Pop Goes the Artist!

It’s the classic criticism of abstract art.  Give a five-year-old some finger paints and a big canvas, people claim, and he too could have one-man shows and high-paying collectors.

Don’t be so sure.  “Childish” and “child-like” are not the same.  I saw an exhibit once that displayed the work of children alongside that of trained adult artists.  The difference was striking and instantly recognizable, and these were artists whose paintings frequently hear the “childish” accusation.  The motifs were similar, but the differences lay in the execution.

Speaking from my own limited experience, abstraction is easy.  Successful abstraction is hard.  Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.  As Pablo Picasso said, “It takes a long time to become young.”

“In spite of everything, I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing.” (Vincent van Gogh)

And that’s what I’m doing. I’m exaggerating, obviously: I have had times of great discouragement in my life, but the past few months have not been among them. No, I just stopped making art a priority in my life, and consequently left behind this blog as well. A few days ago, I realized that I wasn’t happy with that. So here I am.

The problem, of course, when I stop making art, is that it’s a self-perpetuating thing. The longer I go without it, the more reluctant I am to pick it up again, because the first few sketches after a long time away are always clumsy. The part I forget is how good they feel, despite the awkwardness.

Yesterday I had a craving for color, so I picked up my markers and turned for inspiration to a postcard of a stained glass window from Chartres Cathedral. My rendition doesn’t do it justice, partially because I don’t really have the right colors in my pencil case, and partially because marker on paper cannot even approximate the glow of light and glass. Not in my hands, anyway. (Click on the image to make it larger.)

(I also, incidentally, discovered the secret to achieving flat color with markers, which tend to leave those sketchy overlap lines: multiple layers. Why didn’t I think of that ten years ago?)

So-called “modern art” gets such a bad rap all the time, as if every abstract artist has personally dedicated his or her life to purging the world of order and beauty.  While in some circles, professing a passion for all things avant-garde is practically a requirement for admission, in other circles, it’s just expected that you will hate modern art and all it stands for.  (As if modern artists painted the same things for the same reasons, anyway.)

This wholesale dismissal of all things abstract (or conversely, all things representative) has always irked me, because it’s such a limiting perspective.  So here’s my small piece of advice for all the haters out there: Next time you’re about to blow through the East Building of the National Gallery, which houses most of its modern collection, slow down just a little and really look.  Don’t try to figure out “what it’s supposed to be,” or worse, “what it means.”  Just look at what’s there.  Lines, shapes, and especially colors can all be beautiful in their own right, without necessarily contributing to a representative whole.

Put aside your preconceptions and just see what’s there.  You don’t have to like all of it.  (I certainly don’t.)  Some of it’s beautiful, some is ugly, some is baffling, and some of it pushes the boundaries of what is actually art.  But the diversity is what makes it fun.

Just stop and look.

A few days ago, our basement flooded.  This was a potential disaster for me, since the basement is where I work and where I store my portfolios, supplies, etc.  My portfolios, actually, sit upright on the floor between my desk and my drafting table, along with several sheets of matboard, large pads of paper, etc.  So when I came downstairs and discovered it all sitting in half an inch of water, I panicked.  Luckily, only my pads of newsprint were destroyed.  The matboard on a few of my drawings is a little wavy, but if it hadn’t been the mat, it would have been the drawing itself, and mats I can replace.  The lesson: be careful where you store irreplaceable things.

Speaking of matboard, my favorite source of scrap mat may be gone.  Joann’s used to sell pieces of scrap mat (medium to small rectangles cut from the middle of larger pieces) for super cheap, in every color of the rainbow.  Perfect for matting small prints and drawings.  But last time I was there, the place they used to keep them was full of picture frames.  I’ll have to ask them if they’re permanently gone, but it doesn’t look promising.  If they think I’ll start using their custom matting service instead, though, then they’d better think again.

Right now I’m painting a base coat on a 15×30″ canvas in preparation for (I think) a still life.  Previously, I’d been painting a dachshund, but that just wasn’t working.  I couldn’t find a satisfactory reference photo (at least not one I could use legally) and I don’t know any dachshunds I could photograph myself.  Still life it is!

I also need to finish my blue Lucy painting and, most importantly, the anniversary gift for my parents that I started in September.  Their anniversary was in November.  I am the worst daughter ever.

I’ve been heinously busy lately–busier than I’ve been since probably high school, back in the days when I actually did things with my time. And apparently this semester I’m doing more things with my time than I realized.

But I’ve also been painting in the past couple days, thanks to A) a snow day and a half (university closed early yesterday) and B) a paper due tomorrow. Because there is nothing that increases one’s will to paint like an English paper that needs to be put off. As a result of all this motivation and free time, I’ve made a lot of progress on “Blue Lucy,” the painting that’s been in progress since November or so. I still have to do her feet and the bottom part of her mouth, finish her ears, and touch things up, but the bulk of the work is behind me.  (Click to see it bigger.)
Painting with an easel has been much more of an adjustment than I’d anticipated. At home I have a drafting table much like this one. The adjustable angle means it can be set flat for altered books and “crafty” things, at a slight angle for drawing, and at a steeper angle for painting. It’s a bit sturdier than my easel and it’s much easier for me to rest my not-very-steady hand somewhere while I do finer details and lines. So there’s been a learning curve, plus a lot of accidentally smudging wet paint and going back over shaky lines.

I’d like to get this done by spring break (which is at the end of this month, go figure), because I’ve got a couple ideas–another painting and a series of drawings–that I’m eager to start.