h o r i z o n l i n e

Communing With a Sister

I love Sister Wendy and I will duke it out with you on the playground if you even attempt to imitate her or call her a "beaver."  Don't get between me and my Sister.

I don't just stop there though.  I want YOU to love her too.

Sister Wendy Beckett was an unlikely choice for celebrity, but it happened nonetheless.  It began when the BBC decided to record her verbal musing on paintings.  Something very simple.  She would look at art and a camera would happen to follow her around.  The BBC did not train her how to act, did not give her a script, and most certainly didn't prompt her how to connect with the viewer.  In fact, she'd never watched TV a day in her life!  And for more than 30 years she lived in SILENCE!  Yes, silence for 30+ years.  Unfathomable to me.

So, how did she end up being warm and resonating on camera.  This, too, is simple.  She talked about what she was passionate about!  She wants viewers to look at art work and give it a chance, even if it's vulgar or terrifying.  Sister Wendy wants you and I to see art as a timeless gift that, like a great book, can absorb you and take you somewhere.  In interviews (see below) she also reveals the essential nature of art as a means toward building personal integrity.

Recently, I checked out several of her books from the library.  (FAR more affordable than buying them!) I don't always see what she sees.  But who can argue with her?

I also located an excellent BBC interview of hers on YouTube.  I provide links here for you.  Please at least listen to the interview. (FYI: The sound is a bit low, so turn your speaker up.)  Part 4 is my favorite!  And I have to say, the type of introspection, silence, and intentional thought she speaks of... I think it applies to artists, writers, and even die-hard runners!   Consider her comments and how they apply to your life.

Sister Wendy in Conversation :: Part 1
Sister Wendy in Conversation :: Part 2
Sister Wendy in Conversation :: Part 3
Sister Wendy in Conversation :: Part 4
Sister Wendy in Conversation :: Part 5
Sister Wendy in Conversation :: Part 6

Sister Wendy's 1,000 Masterpieces
Sister Wendy's Story of Painting
Sister Wendy's American Masterpieces
Sister Wendy's Grand Tour

Doing Something About It

Since last month I have been heartsick for NieNie, whose blog I started reading in June.  If you have not heard, Nie and her family are in the midst of a terrible ordeal right now that began with a plane crash in August.

This afternoon I read about her and her husbands progress in the hospital and decided, "That's it!  I am doing something!"

So, I've set a financial goal for myself and need your help to achieve it.

To read my ChipIn page - which offers a super, secure online PayPal donations - CLICK HERE.
You can also click the red box to the top right of this screen.

To read about Nie and her family - CLICK HERE.

And, if you have a blog... please consider adding my ChipIn widget to your page so that we can work together to reach this goal.  If you are interested in this, just place a comment here or email me (top left corner under my photo) and I will assist you with that.

Thanks much!

-Ali-

Compromising Art Consultant

Sometimes when I poke around online, I walk away with the sense that EVERYONE (and their mother) is "teaching" or giving advice on how to make better art.  Online experts list PayPal links where you can buy art marketing or pricing advice or, better yet, uncover the '10 Simple Steps to Success'.  I'm baffled by this.  Dumbfounded by this recent outpouring of art consultants.

On the one hand, it's thrilling to see people finding consulting opportunities that help them pay the bills and I'm genuinely glad for these people. On the other hand, I'm annoyed at the blind item never discussed. How do you reconcile giving art sales advice to someone who simply makes "bad art"?

There are plenty of artists and craftspeople that seek advice to further their creative inclinations, all the while lacking skill, technique, concept, or all three.  I know because not so long ago I taught artists how to market their work. I helped craftspeople hone their product lines and price their pieces.  I was in the proverbial trenches.  And then I walked away from it all...

Why?  Especially when it WAS undeniably thrilling.  It gave my ego a boost to know that I held the key to someone's success.  When I helped transform a hobbiest from part-time to full-time and saw that moment when they quit their day job and sold enough work to encourage their spouse to quit their day job as well... I was hooked!  I had moments where artists or craftspeople literally said to me, "Please!  Tell me what to do and I'll do it.  Anything."

Yet, clearly I wielded an ungodly amount of power.  And while I saw this at the time, I don't think it quite hit home until a string of truly "bad" artists came my way.

One day I found myself sitting at a table critiquing hand painted toilet seat covers and Kleenex caddies, followed by a string of pressed flowers stuck behind mat board and cellophane.

I had seen items like this before and always gave honest feedback, telling the makers how to improve their technique despite personally wanting to burn it.  I was always able to see the divide between what I appreciated and what I knew others would appreciate.  So, I forged ahead and encouraged "appropriate" venues for their work, meanwhile hoping and praying they'd find their real artistic voice and bury the toilet paper holders painted with tromp l'oeil violets.  I wanted them to forget about this schlock and move on to loftier ideals.

But the people sitting before me, I suddenly saw for what they were - happy.  They were blissful almost.  While I wasn't hurting anyone's feelings and was tactful in my honesty, I was the problem.  I was hurting myself.  Every time I gave advice to someone, I was put my stamp of approval on their choice of life direction.  Meanwhile some of these people would have been far better served to have just gotten a normal day job and kept craft as a past time... a home hobby.

By giving career advice to creative people without regard to their suitability to the career, I was taking their consulting fee and short changing them. I was essentially conducting job interviews and allowing all the candidates to walk away with the hopeful sense that they too have secured the job.  Some I knew didn't even have a chance.  Many had wasted their time and parking meter money.

Looking back I don't regret a thing.  I learned a lot.  I helped many people.  I tried my best.  And while I could have been more honest, I never lied to anyone.

But now when I look at all the creative workshops, tutorials, and art marketing sessions others have jumped aboard to promote, I can't help but sigh and take a step back.  Do they care what life choices their advice might result in, including the quitting of real, paying careers?   Do they not want to delve deeper and know how their advice will be misused?  Do they even screen the work before they give blanket, one-size-fits-all advice?  I worry about these questions, but behind it is real concern for the advice-givers.  Especially those who are artists and will scarcely know the true twist the advice-giving business had taken on their artistic career until they've been separated from consulting long enough to look back.

In the end we all just want to make a living.  But if making a living comes at the expense of absolute truths you once knew about the art world, (that Beadazzlers, puffy paint, and hot glue guns do not belong in the National Gallery) all you're really doing is spinning your wheels and putting your creative aspirations on a shelf.  No amount of money is now worth compromising my integrity like that again.

Turning It On and Tuning Out

I used to really dislike Ira Glass.  I imagined him visiting people's homes and following them around with an old fashioned microphone set-up attached to a recording device that he wore like a purse.  That's not really how they record his shows though, and I knew it.   So, if I was wrong about his methods, maybe I was wrong about the delivery.  Maybe I would appreciate him afterall.

So, I gave it a shot.  One Saturday I tuned into his show.  All it took was that one time.

Now, I find myself incapable of working on art if Ira's show, This American Life, isn't playing in the background.  Fortunately, all that requires of me is a few clicks on the computer because all of the shows are free, online audio clips.  And how rare is that these days?  Something that is actually FREE and you don't have to REGISTER!  <gasp>

It turns out that I WANT to know about adults who saw scary movies that scarred them as children.  I am dying to hear how transitioning women feel when taking testosterone injections.  I crave stories of gambling excess, neighbors gone bad, and even funny tales from John Hodgeman.

Maybe it's being sucked into someone else's story for awhile, but it turns parts of my conscious thinking off.  It frees my mind up to just work.   And, I wonder if it has the same effect on you when you're getting down with your bad, creative self.  Tell me, won't you?

Monday Muse - Jim Denevan

I sit glued to CNN today, watching yet another Hurricane toy with the Gulf Coast. And while I don't intend to find a point of inspiration in other people's agony, there it is nonetheless, continually animated on "live doppler radar."

Robert Smithson's Spiral Jetty hits me in the face every time I see the weather report.  But also there's more meditative notions... I watch nature trying to reclaim and reshape the land, then conjure daydreams of potters shaping clay, balling it up, pulling it off the wheel, and tossing it back into the mudpile in frustration.

So, on this Monday I have Environmental Art on my mind and CNN blaring in the background.

Think it's hard trying to sell your art?  Imagine trying to sell an art piece that elusively lasts just days or hours! Also referred to as Land Art, this work exists to inevitably be washed away, melted, or changed by the sun. Seated near the fringe of the art world, Environmental Artists have more than a few gurus to hoist high - Andy Goldsworthy, Robert Smithson, James Turrell, and more-often-then-not Christo & Jean-Claude.  Imagine, if you will, these artists are the 'Lone Rangers' of the fine art market.

And then we have Jim Denevan, who not only makes a name for himself in art but also in food. I'll get to the food... first let's talk about his art.

As a surfer Jim acknowledges the dominance of water, of erosion, and the subtle power of small movements. Using driftwood found along the beach as his drawing tool and the sand underfoot as his canvas, he illustrates classic natural shapes - spirals, circles, the meeting of two planes, the balance of a line and a circle. His work is experienced, photographed, and then the tide carries it back out to sea.  And on another day, he starts all over again... another wood drawing implement, a blank sand canvas, a fresh idea marked in enormous scale, the tide returns.

How can you not find this effort remarkable?  How can you not look at our world of 'art blogs' and eBay paintings and sometimes just step back and ache for work like this?

If nothing else, you simply must say that Jim is authentic.  His work is alive and fresh, and free of all the numbing art world mania.  He takes a small thing that he knows and cares about, adds a little nugget of imagination and - BOOM - pushes it to a scale we can't help but be thrilled by.  I am heartsick with wanting to run across his beach drawings, leaving my wet footprint graffiti.

Jim's work doesn't live in silent obscurity either.  He's managed to carve out his niche well enough to include high profile opportunities at PS1/MOMA and the upcoming Vancouver Biennale.  He's also been immortalized on film, most notably in my mind on CBS Sunday Morning where I first saw him raking the sand years ago.

Now, I also promised Jim Denevan's food.  Like the dinner party of my dreams, Jim sets up enormous tables outside and invites local farmers and chefs to curate dinner.  Yes, I said "curate".



Every dinner is unique.  Once experienced, it's gone.  Guests disperse.  Plates are cleaned.  Tables are dismantled.  What's left mirrors his drawings, an experience that reminds you how special and highly regarded EVERY meal should be.  And, really, why can't it? 

Jim's tables now seat dinner guests all over North America and reservations can be made through the organization he founded to orchestrate things - Outstanding in the Field.  He also has a book, which I can't review because I don't own... but by the NYTimes' account is worth the space on your shelf.

Jim's formula for great art or great food isn't magic in a bottle - it's finding what you care about, digging inside yourself, and giving to others. I can't reach for much that offers more inspiration than that thought alone.

So, sit back with me and watch the weather report.  Then, think about the timelessness of the tides, of heirloom tomatoes, and the art you SHOULD be making (in your studio or elsewhere).  And somewhere amongst all that, please take time to learn about the fruit of Jim Denevan's labor.

(All images here are Copyright Jim Denevan.  Links include references to Jim's personal website, the CBS Sunday Morning show featuring him from YouTube, and several blogs/websites that review and show additional photographs of his work.)