Fancy Art People, Fancy Talk

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How do you reconcile your need to push the reflection onto the artwork with the need to stay connected to your society?

Rêves d’été/Summer dream, oil on canvas, @Patricia Lortie

Last night I had a strange dream. I was at a fancy art dinner, filled with fancy people wearing fancy cloths and talking fancy talk that made no sense. My sister was there with me and she was just as lost. “What is this dinner all about anyway?” she asked. The other people gathered around her and whispered nonsense answers about what they though we were all doing there. But once again, it made no sense to me and the whispering thing was just so weird.

I woke up with a smile, thinking that was a strange dream! But I know very well that dreams come from our subconscious brains trying to make sense of the things that are troubling us, the things we experience during our waking hours.

A few years ago, I read a wonderful book called Your Sleeping Genius by Dr Gale Delanay. She explains, “Many dreams come in the form of sophisticated metaphorical thinking and problem solving. The dreamer wakes to remember powerful stories filled with symbols that seem to make little sense to the conscious mind and are often soon forgotten… but you can learn how to make good use of what your dreaming brain is trying to tell you.” At the time, I had followed her dream interpretation technique for a few months and it had been a very enlightening experience. It helped me to identify things that scared me and to recognize my own metaphors, most of them fished out of childhood experiences. In light of last night’s dream, though, I think I need to read that book again!

But let’s attempt to make sense of this: the fancy art people with the fancy nonsense talk. In real life, my experience of art people is not that at all. Okay, maybe there are a few snobs here and there, but for the most part art people are wonderful. They’re generous, welcoming, interesting and humble, so it seems like the dream wasn’t so much about the people. Maybe the dream is more about me. I might be worrying about getting lost as I try to explain the work I do. And maybe it’s also about my strong desire to stay connected to people.

$450.00

Repos/The rest, oil on canvas, @Patricia Lortie

Let’s start with ‘explaining what I do’. Today, artists have to write about their work in depth, and preparing an artist statement requires deep reflection on ‘why I do the work I do’. This has never been a problem for me. In fact I quite enjoy the process when I think and write about the meaning of my work. But I often wonder how far I want to push this reflection. Too often that process becomes so abstract that it only makes sense to the artist who writes it. When does it become ‘art speak’

In the blog called What The ??? is Art Speak?, there is mention of an essay titled “International Art English” by David Levine and Alix Rule where they attempt to scientifically prove that the internationalized art world relies on a unique language which “…has everything to do with English, but is emphatically not English.” One of their conclusions is that International Art English, (which is what they call art speak), is used by proponents to both identify each other and signal their insider status in the rarefied world of the elite.”

I know I really don’t want to be a part of that rarefied art world. I’m more than happy to push the reflection on my art; I know I need it for my own professional development. But I really just want to create art and be in the moment when I do it.

Chasseur de rêve/Dream Chasser, oil on canvas, @Patricia Lortie

And ‘my desire to stay connected to people’? Although I enjoy being alone most of the time, those who know me well realize that I’m a people person. Not in the sense that I need people around me a lot, but in the sense that I love interacting with them and that I do appreciate and respect who they are. One of my mentors, Serge Murphy, once told me that as an artist evolves in his practice he becomes more and more isolated, simply because pushing the reflection on his own work creates a greater and greater gap between what he does and what people instinctively understand about art. I don’t really know how to reconcile those two motivations. I only know that, as an artist, I need to keep reflecting on my work. But I also know that I have no desire to feel separated from the society I live in, regardless of whether people understand what I do.

I’m afraid that dream did nothing to provide me with answers. I still have to learn to reconcile those two needs. But maybe that dream was just the beginning of my subconscious reflection. I can hardly wait for my sleeping brain to figure it out!

Public Art, Not Private Art: leave it to the pros

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Sean Chu, one of our Calgary City Councillors, recently claimed to reporters that, “The private sector can do everything cheaper and better,” and wondered aloud why the public sector does public art so badly. He also mused, “The public sector has this view that art should be outside the box. What we should be doing is looking at acceptable public art across the board.”

YIKES! That statement scares me a lot. What is acceptable? Is it a pretty mural of lemons in bowls? Perhaps colts gambolling in a meadow? Art assists in social evolution. It bears witness of a time in history and helps moves humanity forward. It speaks of ideas that define us as a society. It makes us think. Beauty can be an integral part of this definition, but great art is much more than that.

I’m afraid that getting global buy in is an impossible task. But we, the artists and the Calgary Public Art Program, have – and will continue – to engage the community so concerns and ideas can be voiced. In fact, the Calgary Public Art Program has put a lot of dedicated effort into hosting community engagement opportunities for each new artwork. But sadly, very few people show up. Is it poor advertisement of those opportunities or lack of interest from the public? Probably both.

The news coverage of Mr. Chu’s opinion of public art went on to provide an example of a recent successful privately- funded public art work west of Calgary created by Alberta artist Vania Burton who lives near the community of Harmony in Rocky View County. The piece she created seams universally loved by the residents.

The Orchard, a community project in support of the KO Arts Center

A few years ago, I too worked with the developers Harmony Rocky View to create a community art project when they helped to fund an outreach program for the KO Arts Center in Springbank. I feel that this private corporation has an exceptional awareness of the role they can play in society and the importance of art. They consider contributing toward providing artistic expressions to be a primary corporate responsibility.

Sadly though, this is not common in the business sector. It’s been my experience that most business owners are not particularly concerned with their roles in the community, and are largely unaware of the place art occupies in their society. Perhaps they don’t know enough about it, can’t afford the time or resources to be concerned, or maybe it’s because money in their own pockets feels better than money invested in the community. So I’m afraid I have to disagree with Councillor Chu. When it comes to public art, the private sector will most likely “just not do it”, so forget about “doing it better”.

Last week, I was delighted to attend a facilitated conversation with the City’s stakeholder engagement team to provide input on the current Public Art process. Fifty professional artists who worked with the City on Public Art projects over the years gathered to discuss their experiences, and our conversation was passionate and animated. I was among artists who really care about doing a good job, artists who engage and actively listen to the members of the community, who do their best to represent the community’s values in the projects they create. It was an enormously positive experience, and even though we shared our frustrations with the City’s approach to certain aspects of the program, we agreed that there are some very competent city employees in the Public Art Program who seem to be handcuffed by the bureaucracy and by politicians.

I left that meeting even more certain that politicians and reporters should back off. It’s clear to me that the Public Art Program has been high jacked by some of the City Councillors who use it to leverage their own political ambitions. And of course, the news media feeds off that controversy. Back off! Let the professionals to do their job. Leave it to the pros: the City employees in the Public Art Program and the professional artists they work with, artists who are carefully selected and who are accountable.

Creating art for the public is an organic process that needs room to explore possibilities in order for each project to be collaboratively successful. There is not only one way to do this; a narrow path system with rigid boundaries can us of the wonderful and unexpected ways artists can answer challenges. To be honest, although I love the involvement of the community in every Public Art project, it can bog down the process when the moment comes for the artist to take their ideas and put them to work. Once the spirit of the work has the community’s buy in, it’s not necessary to discuss the tools of the artist’s trade. At that point, leave the work of creation to the professional.

Finally, what endears Public Art to people is the way it grows on them. They learn to love it as they see new meanings each time they pass by. My artist friend Sabine Lecorre-Moore says, “Art on the side of a highway just doesn’t work. It needs to be in a place where people can touch it, take a selfie with it, where they can have an experience with the art.” You put a big piece of art on the side of a highway where people can’t connect with the work, you risk missing out on that sense of appropriation. The reality is that people love Public Art and, although most are not aware of the many forms it can take, they cherish the experiences when they are in contact with it.”

The Public Art Program will never be perfect. And that’s as it should be. Public Art will never get “across the board buy in”. Pubic art work is meant to provide people with an experience, to inspire, to astonish, and yes, sometimes it’s meant to provoke us to think. And that’s the beauty of it. But we can all do a better job with the conversation between the artists, the city and our fellow citizens of this wonderful community. Removing political interference would be a great place to start; then we can begin to talk about art and society intelligently.

The Big De-clutter: What do artists do with their unsold paintings?

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I spent a few hours this fall helping friends empty their house, and that was totally traumatized!

It was an immense task, and I was forced to admit that emptying a big house of its unnecessary possessions has been waiting for me in my own home for longer than I care to admit. All of a sudden, the weight of my stuff became unbearable. So, rather than getting ahead in my marketing and painting work over the Christmas break as I had intended, I embarked on a massive and obsessive de-cluttering.

I went through every room, every drawer, and every closet and either gave or chucked away everything that we no longer used or that no longer make me happy. This, naturally, was pretty stressful for my husband and my sons. (I think my husband wondered if he was in line for the dumpster!) But soon, we all got into the process and everyone offered some of their personal possessions to dispose of. It was a gruelling process that took a lot of hours, and every new drawer I tackled made me want to take a break. But I pushed through and am glad I did.

Today I feel lighter and more optimistic. Our home feels under control and somehow, so does my state of mind. As Bustle says in his blog, 6 Benefits of De-cluttering Your Life, According To Science, “It’s good to know there is a connection between junk and other problems. We can all feel it when our desks are messy, or our kitchens out of sorts. It’s unsettling, and can hold you back from getting stuff done in life.”

Although I already feel the benefits of our de-cluttering, I still want to get rid of more things. Is this a symptom of my mind needing even more space and freedom? It could very well be. What is stopping me then, other than the fact that I have to get some work done now? I’m wondering that myself. I can certainly get rid of a lot more in my closet, but what about my studio and my sculpture shop? That is a lot more challenging.

Supply shelves in my studio

All of us who are artsy and handy know the joy of having exactly what you need close at hand when you are working on a project. Unless an artist works strictly on his computer, he needs plenty of studio materials. Having a stock of various supplies available in-house saves a lot of time and allows for the creative process to flow without interruptions. So as a visual artist, there will always be a limit to how much I can de-clutter those spaces if I want to keep productive.

However, when it comes to finished work, unsold stock is a much more difficult issue. Even the most popular artists accumulate impressive amounts of unsold work; it’s an unavoidable issue. I have an artist friend who started working on paper rather than canvass because she couldn’t stand the accumulated stock of unsold paintings. She turned to paper because it takes a lot less space.

My stock of unsold paintings, for now!

A few years ago, I had a conversation with a friend of mine who, at the time, was working for Alberta Foundation for the Arts. Part of his responsibility involved visiting aging artists’ studios to look through their inventories. The older an artist is, the more stock he has, and my friend told me that in some cases, there were many rooms stockpiled with paintings, despite the fact they reported that they had resorted to burning much of it. At first, I was shocked. It seemed like an extreme measure but, upon reflection, I realized it makes a lot of sense. Out of respect for the collectors who own some of their work, it may be a good idea to make sure that the market isn’t flooded with work at the time of the artist’s death. And, out of self-respect, it’s probably a good idea to destroy work that no longer makes you feel proud.

In light of this, I added a new rule to my professional practice. Every two years or so, I shred or burn any unsold work that I am not really proud of. (And no, you can’t have it for free!) The whole point is to make sure that whatever I leave behind after I die is a legacy that I’m entirely proud of, even if it’s only for my children to cherish. I want the work that remains in the world after my passing to represent what I was trying to create in the best light. My hope is that I will leave beauty behind, confident that through the years it will never be considered clutter by whomever owns it.

Artists out there, what do you do with your unsold paintings?

Forest Bathing, Shinrin-yoku

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I was busy this morning, totally engrossed in a project that needed my undivided attention. But Cisco begged to object.

At first, it was just a gentle reminder: eyebrow raised, gentle nudging with his nozzle, easy to ignore. “Not now, Cisco. Later.” He drooped to the floor with a barely audible sigh, but there was no ignoring his disapproval, and within a few minutes he is bringing me for my boots and snow pants. Like it or not, Cisco knew it was time to take me for a walk in the forest.

 

 

And just as I did yesterday, and have done most days for the past 18 years with the different dogs that have passed through my life, I’ll do it again tomorrow because it’s a new experience every time.

Today, light dry snow gently settled over everything, including the smallest strand of wild grass. With no wind to disturb it, the forest felt still, quiet and protected. The sky was saturated with an endless cloud that hid the sun, and slowly released its flakes. Only the soft glow piercing the haze reassured me that the sun will one day return.

The forest finds a way to offer a brand-new spectacle every day. But there are days I remember more than others, days where I have seen my forest in a way that I know I will never see it again. Like that April-full day, years ago, where it had snowed heavily the night before and the thick white blanket was glistening in a glorious spring sun, melting at such a rate that I wondered if my dog and I might get stranded on a temporary island. The tree branches, heavy with thick wet snow, where bending across the path. My dog was covered in snowballs that stuck to his fur and slowed him down. I’ll never forget that day.

I was reminded of that day a few weeks ago, when I was listening to a podcast called Revisionist History  The speaker said that for a memory to incrust itself in your mind, there must be a strong emotional experience associated with it, and it struck me than that most of my vivid and longest lasting memories are linked to nature. (Sorry boys, it’s not always about you!) In fact my first memory is of a rock cliff that stood at the end of our backyard in Arvida, Quebec when I was a toddler.

The Japanese have a name for that experience . “Shinrin-yoku” is a term that means “taking in the forest atmosphere, or forest bathing. And, since the 1980s, forest bathing has become a cornerstone of preventive health care and healing in Japanese medicine. Researchers, primarily in Japan and South Korea, have established a robust body of scientific literature on the health benefits of spending time under the canopy of a living forest:

  • Boosted immune system functioning, with an increase in the count of the body’s Natural Killer (NK) cells.
  • Reduced blood pressure
  • Reduced stress
  • Improved mood
  • Increased ability to focus, even for children with ADHD
  • Accelerated recovery from surgery or illness
  • Increased energy level
  • Improved sleep

Just as impressive are the results that we are experiencing as we make this part of our regular practice:

  • Deeper and clearer intuition
  • Increased flow of energy
  • Increased capacity to communicate with the land and its species
  • Increased flow of eros/life force
  • Deepening of friendships
  • Overall increase in a sense of happiness.

For me, all those benefits happen without my noticing. What I do pay attention to, however, is the impact on my creative and visual world. My work has always taken its source in nature, first literally, when I painted landscapes, and then abstractly as I became more interested in expressing the emotional relationship we have with nature. I suspect my forest will keep nourishing my artistic endeavours for years to come. If not this forest, then another one; either way, I will try my best to keep it close to me because I need it, and because Cisco loves it.

“Did you sell a lot?” The most boring question you can ask an artist

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I have been a full-time artist for over 20 years. I’ve had periods in my career where I easily sold many, and I’ve had periods when sales were slow. And yes, like everyone else, I love getting well paid for what I do. But that’s never the reason I create my work. However, inevitably, after a show is over, I’m asked, “Did you sell a lot?” And no matter what the sales might have been, that question always makes me cringe because the answer never comes close to enlightening anyone about anything.

L’Éveil, acrylic on canvas

Katie Ohe, a very successful artist with a very long career, once wisely told me that “what defines an artist is the need to be an artist”. You become an artist because you need to create all the time. Because anything else you try to do feels insignificant and empty. Because not a day goes by where you don’t actively crave time to use your tools to add something new to the world – whether it’s by pencil, paper, paints, clay, computer, or power tools.”

Artists live in a world of creation and what interests us is what we can create next using the experiences we’ve accumulated through all we have created before. Most of us fantasize about hiding in our studios and having the luxury of selling our art only to support the creation of new artwork. Selling is never the ultimate goal; it’s a means to create more.

So, if someone asks me about a show or about my career, I’m always puzzled by “Did you sell a lot?” Did I sell a lot? Is that really what you’re interested in knowing? I realize that people wish me success and that, some times, that is where that questions is coming from. But my honest answer is that the question has no relevance. And the answer has nothing to do with me, or the world, and proves nothing about the quality of the work. It also closes the conversation. It tells me that you have no interest in the quality of the work itself. Your only interest is in its marketability. It ignores all the thoughtful considerations that went into creating it.

If the artist says, “Yes, I sell tonnes,” what does that mean? Does it mean she spent a lifetime getting her work out there and that it’s finally collectable? Does it mean it matches the colours that are trendy in this particular home-decorating era? Or maybe it means the subject is neutral enough that people feel comfortable hanging it in their homes.   If the artist says, “No, I didn’t sell much” what does that mean? Does it mean the work is no good? Does it mean the artist is poor at marketing? Does it mean his work is not yet understood or recognized? And frankly who gives a damn?

Selling a lot may only be a sign that the work somehow fits into the most common taste denominator where the artist is exhibiting. It may say that the economy is in good shape since artists, like cleaning ladies, are among the first to suffer when the economy tanks and the last to recover when the market improves. But one thing is for sure: sales don’t have anything to do with the quality of the work.

Rêves de jours paresseux, show at the CAVA gallery, photo creditJanet Sacille

When you look at the work, ask yourself the some questions. Is the work technically well executed? Is what the artist presenting profound? Does it move you emotionally? Has it enlightened you, excited you, encouraged you to wonder? Do you see that the collection is thoughtfully working toward a theme?

 

In a society that over values money, it’s easy to confuse selling with quality. I see a lot of poorly executed shallow artwork that sells, and a lot of magnificent inspired work that doesn’t sell. Personally, I prefer to create the latter and hope that people recognize its worth.

As Gail Gregg says in her blog, How to talk to an artist ,” if you are a person who appreciates art but doesn’t know much about what it means to create it, the first thing to do when you attend a show should be to stand quietly in front of a work, look carefully, and think about what you’re seeing. When you consider that it can take weeks, months—even years—to make an art object, looking hard is the respectful thing to do.” Once you have actually taken the time to look and feel the work, interesting questions will naturally come to you. You might ask:

  • What were you most excited about in this new series of work?
  • Did you have a clear intention when you started this series?
  • In what ways do you feel this work has progressed in comparison to the last series?
  • What are you trying to share with us?
  • Is there an artwork here you are most proud of? Why do you feel that way about this one?
  • How do you know when the work is finished?
  • What has inspired the work I see here?
  • Do you know where you might go from here in your next series?

 

Some of those questions I borrowed from “Asking artists questions” by Carrie Brummer, but I think Gaill Greeg put it best. “The best question would be one that helps me think more deeply about my work and makes me see connections I hadn’t, or puts it into a broader context.” Personally, I just wish to have a meaningful conversation about art and life. And, art being full of depth and meaning; it should not be too hard.

We all ask the wrong questions sometimes and we all forgive each other for that. If you have asked me about my sales in the past, don’t worry. I’ve heard it so many times I honestly won’t remember it was you asking. So come to my next show! Don’t feel embarrassed. Let me tell you more about the creative process, the thinking behind the work, and together I’m sure we’ll discover aspects of my work that neither of us at first imagined.

A Toddler Could Have Painted That!

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Last week I hired a woman to clean my house. Trust me, my house needed it. I freely admit that I much prefer to be in my studio. And besides, I share this house with a bunch of boys who just don’t see the dirt and mess, as a result the house gets seriously neglected. This lovely women with lots of life experience was a welcome help.

As I was showing my new cleaner around the house that first time, she commented on all my work – truly a collection that represents every step of my progress as an artist. She loved the landscapes and the ceramic flowers, and went on to tell me how she just doesn’t “get those paintings with the rectangles. A toddler could paint those,” she proclaimed. Then we walked into my studio and she saw my newer work. I could tell she was trying to find something in them to relate to, but it was difficult for her. “These are much better than all those rectangle paintings” she said diplomatically.

I like this woman. She’s hard working and honest, and I certainly wasn’t going to allow her comment to spoil my cleaning day with her. So, while I was tiding up as fast as I could to stay ahead of her energizer pace, I wondered what are we artists doing wrong? Why is it that people with lots of life experience don’t understand the first thing about abstract paintings? Why is it that they actually believe that a child could paint a Jackson Pollock?

Does the art world not communicate? Or do we communicate in an unaccessible language? Maybe it’s a little bit of both. Many people feel completely disconnected from the language used by contemporary artists when they talk about their work. I think, too, that the school system fails to provide a basic understanding of art because the curriculum sticks to a very limited list of old masters. Today’s students have very little exposure to new work and new ways to approach and talk about art. Let’s face it: football and hockey are a much bigger part of the general culture. And frankly, most homes are decorated with cheap cookie-cutter prints bought at big-box stores. Those prints by the way, do not put any interesting amount of income in the artist’s pocket.

I realize that art is important to me, and that it’s not important for a lot of people. But I strongly believe that all of us should have at least some understanding of the critical importance of abstract work throughout our history. It requires us to have an inquiring mind – to look beyond the surface and to be open to seeing the human condition in its many manifestations. It’s a skill we should all learn because in the 21st Century, we live in a complex society among myriad cultures with incredibly diverse ways of understanding. Abstract art requires us to acknowledge that truly understanding one another is enormously challenging. But once our minds are open to that challenge, we all benefit from learning to see with different eyes.

Photo credit Jessica Labrie

“A five year old could paint this!” Every professional abstract painter out there has heard that particular critique and, believe me, they cringe every time.

So? Does Marla Olmstead’s work belong in a museum or on the fridge? Slate Culture Box commented best. “The elephants, and perhaps even your own brilliant progeny may be terrific painters—but they’re not artists. This is because art is not just about making things or slapping pigment on canvas; it’s also a way of thinking and seeing.”

Ed Swarez in his blog titled “No, your five year old could not paint that” explains, “But I do believe that, when most people apply themselves and really try to see what is going on in the artwork in front of them, they have an unsuspected instinct that allows them to connect with the work and recognize its value.”

And Hawley-Dolan and Winner, in the 2011 blog titled Seeing the Mind Behind the Art, writes “People untrained in visual art see more than they realize when looking at abstract expressionist paintings. People may say that a child could have made a work by a recognized abstract expressionist, but when forced to choose between a work by a child and one by a master such as Mark Rothko, they are drawn to the Rothko even when the work is falsely attributed to a child or nonhuman. People see the mind behind the art.”

Photo credit Jessica Labrie

Last week I shared a fun little test on my Facebook page. There are 11 images of abstract work and you must decide whether each was painted by a toddler or by a professional artist. I took the test and correctly identified 9 out of 11. And, to my knowledge, the only person who beat me is my hiking partner, Josée, who got 10 out of 11. Now Josée, although she is open-minded about art, is certainly not an art connoisseur. What she knows are toddlers. She’s been running a day home for 20 years and has seen an impressive number of toddler paintings, so you can’t fool her! She knows toddler art when she sees it.  

 

Maybe, what is needed to better appreciate abstract artwork is simply more exposer to toddlers!

The Psychology of Painting:  what, exactly, are we scared of?

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Yesterday I started my Adult Painting fall-session class.  Within that group, I had three students who were completely new to painting.  Although this makes my life easy because there is so much I can teach them technically, the process comes with an undeniable hurdle.  Somehow I have to find a way to help them overcome their terror of putting paint to paper. Adults, many adults, are scared absolutely rigid.  You can see it in their body language.  Their shoulders tense up, they sigh, they apologize for taking up my time, they actually say they’re terrified.

It’s just paint we are talking about here.  There are absolutely no consequences if you try and fail.  It’s just a little paint and a canvas.  No big deal.  Let’s try it again.

The cliff, photo credit Josée raymondWhat, exactly, are we scared of?

Maybe it’s all about facing the unknown.  A blank canvas can be intimidating.  I’ve been painting for years and yes, sometimes starting a new canvas is akin to jumping off a cliff.  There’s always the possibility of failure and, on the way there, of feeling completely inadequate.  But with experience comes the excitement that maybe this one will perfectly realize the idea I had for it, and that it will convey exactly what I hope.

Sometimes it does!  Sometimes it doesn’t.  But the world doesn’t end either way because there is always more paint and another canvas… and another idea.

The kids I teach, especially the little ones, don’t pay attention to those fears.  I suppose they know very well that anything worth doing is worth a few bumps and bruises along the way.  My youngest son, Joshua, was so desperate to play with his older brothers that even before he learned to walk he learned to climb up onto the back of the family room couch so he could launch himself through the air into the thick of their wrestling. Fear was never an obstacle.

My little students are just as gutsy about trying art.  They just assume they can do anything they try – so they do.  And, by the time they’re 13 or 14, they’re competent enough to feel reasonably confident.  They’re not trapped in fear so it doesn’t take a lot of convincing to set them free to let go of expectations and just play.

Skinny Artist talks about this in his blog 11 Things That Scare Creative Artists (and what to do about it)  He says, “When we were children we heard praise about our creations all the time. People are encouraging when we are children. People make us believe we can do anything. People don’t expect children to draw or paint a perfect picture. They’re supportive and realize that the kid’s skills need time to develop.”

Art is one of those things that requires a long-term commitment in order to develop the physical and intellectual abilities necessary to get the results we aspire to.  So, when we become adults, if we haven’t invested the time to become a great painter, then we are not.  A new painter is pretty much guaranteed failure, frustration and road blocks.  He can’t see his way through by himself.

So what does a painter do about fear?  Here’s what I’ve learned over the years:

  1. Accept that you will fail and embrace the growth opportunities that come with that. Making the wrong colour and painting a really ugly cloud teaches you what not to do and puts you on the road to knowing how to correct it. As Dan, from Art Business Advice says in his blog  Overcoming the Fear of Failure: a Guide for Artists, “Failure is not an endpoint, folks, it’s the mid-point. It’s life’s educational tool, and we need it. Many of us have simply forgotten that fact in our transition from kids to adults.”
  1. Ask for help. But not from people who don’t know the first thing about painting.  A good painter can quickly guide you out of a dead end.  But your neighbor who has never painted will most likely lead you astray, discourage you and dismiss your inner voice.  I’ve had so many students show up to class completely discouraged after having consulted people around them about how to ‘fix’ their paintings.  Art loving non-artists somehow know when a painting works; it’s a natural instinct that most people have.  But when a painting doesn’t work, they have no idea how to fix it, so don’t ask them.
  1. Be as kind to yourself as you would be to a child who’s just learning to paint. Avoid self-deprecating speeches, both inwardly and out loud. Laugh at your mistakes; a bad painting is usually really funny.  And pat yourself on the back when you have done well – even if it’s only a small thing.
  1. Throw your expectations out the window. They will be of no help in your learning process and only make you feel like you have not met them.  At the risk of repeating myself, if you are a new painter, you will not meet your own expectations.  That is guaranteed.
  1. Let go of perfection. I am very, very uncomfortable with the concept of perfection. In a world in a constant state of change, how can anything ever be perfect? It’s an unrealistic concept that can paralyze the most capable of us.
  1. Breathe! Many of my new students actually hold their breath when they paint. It should feel sort of like meditating or yoga.  The better you breathe, the better you paint.
  1. Watch your posture. Keep your back straight and your shoulders relaxed.  Keeping your body in a naturally comfortable and relaxed position will keep your mind in a naturally comfortable and relaxed state.  And that is the number one ingredient in a good painting.
  2. Give it time. Becoming a good painter is a long journey. It requires you to form new neurons and new physical abilities.  Your hand has to learn to respond to your brain in new ways.  Your muscles need to develop the stamina to hold and move the brush freely.  Your mind has to learn how to look at the world, and how to look at every painting with the eyes of a painter.  It takes countless hours of practice.
  1. Above all: don’t be discouraged.  It’s a journey that will feed your soul at every step.  Painting is a powerful act.  It will stop time for you.  In life, with its constant disproportionate pressure to perform, we all need time to pause once in a while.  Painting will do that for you.

Above all, ENJOY!

A road trip to visit ALEX JANVIER’s studio

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Alex Janvier’s work is at the Glenbow Museum in Calgary for the summer (June 16 to September 9). It is a major retrospective featuring over 100 remarkable paintings and drawings.  Here is all about my Janvier road trip!

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Alex Janvier, “Tribute to Beaver Hills,” Strathcona County Hall, Sherwood Park, Alberta, photo credit Corinne Dickson

When I asked Corinne “Would you like to come along with me on a road trip to visit Alex Janvier, one of my mentors?” I may have fudged the details a little. Perhaps I neglected to say that we’d have to drive six hours to get to his studio in Cold Lake… at the end of the highway… on the far north-east side of Alberta. And maybe I forgot to mention that Alex Janvier doesn’t actually know he’s my mentor. And I’m pretty sure he’d never heard of me. But nonetheless, Alex Janvier influences every stroke of my paintbrush.

Just look at his work: it flows with life! Somehow, the movements of colour take you into his visual world where a narrative takes place, and I’m both charmed and intrigued every time I see his work. But mostly I’m inspired to reach beyond my grasp toward that level of narrative in my own work. So yes, Alex Janvier is definitely my mentor – whether he knows it or not.

At his Gallery, nestled into the forest by the Lake, we had the chance to hang out with a large number of pieces and to flip through his new work. I’m impressed by how he remains, in his old age, a very strong and very prolific painter. His new work has lost none of the energy of his earlier compositions.

Janvier, born in 1935, is of Dene Suline and Saulteaux heritage. He was raised by his loving family until, at the age of eight, he was uprooted and sent to the Blue Quills Indian Residential School near St. Paul, Alberta. But because he had always been a highly imaginative child, the school gave him the tools he needed to create his first paintings and the rest, as they say, is history. He went on to graduate with honours from the Alberta College of Art and Design in Calgary where he developed a unique and recognizable style with influences from his mother’s and other relatives’ beadwork and bark basket-making. And his recent retrospective exhibition at the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa  has made it clear to all Canadians that Janvier is among the leaders of a small group of masterful Indigenous contemporary painters who have built and maintained successful lifelong careers.

His career didn’t come without sacrifice, however. We spent about two hours with his wife Jaqueline and she told us that together they had raised six children and that some of those years were very lean. “So,” she said, “when money came in, I filled up the freezer with meat to make sure we could survive the next lean time.”
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Me laying on ‘Tsa tsa ke k’e’, Rogers Place in Edmonton, photo credit Corinne Dickson

On our way home we stopped three times to admirer some of his public art. The most recent one is at Rogers Place in Edmonton. It’s a 14-metre diameter tile installation set into the floor of Ford Hall titled ‘Tsa tsa ke k’e’ or ‘Iron Foot Place’. I’m told it took 20 staff members six months to install the million byzantine glass tiles of the mosaic that depicts the natural beauty of the Edmonton landscape, and I’m confident that it will remain central to the soul of the city, its Indigenous and non-Indigenous history, its lands and its waters.
Six long hours home, filled with much conversation about our own careers as artists, inevitably led both Corinne and me to our own soul searching. How will we look back at our own careers in 50 years? Does Alex Janvier feel he has accomplished what he set out to do? Or is he surprised when he looks back at the work he’s compiled? Has he realized his narrative goals?
Being artists, we suspect that he knows how hard he worked and how focused and committed he has been to achieve such acclaim. And having seen his new work, we also suspect that his mind is on his next project; it never settles on past accomplishments. For creative junkies like Alex Janvier, there will never be enough time. And the next creative endeavor will always be more interesting than the ones already realized.
Corinne and I agreed. This is, indeed, a life worth living.