay–anything tactile–on hand and available for kids to get into.
  2. Less talk, more action. Skip the excessive instruction and, instead, let kids dive in and get dirty.
  3. Jump in with them. Demonstrate the  pleasure in play and experimentation through the act of creating. 
  4. Don’t be critical of kids OR of your own attempts; there doesn’t have to be a right or wrong way. 
  5. Recognize and praise individuality. 
  6. Before you offer help, encourage kids to experiment and discover on their own. The lego car or painting of a dog may not turn out anything like the diagram or photo–who cares? Art isn’t necessarily the end result; it’s the journey.
  7. Let kids have messy spaces. This can be tough for folks who hate clutter, but for kids, it’s their sanctuary, a place where their imagination blossoms. 

BONUS POINTS for adults who let kids dress themselves; this is one way we can foster self-expression and confidence from an early age.

Remember, kids are always watching grown ups; your actions and words communicate more than you know, so channel your inner Incurable Optimist, roll up your sleeves and get to play.

And, if you need help reconnecting with your own inner art child, the marketing coaching I do starts there. Reach out if you want to learn more, rosefredrick.com/contact/. I’ve got some great workshops coming up that will help. Please visit my Workshops page.

Please share your experiences and best tips for fostering creativity in young minds.

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Tilting at Windmills

As one of the judges for the 2022 Breckenridge International Snow Sculpture Competition, I had the opportunity to ask a bunch of artists one of my favorite questions: Why? 

In this case, WHY create art out of snow, under these conditions, knowing it’s gonna melt–that it’s probably melting as you work?! Talk about a bunch of incurable optimists….

A Container of Essence

In the art world, we’re all about collecting and preserving things that are important testaments to our life and times. And other cool shit. This ideal gets challenged hard when presented with objects that weren’t preserved properly or couldn’t be preserved–frescos, old photos, film, paintings on unstable substrates, stuff like that–or with art that was never meant to be collected in the usual way. 

Sand mandalas created by Buddhist monks come to mind.  In this case, the “art” is not the end result but the process that brings forth “an internal awakening to the desire to let go of attachments.” The act of wiping away the mandala, therefore, is part of the art because it completes the “letting go” process.

But, geez, there’s nothing left and hardly anyone got to see it! (And by “anyone,” I mean me.) 

Earthworks and land art, in a way, are the creation of mandalas on a monumental scale. The “canvas” is nature which, for a time, allows the artist to create a transformative experience and bring attention to important issues, such as the environment. These works of art are transitory but, for the time they are around, we get to see the familiar through a different lens. Land art isn’t, in my mind, so much about letting go, however, as it is about realizing what we unwittingly let go of when we stopped caring, or weren’t paying attention.

Here’s a wonderful article in Artland Magazine, about pioneering earthwork artists.

So, you may be wondering, what kind of zen fools make art like that? Excellent question. Honestly, I don’t know. I do have a guess as to Why, though.

A Place Where Art, Nature & Booze Collide

Partaking in the festivities with sculptor and co-founder of the event, Rob "Carvin' Marvin" Neyland

I had the great good fortune of being asked to help judge the 2022 Breckenridge International Snow Sculpture Championships along with Alex Kendall and Tina Rossi of Breckenridge Gallery and sculptor Dwight Davidson.

I must admit, this task made me nervous. I do a fair amount of judging and jurying of art exhibits, but snow sculpture–monumental snow sculpture–was a first.

Turns out judging a new medium was the least of my concerns. I hadn’t fully accounted for the conditions. Obviously, it’s gotta be cold to sculpt snow, but this means judging happens, basically, in a meat locker. (Thus the booze, I’m thinking.)

No Pansy-ass Power Tools Allowed

The day I arrived, sculptor teams of four had already put in three grueling days carving with hand tools (power tools are strictly prohibited), on 12′ x 10′ x 10′ packed blocks of snow. That night, while I was tucked into a warm bed, many teams were working until dawn to complete their sculpture by 9:00AM when judging was scheduled to begin.

Yup, snow sculptors are some hearty folk. I’d go so far as to say that if snow sculpting were an Olympic sport, these artists would be the biathletes–you know, the crazy cross country skiers who stop every so often to shoot at, I don’t know, slower skiers? Snowboarders? (Seriously, who does that sport?)

Now that I think of it, snow sculptors would totally do that sport. All this to say, snow sculptors are tough as nails. And zen as hell.

A Quixotic Journey

Founders of the Breckenridge Snow Sculpting Championships, Rob Neyland and Ron Shelton, have competed with their own team all over the world for the last 40 years and have a bunch gold, silver, and bronze awards to prove their chops. 

Their understanding of the art form and how these competitions unravel was vital knowledge for us judges.

In a nutshell: teams spitball concepts, someone is then tasked with the duty of creating a clay maquette (a miniature sculpture of the idea), the team applies to competitions, and, if juried in, they put themselves through four intensely exhausting days of carving under pressure, in extreme conditions. Fun, huh?

Here’s a pic of Rob Neyland and team’s maquette for “String Theory.” 

Teams are not just competing against each other’s concept and sculpting feats, but they are also working against the elements. A bright sunny day could weaken a sculpture to the point of collapse and utter ruin. Nights that don’t adequately freeze also spell danger because the snow doesn’t have a chance to freeze and begin its transformation into its more stable crystal-like form (think of snow as very, very slow running water). 

Here’s the completed sculpture. Note to man standing to the left to get a sense of scale.

And then there’s the rather dubious blocks of snow these sculptors get to carve. For example, the block provided by the Milwaukee Zoo, Rob told me, was replete with camel dung and the block in Moscow’s Gorky Park was laced with cigarette butts and beer cans. 

But like the weather, funky blocks of snow are part of the challenge and the thing that ensures everyone starts on a level playing field.

FYI: Breck snow is some of the best in the world, naturally. 

Here’s a pic of Team Breck’s gold-winning sculpture, “Frozen Moment,” at the Milwaukee Zoo competition. Note the lovely camel dung patina. 

Cross Your Fingers

The morning of judging, Yours Truly–bright-eyed and bushy tailed (well, sober anyway)–arrived at 8:00AM, with my fellow judges to get busy sussing out the winners. Holy moly, what a transformation! The biggest change for most sculptures was that all supporting pillars of snow had been removed (check out before and after pics below).

I can only imagine how nerve-wracking that must have been, taking off the supports and hoping you got the weight ratios right. Apparently, this requires a slow and methodical approach where snow is gradually whittled down to a silver dollar-sized connection. Then, a few deep breaths and Hail Marys later, the final connection is severed about an hour before judging begins.

We judges were told that, if something collapsed into a pile of rubble before judging got under way, we could still consider that sculpture based on original concept and what we’d seen the night before. Thankfully, nothing went down in flames. 

Team Wisconsin hard at work on "Digital Divide", 9:00PM the night before judging. To the right: Digital Divide 24-hours later. The only thing holding the wall of numbers upright are finger tips and a lot of good karma. OK, some well-planned engineering, too. They took home the gold.

Transformative, Indeed

The thing that struck me about this whole event was that, once the sculptors put down their tools and stepped back, what remained of a 25-ton block of packed snow looked a lot like marble. There were even striations running though some works and large ice crystals that looked like chert.

Like stone, these sculptures also carried a sense of the memory of the hand that worked it, of the body that had to understand the need to go slowly, to feel and listen for the warning signs of a deep, internal fissure that might let go at the wrong moment. 

There was also a sense of relief, a long exhale: the engineering worked. The temperature fluctuations were just right so that the snow became a different thing, a more solid form. The magic transformation that these sculptors listen for had happened: the dull thunking sound of hand tool against a freshly packed block of snow had taken on the singing quality of wine glasses meeting in a celebratory toast. 

Breckenridge Snow Sculpting Competition Bee Sustainability
Team Wisconsin's Bee Sustainability, at 2022 Breck Snow Sculpture Championship, bronze winner

The Futility of Preservation

And so I asked the question of many sculptors over the days I was in Breckenridge: Why do something that can’t possibly last? Rob Neyland’s response is my favorite: “The notion of permanence is an illusion.”

Team Germany wins silver at 2022 Breck Competition with "Float"

Art created from snow sticks around for only a handful of days. You had to be there to make a memory, which is the only thing that remains of this art. All of which begs the question: What is art? Is it the final product or is it the effort, the performance, the motion of the body in rhythm with some flicker of an idea?

The men and women who compete in these events are artists, engineers, stone workers, restoration contractors, and other similar professions. They come for many reasons. Teams are tight-knit and have leaned over the years to move as one, in tune with each other and the sounds of the snow. 

They also have a mindset grounded in humor that may stem from an understanding that all their planning and hard work could, if just one thing is off in the slightest, crumble into a heap moments before the competition ends. Which may be why they are also such soulful artists. I love what Team Germany wrote about their piece, “Float” (edited): “The subject lies in the geometric creation of order and maximum reduction to attain ‘esthetic essence’. It’s about balance and transformation. The goal of art is to develop objects for spiritual use, much as man designs objects for material use.” 

How Do You Hold a Moonbeam in Your Hand?

Rob Neyland explained one of his team’s more esoteric works, titled “Water Song,” as capturing water for the briefest of moments and suspending it against the sky. He said, “We cast our fleeting form upon it but our vision is short-lived; it soon melts and resumes its journey to the sea.”

And so, as soon as the artists have set down their tools, the sculptures have already started their retreat back to ground. On the final day the exhibit is open to the public, there is a ceremonial bonfire lit within each work, hastening its journey back to the sea. The next morning, the site returns to a bustling parking lot. 

I guess it’s a lot like life. No matter how hard we try to hold on, try to preserve beauty, beauty resists, beauty stays in motion. Memory, thankfully, lingers.

Maybe art is, as one sculptor put it, like a gourmet meal with friends; long after the food is gone, the joy of being together, rejoicing in the moment, stays in some permanent place inside your heart.

Team Breck's 2005 entry in the Breck competition, Water Song. They won bronze.

Wanna learn more about the Breckenridge International Snow Sculpture Championship and see who won? Here’s a link to the 2022 Guide: Click Here.

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Please Pursue Some Other Career in Life

How I discovered I was an artist

By Carm Fogt, guest blogger

Sitting in a warm summer meadow, next to a creek in Yosemite, all I can think is, what the hell did I agree to? On my lap is sketchpad. In front of me is the most gorgeous waterfall I have ever seen. Over my shoulder, my sister-in-law is gently coaxing me in her kind and patient voice saying, “Just sketch the waterfall.”

Ad for Draw Winky and Art School training

Oh my god, I think, this can’t be happening. My palms begin to sweat. I know I will never be able to draw that waterfall. 

I’ve known this since grade school. I have no ability to draw or, for that matter, do anything artistic. The first realization came when I was in first grade and confronted with a mimeographed bear and a box of crayons. My exuberance couldn’t be contained inside the lines. The kids around me–the beloved rule followers–laughed at my frenetic coloring. Clearly, I was no artist. 

And, if that wasn’t enough to keep me away from crayons, Elmer’s glue and construction paper for good, the TV Guide arrived weekly with that tempting ad of a little cartoon animal and the teaser: “If you can draw Winky, we’ll hook you up with art supplies and free art lessons!” I was in high school by this time, the crayon fiasco behind me, and so thought I’d give art another go. I traced the little animal, sent it in and…failed. The powers-that-be sent a short, cutting reply that read, “Please pursue some other career in life. Thank you for your entry.”

Jumping In – and I Don’t Mean the Creek

Back in the meadow, reminded of past failures, I begin to rethink the decision I made earlier in the day. It was either a hike up the 4-mile trail with my husband and his brother or sit in the valley with my Yosemite artist-in-residence sister-in-law, Janis, while she taught her daily watercolor workshop. Hike and sweat or sit and chill by the creek. It was a no brainer, right?

How is it then that a sketchpad and pencil can send me right back to the horror of being made fun of in elementary school? All I can think is, will anyone notice if I sneak out? I glance at my watch hoping it’s almost time for lunch. 

But Janis is a persistent champion of art and, for some reason, she thinks I can draw Yosemite Falls. I had confessed my insecurities to her before we started; thankfully she didn’t laugh. Instead, she suggested that when I noticed something in my drawing that was out of whack, I should simply erase that part and fix it. She said that my eye would tell me what to do. 

Janis teaching watercolor class

My eye? What? Now it was me trying not to laugh at her. Seriously, erasers are allowed? No way. You mean that people who can draw–real artists–use erasers?!

Incredulously, I start. I draw and erase and draw some more until I make something that looks like the waterfall. But something else begins to take hold. Suddenly, I’m living in the moment; I’m a part of the creative flow. Years of doubt, years of believing what others told me are erased like a badly placed line. 

That Was It

Over the next couple hours, I lose my anxiety over putting down a mark. Just as Janis said, it wasn’t permanent. I have unlimited do-overs. My hand relaxes and does what my eyes tell it to. I am completely engrossed.

The sun sinks low in the west, mosquitoes start to buzz around me, and yet I just don’t want to leave, I don’t want the magic feeling to end. 

Back in the cabin, I search for something to draw, light upon my well-worn sneakers and start drawing them. Soon I’m drawing just about everything in the cabin.

Thus began my journey into art. I drew that waterfall. I drew Half Dome. I drew chairs, shoes, people (well, almost people). It was a miracle. I could draw and I loved doing it! 

How could this be? I couldn’t do it before. Why now? Why here? All those years wasted, believing something that wasn’t true. I had always thought it was strange that my mom could draw, so could my nephew, but the rest of the family, it seemed, were just missing the art gene. Or so I thought.

If I Could Turn Back Time

How strange that just a few dings on my young ego were all it took to steer me away from ever trying art again. Why did this happen so easily and so firmly? Thankfully, albeit, years later in life, all it took was a little encouragement from a trusted instructor to turn it around. 

And it wasn’t just encouragement and kind words; Janis gave me permission to fail.

I wonder, would the world even have art if artists didn’t know they had permission to make mistakes and erase them, start over, let go of what didn’t work and keep searching until they found the right path? 

What Janis shook loose in me started a journey that took me to Asia to study with master brush painters. I don’t know exactly why their work captured my imagination, but that first trip, the artists I met, the instructors and the creative atmosphere brought me to a place that I never would have found had there not been a warm meadow and a kind-hearted instructor to coax it out of me. 

Carm Fogt, Blue Love, Acceptance Series, 12x12 inches, Chinese ink and watercolor

Lifting My Brush with Confidence

I can’t turn back time, of course, but I can look to the future. I can give children the encouragement they need to pursue their innate love of creativity. And I can keep pursuing this career. 

Maybe that’s what caught my imagination when I began learning Chinese brush painting: a quick brush with something negative could turn into a lifelong false belief just as easily as a quick brush with something positive might turn into a lifelong pursuit.

To see more of Carm Fogt’s work, please visit her website, https://www.carmfogt.net. 

Interested in being a guest blogger?

Email with your ideas or consider taking a blogging workshop with me. For more information about workshops and blogging, please check out my Workshops page.

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