Seeing is Believing

I love all art and culture, and I gulp it up ravenously like food, but when people talk about classic literature, or popular books, I am lost in those conversations.

I have a hard time reading. When I look at a page filled with words, I basically see a black and white wallpaper pattern, and my eyes want to wander all around the page. Moving my eyes from left to right, column by column, has always been a challenge for me since I was young. I am not sure if this happens because I have trained my eyes as an artist, or if I’m an artist because my eyes work this way. I can read short essays, and I love information, but even short writings cause me to skim the page quickly, looking only for the key words. I have never been diagnosed, but I feel confident that I have some dyslexia and ADD, and I also believe many artists have similar issues.

 A couple of months ago, I hyperextended my left thumb, or basically bent it backwards. This meant I couldn’t button my pants, unbutton my pants, remove a lid from a jar, or play the guitar. I was astonished at how many motor functions require not just the fingers, but most importantly, the thumb. The opposable thumb is one of the things that separates humans from chimps.

Not being able to play the guitar was especially frustrating for me, because playing music is a necessary part of my life, and this year I had been practicing more. My art and music are my bread and butter, my security blanket, and my joy in life. Fortunately, my hand is going to be better, after a cortisone shot where my thumb meets my palm, and I am starting to play guitar today, albeit rusty.

  Maestro Guitarist, Julian Bream would put his hands behind his back and bow, rather than shake hands when meeting somebody.  Artists need to  remember to take care of their hands and their eyes. Use safety equipment when necessary: gloves, eyeglasses, respirators, etc.  Take your time with physical tasks, and don’t put your art on hold, because you’ve injured yourself. 

A Statement about Artist Statements

 I am in the process of writing about my art, so I thought I would also write about writing. Creating artist statements can be a source of anxiety for artists, but writing them can also be a source of self-discovery and better articulation when speaking about one’s work. I have artist friends who can ejaculate adjectives about their work without hesitation. I am getting better at my verbal skills, but still recognize my limitations, so I have a method to activate parts of my brain when writing: I find that I write about painting much better when I paint for an hour just before I write. All my visual art synapses are still connected when I transition to typing on a keyboard.

 I believe a good artist statement should be written as if you are speaking to a museum curator, your best friend, a complete stranger, and your mom. I like artist statements that are clear and concise.  Statements shouldn’t be written with too much unnecessary vocabulary like a Ph.D. thesis. Statements shouldn’t try to explain everything, but give viewers a starting point. 

I love painting and drawing for its metaphysical aspects. I like taking a flat piece of paper or canvas and making it appear to have space where there was none before. A commonly used vehicle that artists have used to define space throughout history is the representation of the window. Windows in art convey the sense of two spaces: the space on this side of the window, and the space on other side of the window. Windows in art can be everything from literal representations of an architectural element, or holes that are cut into a canvas. For me, the most satisfying exploration of the concept of windows is using abstract planes or veils in space.

 The guitar has been a source of escape and enjoyment  in my life, since I was ten years old. I have never been much of a singer, so eventually I found that playing more challenging instrumental music to be my niche, instead of strumming chords and singing along. There was a time in my life when I wanted to pursue the guitar seriously, but I eventually I realized that even though I could be a good guitarist, I would never be a GREAT guitarist. Visual art is easy for me. When I am painting, ideas just tumble out of my head. Music, however, makes me confront all of my learning disabilities in a chaotic, head-on collision. 

The question came up this weekend, “Where do your ideas come from?” The ideas themselves come from looking at nature, from experimenting and playing, and basically, from everywhere, but the key is not where the ideas themselves originate, but in being receptive to them when they happen. Ideas are all around us, but we need to be tuned in to the right frequency. Creativity comes from being open- minded, to seeing everything, and to really perceive your surroundings, full-time. 

 Since I was a kid, I have always known I was an artist, and I have always wanted to be an artist. A cleaning chore today solidified that belief, and turned into a meaningful personal refection. 

 I have a modest selection of art books that occupy a couple of shelves in my studio bookcase. I noticed  that the books have been gathering dust from not being used for  years. I seldom look at them anymore, because all I have to do is search the web for an artist, or drive down the street to any of the free art museums here in Washington, DC. I decided today was finally the day that I would remove the books, clean them, and replace them on the shelf one by one. 

 I cleaned books that first taught me how to draw cartoons when I was just a kid. I cleaned art books that were textbooks for classes I loved, and for teachers I respected in my teens. I cleaned books that were my first introduction into the language of form, and what visual abstraction was all about. I have an art book that was a gift from an ex-girlfriend, who wrote a sweet dedication inside the dust jacket. My Michelangelo book was extra dirty, and took forever to clean. It probably took less time to clean the actual Sistine Chapel.

 I was not college material, and I could not afford art school, but I found a way to get the best art education I could. I went to community college on and off, and took all the art classes they had, without getting a degree. I had one art teacher who always said, “Whenever in doubt, consult the masters”, so I bought art books of the master artists whenever I could . Every once in a while, I would drive some old jalopy from my home in Dayton, Ohio, to an art museum in Cleveland, Cincinnati, or even six hours away to Chicago, so that I could see the master artist’s work in person. I also have a few art books that I purchased  at some of these museums. 

 When I moved to Washington, DC, in 1986, from Dayton, Ohio, I came here because I thought it would be a good place for an artist to live, and I decided that I wanted to live on Capitol Hill. 

 I lived at 800 East Capitol Street, eight blocks from the U.S. Capitol. I could look out my window and see the big white dome, and it became an imprinted symbol to me, of my geographic location. I regularly walked to the National Gallery of Art, and passed the beautiful grounds of the Capitol on my way. I saw the “Liberty” statue which regularly stands on top of the dome, airlifted to the ground by a Sikorsky helicopter, and lowered to the Capitol parking lot for restoration. I will always look at that statue from a different perspective, having experienced that. The Capitol grounds were always my “Central Park” when I lived on the Hill. In fact, the Capitol grounds were designed by the same landscape architect who designed Central Park in New York. Capitol Hill was my neighborhood. I shopped at Frager’s Hardware, and Eastern Market, and ate breakfast at Jimmy T’s Diner. Families walk their dogs on the brick sidewalks, and raise their kids there. 

 Thirty five years ago, I had moved to an international city, with an educated population, and I still had a lot of trailer park in me. I grew up in several different parts of the country as a kid, but as an “adult”, I feel like I grew up on Capitol Hill. 

 A week ago, I felt like my old Capitol Hill neighborhood was invaded. I felt violated and angry. This wasn’t only the “people’s house”, and the seat of government, it was where I lived during a turning point in my life, and where I evolved and grew. 

 Artists who are sour and cynical have good reason to feel that way. There are plenty of artists with very little talent receiving fame and fortune, while virtuoso artists are struggling to make ends meet. It has always been that way, and nobody ever said it was going to be easy to be an artist. 

 However, there are artists who waste their God-given talent, talent which other mere mortals wish they could possess even a small fraction. Artists and musicians often get tired of banging their heads against the brick wall of popular success, and quit creating, and performing.

In February of 2013, I started posting photo portraits of artists and musicians on my blog, Artistportraits.tumblr.com.

Today, I am posting photo portrait number four-hundred. My intention is to show the DC area is an active arts environment, with creative people from all demographics.  

The blog features photos of artists, in front of their art, and musicians holding  their instruments, with a link to their websites. Each portrait has it’s own unique web address, so it can always be linked by the artist, or anybody who wants to share it. Artists are always free to use the photos for their own publicity purposes.

Being an artist, musician, and camera addict, who enjoys other musicians and artists, this project just made sense to me, as a small journal or directory of DC talent.

The photos are almost always shot in a hurry, under difficult situations: in brightly lit art galleries, or in dimly lit nightclubs. I will be the first to admit they aren’t always perfect photos, but they are always honest. Occasionally, I have also gotten lucky, and managed to capture a classic shot.

 My latest painting,“Bathtubs in the Sky” is an adult reinterpretation of a drawing that I made when I was a kid. 

When I was nine years old, and in the fifth grade, my teacher at Brantwood Elementary School, Mrs. Graham, took our class for our weekly visit to the school library.

  I loved art as a kid, and always wanted to be an artist, so I naturally gravitated towards the art books. This was my first exposure to abstract expressionism, and all modern art in general. I remember looking at Jasper Johns’ alphabet paintings, and thinking that they were stupid. ( later, Jasper Johns would become one of my biggest heroes) I remember thinking abstract art was a joke, and that some artists were just fooling people.

 When we left the library, and returned to our classroom, I drew a picture of bathtubs in the sky, as my own kind of art-joke, or satire of modern art. After all, I was nine years old, and knew everything about art. The drawing was ball-point pen on notebook paper, and the bathtubs had lots of pipes connecting the tubs together. I showed the drawing to a few of my classmates, laughed, crumbled the drawing into a ball, and threw it into the wastebasket.

   Later, that day, Mrs. Graham asked me to please leave the classroom, and join her in the hallway. She wanted to talk to me, she said. I immediately thought she was going to reprimand me for any of a number of rule infractions, in which I may have participated. 

 Mrs. Graham said, “Buddy”, ( that’s what they called me, when I was nine ), “Why did you crumble up your drawing, and throw it away?” I said, “Because it was a joke. It wasn’t real art”. Mrs. Graham said, “Don’t ever do that again. You are very talented, with a big imagination, and you should think about becoming an artist”

 Fast-forward to 2019, and I am now a much-older artist, and thankful for Mrs. Graham’s encouragement, all those years ago. I made this painting as a tribute to her, and also as a sort of graduation, a rite of passage, or milestone, marking my arrival at the place that I imagined, when I was just a kid. I wanted the new painting to be different from the way that I remember the original drawing. I wanted this painting to be  dream-like, reminiscent of an old memory. It’s a weird painting, by a weird kid, who grew up to be a weird adult.

 When I started this painting, I thought to myself, this canvas will be my personal art statement, not remotely intended for decorating someone’s house. Now as I look at this painting, in it’s completed state, I realize somebody, someday wil probably hang it in their bathroom, above their tub.

 One of the many reasons why I like following an artist's work, is to see the evolution of their art that takes place over time. If I have just seen an artist's work for the first time, I always look at their website, to see what their work looked like in the past. The art they are making presently, can often be a radical departure from the work they made previously.