Destiny Allison's Blog, page 20

Artist and Author Melanie Ray

I love learning about so many creative women.  It is my pleasure to introduce Melanie Ray today.

Melanie Ray is both an artist of the visual and the written word. She creates pieces that are unique, that people either love or hate with a passion. She writes romance and fantasy, but designs in many different genres. She is a stay at home mother, who is trying to guide her daughter to her own right path in life by pursuing her own and leading by example. Happily married with her husband they make a home with their daughter, cat, two dogs, and thirty four tarantulas.

Websites-http://authormelanieray.com and http://e-finiteecovers.com

The Interview:

From where do you draw inspiration? 

For my writing, I often draw from the feelings of my own life. For my art, that is tricky. I tend to start looking at pictures, and when something strikes me that could make it beautiful, I go for it. I wittle away at the original image, adding and taking out things until I see what my mind wants to see.

What is the hardest thing about your creative process?

I cannot do reality. I have tried. My failure to be able to sculpt in the real kept me from getting my graphic designer degree. Many times, I don’t know what I want when I first look at a raw piece. I just know what I want to convey. I work through emotion, not through realism. That wouldn’t work for the coursework.

Do you work every day, or only when inspiration strikes?

I work almost every single day on either my writing or my art. It depends on which way my mind needs to be creative, through my hands or through my eyes.

How do you feel about the current art market/art climate?

On one hand, I love it. Since I have gone into ebook design, people who need a gorgeous book can come to me. I can help them fulfill their vision. However, on one hand I don’t love it, especially on the writing side. I have been working on a personal series that I give away free and/or for a low price on Amazon. Then I have books that I charge a heavier price for. I hear more about the books that I charge for then the series I put my whole heart into. However, it’s so important to me that I don’t even care if no one else reads it. It is there for those who will want it in the future. I can tell from paperback sales, and Amazon’s sales, that some people do like it. They just don’t bother to speak up, which is okay. As long as people enjoy my work, I’m okay with that.

In fact, I am going to be using my designing skills to ‘paint’ some of the most important scenes. It will cost more money, but I want to share my visual vision to the book as well.

If you could change one thing about the art world today, what would it be?

I wish I could find more people who would appreciate some of the older artwork instead of simply snapshots of manipulated stock. I would gladly create a large pastel picture or charcoal drawings if I could find someone who could appreciate it the same way I do.

Talk a little bit about your current project and why     you decide to embark on it.

Right now I am creating premade designs, and I am doing some pro-bono work for an author who asked for help. The work can help me begin my custom design portfolio, so I am happy that it will help benefit both of us. On the writing side, I am working on my free series, and I might be working on a sweet short novella here soon. We’ll see.

If you had the chance to address a group of young     girls, what would you say to inspire them?

Don’t listen to others who say you don’t have potential. Everyone does, just not in the same way. Keep exploring what you love, even if you aren’t good at it. Inside, there is something that you will be good at. Don’t give up. If you do, you’ll regret it later in life that you never took the chance.

Follow your heart

Some days, I wake up in the morning and everything is perfect.  The light on the mountains, the smiles from my dogs, and the kiss from my love enable me to write for hours, wrap up a new sculpture with confidence, or attack the ever ending in-box with a vengeance.

Other days are different. On these I suffer from exhaustion, the frustration of trying to do it all, and never having enough time to do it as well as I would like.  Then, even the simple tasks seem monumental. The stats appear dismal.  I pummel myself with self-doubt and can’t accomplish anything to my satisfaction.

Motivation is a funny thing.  Self-motivation is a bear.  Still, I persevere knowing that there are always ups and downs.  It is the nature of things, and deluding myself into believing that I can just change my attitude and will away the dark times is silly.  I can’t.  I’m human.

Over the years, I have taken great comfort from different sources who validate this nature.  Visiting the Picasso Museum in Barcelona is a consistent inspiration.  Despite my preconceived ideas about genius, this museum illuminates the harsh reality that genius comes in fits and starts, and only when you stay committed to the work.

Caroline Myss’s audio tapes on the dark night of the soul are reminders that we need the hard times.  It is through them that we grow the most.

Yesterday, another courageous woman wrote a blog post that inspired me.  Here’s the link to it:  http://smartistcareerblog.com/2012/11/hiding-out-in-plain-sight/

Adriane Goodwin has worked for years as a coach for artists.  I haven’t attended any of her workshops or tele-conferences, but I have watched her from a distance.  She does good work.  Now, she’s thinking seriously about changing her direction mid stream.

As you probably know, so am I.  My body is wearing out.  Being in my studio hurts more than I am willing to admit most of the time.  My ability to continue to produce metal sculpture in quantities significant enough to support myself is finite.  But, honestly, it’s bigger than that.

Like I was called to sculpture, I believe I am being called to write.  Even on the hard days, when nothing goes smoothly, I am more excited, turned on, and motivated than I have been in a really long time.  There is something in my heart that is guiding me, and I deeply believe that it is the gravest mistake to ignore that tug — regardless of the risks it entails.

This blog — all the musings, the guest posts by woman courageous enough to follow their hearts, and the different entries that span the scope of my life — are all about shedding the supposed to’s and living fully as a self-actualized individual.   I congratulate Ariane, and am grateful to her for her honesty.  Check her out.

Amazing woman artist and writer, Asnat Greenberg

I am delighted to welcome Asnat Greenberg to the discussion.

Asnat Greenberg is a writer, an artist who works with iron, and a former senior economist at the Bank of Israel. She is married, has three children, and lives in Jerusalem, Israel.

Her art web-site is: www.helen-and-asnat.com

Email address: goodpeoplestories@gmail.com

Her book, Secrets of Kindness: A Journey Among Good People can be found at: http://www.amazon.com/Secrets-Kindness-Journey-People-ebook/dp/B008YAHD8K

Question 1:  From where do you draw inspiration?

The point of my book, Secrets of Kindness: A Journey Among Good People, is to make the world a better place. I tell the stories of kindhearted people, and I hope to make others take after them. I receive inspiration from the special people I meet or read about and from the innate desire to bring about positive change. The Dalai Lama said, “This is the time to start educating the heart.” I hope this book will contribute, even a little, to educating all our hearts.

Question 2:  What is the hardest thing about your creative process?

I find that the hardest part for me is developing the idea. The “before” part makes me restless. When I know what I want to do, and I have a vision for it, I have a sudden lift in energy. I become full of excitement, and feel like I can conquer anything.

Question 3: Do you work every day, or only when inspiration/ opportunity strikes?

When I am inspired, I work nonstop. 24 hours a day. That’s what I did when I worked on my art, before an exhibition, and that’s what I continued to do while working on the book. I was completely immersed in it.

Question 4: How do you feel about the current art market/ art climate?

The art world has suffered in the past few years due to the financial crisis. The recession makes it harder for artists to break through and make a living from their art.

Question 5: What would you change in the art market today?

I would change the lack of accessibility that artists have to curators and gallery owners. It’s very difficult for artists to get to “decision makers” in the art world.

Question 6: Talk a little bit about your current project and why you decided to embark on it?

Although I’ve always enjoyed writing, I never intended to write a book. Everything happened by chance. I thought about the importance of hope, and how to reinforce it. I asked myself: how can I connect people to hope? Then I happened upon a book by Mitch Albom Have a Little Faith. This book, along with other Mitch Albom books, describes meetings with spiritual teachers – Two of them – One, Albert Lewis, the rabbi of the community in which he lived as a child; and the other, Henry Covington, once a drug dealer and convicted criminal who later became the pastor of a black church in Detroit that also served as a shelter for the homeless.

When I reached the middle of the book, I knew how to connect people to hope. I also knew what I wanted to do: to disseminate stories about good people –about their acts of benevolence and, beyond that, about who they are: what makes them happy, what saddens them, what they envy, what they think about money and power, are they forgiving, what kinds of people they respect, what are their dreams, and much more. When I reached the end of the book, I smiled to myself upon reading his last five words. They were: “I’m in love with hope.”

Question 7: How does being a woman impact your work?

I am a big believer in a woman’s power. Women are strong, smart, sensitive, are able to work with others, and don’t let their egos get in the way. While doing my art work, I became friends with another artist, and our work together was harmonious.

Question 8: If you had the opportunity to address a group of young girls, what would you say to inspire them?

I would tell them to accomplish their dreams. That they should go after their hearts, and what makes them happy. They they can! That they are smart, strong, and sensitive. I would quote a saying by Alexander Graham Bell: “A man, as a general rule, owes very little to what he is born with – a man is what he makes of himself.”  And I would finally request of them to make their dreams come true.

Choices

I love this quote from Robert Downey Jr.  It makes me feel better.  Lately I’ve been wrestling with what to do about my new novel.  Do I self-publish, publish an ebook only and try to shop the other two books in the trilogy to a legacy press, or do I bite the bullet and go through the whole traditional route?

As usual, I’m leaning toward indie publishing.  And, as usual, I’m nervous so I’m asking everyone their opinions.   Like the quote, I smile, nod, and agree while I solidify my personal argumentsm trying to stave off the nervous angst in my stomach.  Why do I do this to myself?

Yesterday, on a long, leisurely afternoon with my love, I wrinkled up my eyes and confessed that I want a mentor — someone who’s done all this.  Someone who knows the ropes and can steer me in the right direction.  My love laughed, held my hand a little tighter, and replied, “OK.  Where are you going to find one? Are you sure one even exists?”

He continued, with his ever clear logic, to remind me that the publishing industry is changing so fast that there may not actually be anyone who truly knows what this business is right now.  It is not unlike what I do when I write or sculpt.  Each week there is a reinvention, a revolution, or a death/rebirth.  Take the merger between Penguin and Random House for example…..

So, as ever, I will forge ahead making the best decisions I can.  I will continue to be terrified I am making a mistake.  I will learn as I go, correct what I can, and offer up a prayer to whatever gods may be listening as I put together my design and editing team and go again into the dark.

How about you?

New Novel Chapter 2

Thanks for the encouragement.  To read the first chapter, click here.  I welcome your thoughts, comments and feedback.

Chapter 2

Jeremy watched her leave.  From the shadows of the alley his eyes followed her all the way across the tree lined park.  Body erect, coat pulled close, she walked with false confidence to the imagined safety of her sterile world.  Every morning, dozens like her scurried out of the apartment buildings surrounding the park.  They walked in small clusters to the bus stop.  With frozen faces stiff with dread, they self-consciously kept their eyes on the concrete beneath them and did not talk amongst themselves.  Their staggered progression was like a funeral procession only no one seemed to care about the dead. 

He wondered if Vanessa would stop at the bench on her way home tonight, or if she would skirt the park altogether for awhile.  It didn’t matter.  She always came back.  He had learned to spot them over the years – the ones who braved a moment or two of solitude in open spaces, looked at the children, and pushed just a little against the warnings that were little more than veiled threats.  In their world, security was the thing people held close.  Hell, hadn’t it always been like that?  Powerful people spun fantasies of safety and nightmares of fear.  Herding people like cattle to slaughter, those at the top relied on the complicity of the masses to build their empires.  The old phrase, ‘Freedom isn’t free, jingled in his head. “No,” he thought.  “It ain’t free.  There maybe ain’t never even been such a thing.”     

When she was out of sight, he ambled over to the bench and looked underneath. “Ashley girl, come on out now,” he said quietly.  “We’ll get her next time.  Can you move ok?”

“I’m ok Jeremy.  It hurts a little, but I’m ok. I’m sorry she didn’t bite.”

“You did great kid.  It was a good idea.  Not your fault it didn’t work.”

She reached out to grab his hand.  Pulling her free of the debris, Jeremy offered her a coat.  She put it on, covering her nakedness.  They walked slowly together toward the alley.  Ashley was hungry and sore.  She had been lying on cold ground since well before dawn and despite the coat, she was shivering.   She had wanted the plan to work, and to prove herself as more than a child to the man she adored.

At the Gate, Jeremy paused.  “Go on, get in. Get warm.  Sarah will have something for you,” he said as he motioned to the slim opening in the brick. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Ashley asked, trying to sound grown up yet not managing to conceal the petulant whine in her voice.  He liked her, but her ideas and impetuous behavior were dangerous.  He had been appalled when she laid out her trap and asked him to hit her.  He had thought his stern refusal would end the discussion.  Instead she simply talked someone else into doing the damage to her body.  When she appeared, bruised and bleeding, she was grinning and he had been furious with her.  After further pleading, he had finally acquiesced.  The set up had been worth a try.  Now he needed to tamp her down a bit and put some distance between them.  He couldn’t afford for her to get too close, or too comfortable.

 “Hey!  You know better than that!” he scolded, allowing his voice to get hard in response to her question.  Ashley cringed.  “Sorry,” she said quietly.  “I didn’t mean it.”

“Nah, ‘course you didn’t.  You’re just a kid.  But Ashley, you got to make SURE you know the rules.  I ain’t gonna tell you again.” 

She looked up at him.  His deep, brown skin was taught over high cheekbones.  Night black eyes and pale, full lips complimented the fierce lines of his face.  His hair was cropped close to his head and he stood tall, casting her in his shadow.  He was skinny like the rest of them, but skinny looked right on him.  He was long and lean, and she had once heard Michael refer to him as “Bean Pole.”  The men had both laughed.   She wasn’t quite sure what a bean pole was, but she had seen green beans before Martha stopped coming to the city every month.  They had been long and thin too. 

She wasn’t sure why it had been acceptable for Michael to call him that, but it was.  Jeremy had laughed and swiped at Michael with a rag.  Jeremy and Michael had known each other before.  They came through the change together and Jeremy was always a little gentler with Michael than he was with everyone else. 

“I’m sorry Jeremy.  I won’t do it again.”

“Go on now.  Get.  I’ll see you tonight.”

When she had gone, Jeremy let himself slump a little.  It would have been better if the call had gone through.  Fewer and fewer connections were being made and time was running out.  It wouldn’t be long before winter came and while their food stores were alright for now, they wouldn’t last through the cold, dark months ahead.  “Fresh meat,” he thought to himself.  “We need fresh meat.” 

He sniffed and pulled himself upright.  It wouldn’t do for folks to see him slouching like that.  He smiled to himself at the thought.  How many times had Mama told him to stand up straight and not let people take nothin’ from him?  Mama.  He remembered her big and warm, her belly shaking when she laughed, and her wide ass swinging in a cheap print dress when she made her way down the street.  As a little boy, he would get lost in the folds of her.  She was a whole world when he sat on her lap and let her arms close around him. “Mmmm,” he said aloud.  “Ain’t no women like that anymore.  These days, all a man gets is skinny butt and poky bones.” 

“Woo Wee!” The call came loud and taunting from the other side of the square.  Jeremy looked up and grinned as Michael came sauntering into the light.  Michael looked good, but then Michael always looked good.  Though well shy of six feet, he was honey colored and strong.  He seemed to float over the ground when he walked, like there was some sweet song in him all the time.  His long, wild hair framed a face that was at once gentle and razor sharp.  The gentle was in the smile, all big teeth and gums.  The razor hid in his yellow flecked eyes.  The man was a lion, smooth, golden, and full of himself.  They slapped hands and greeted each other easily. 

It was always easy with Michael.  From the earliest days, they had been close.  Neither of them fit the mold the world had tried to impose on them and they had always had each other’s back, though until the Aggression they had never had to prove it.  Before, it had been mostly a knowing.  They had both been trying to find a way out and they arrived at the same conclusion.  Education was their best chance to escape the prison of low wages, meaningless jobs, and despair as palpable as car exhaust in the streets of their narrow tenements.  They studied hard.  Their grades were good.  They were going to get into college and live in the suburbs.  They would own big houses and drive fancy cars.  Then, in spite of their efforts, it turned out colleges didn’t have scholarships for black boys who didn’t play ball.  The day the last hopes were dashed, Michael became the only person to ever see Jeremy cry. 

 After high school, they took jobs and got a place together over the laundry mat.  It was small, ugly, and bare but it was theirs.  It was close to the action on a Saturday night, and far enough from cool to be safe.  They told each other that it was temporary.  There was always night school.  From there, who knew?  In spite of their mutual exhaustion, the demeaning work, and pathetic pay, they managed to keep a small flame burning that smelled of hope.

When the change started, they were some of the first people in the park.  There, in that motley mess of ragged tarps and smelly bodies, they found fuel for their fire.  Damn right it wasn’t fair that the wealthiest one percent owned more than all the rest combined!  Damn right it sucked that the Feds would bail out the banks and do nothing for people like them!  In the chants and meetings, in the libraries and cook houses, they felt for the first time that they were not alone.  Here, evil had a name.  Here, they had a place, a cause, and a course of action. 

As often as they could, they stood in the park.  They were some of the lucky ones.  They had jobs.  They had a roof over their heads.  Michael’s skill with words and Jeremy’s natural inclination toward organization made them valuable in the inner circles.  In Occupy, for the first time since they had become men, Michael and Jeremy mattered.

“S’up?” Jeremy asked lightly, letting the weight flow off him for a minute. 

“Same,” Michael responded, his tone matching that of his friend.  “How’d the call go?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the bench.   Jeremy followed his gaze.  He glanced at Michael and shook his head.

“Damn. Thought for sure the bitch would bite,” Michael responded.

“Yeah.  Me too.  Thought we had her pegged.” 

They stood there for a minute, both lost in what could have been.  Michael looked at Jeremy.  His eyes were tired and there was something in the way he leaned against the building that was a little too casual.  Jeremy was hiding something, and that wasn’t good.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Man, how long have I known you? You can’t just hang there like some satisfied cat with that tired reeking off you like stink on shit.  You can’t hide nothin’ from me bro.  So, what is it?”

Jeremy sighed.  “The food, man.  It’s getting’ low.”  Michael laughed.  This was nothing new.  It seemed like every time he turned around, Jeremy was sagging under the weight of food that was never there.  Ever since Martha stopped coming around with the bags of greens, Jeremy didn’t seem to think about much else. 

“We’ll be ok.  We’re always ok.”

“No man.  It’s not the same.  It’s worse than it’s been.  Another cell didn’t make the last meeting, and I don’t know how long we’re gonna hold it all together.  Somethin’s gotta give.  We needed to connect today.  We need the meat.”

Michael understood.  Food was just a symptom of the bigger issue.  Since the Aggression there had been no internet, no cell phone service, no nothing.  The Administrators had effectively cut off the individual cells across the city.  The isolation was eating them up.  There were very few things members of the movement could do to create the necessary opportunity. If they had managed to connect with Vanessa Kovalic, they might have been able to open a window.  Hell, they might have been able to open a door. 

“All we need to do is hang on long enough.  Something has to give,” Michael thought.  As an organizer, it was Jeremy’s job to keep his cell fired up, healthy, and ready to act.  Jeremy was right.  They did need fresh meat.  Even for him, even though he was good at it, the daily routine in the park was getting old.  Some days he dreamed of a place where he could disappear, a lush countryside where he would write, pick fruit from trees, and listen to the quiet.

“So what happened?” he asked, looking again toward the bench. 

“I don’t know.  You know how it is.  You never can tell what they’ll do.  She stopped alright.  She looked.  She even bent down and touched Ashley.  Maybe if you had waited just a little longer before you started in, we might have had her.  She got spooked and took off just after your call.” 

“Aw man, don’t pull that shit with me.  It wasn’t my call that spooked her.  If she was going to do it, she’d have done it.  Didn’t have nothin’ to do with me.” 

 “Sorry.  It wasn’t your fault.  Could have been anything that sent her running.  It’s just that we got so close and man, we really need it right now.”

“So what’s next?”

“Not sure.  I’m gonna follow her for a couple of days.  See what she does.”  Jeremy gestured at the park.  The pigeons were doing their thing.  Some members of the cell were already in place.  The day’s calling had begun.  “Better get back at it,” he said.  Michael nodded.  This, at least, was something that worked all the time.  The leers, cat calls, and light touches kept the fear alive.  Those poor bodies all done up in the same tight uniforms got a little tenser, and more unsure every day.  Man, just yesterday he’d had a woman in tears with the first words he said.  All he’d had to do was gyrate his hips a little and she let loose.  It was easy, especially when they were fine.  And she had been fine.  He slapped Jeremy’s shoulder and sauntered back into the shadows, another poem rhyming itself out in his mind. 

 

The similarities between good leaders and artists

Recently one of my sons called to talk about his job. This particular son loves the work he does, is committed to his company, and spends much of his free time strategizing ways he can improve his, and the company’s, performance. Needless to say, I am proud of my grown child. This is why I am growling like a mama bear this morning as I rethink our recent conversation.

My son was calling to tell me about a manager who made some changes to reassert his authority over my son and the rest of the staff.  The changes were minor, but they spoke volumes about what is often so wrong with our world and how mismanagement, or a misguided sense of what power means, saps the vitality, creativity, and joy out of so many of lives.

I am worried that if this manager continues to dominate instead of lead, my son will become resentful, his productivity will decline, and his creativity will wane. At some point, there will be a parting of ways. The company will lose a bright, creative employee. My son may learn how to go along to get along, hide his passion and enthusiasm, and settle into the adulthood that is the norm — one in which his hope and dreams are replaced by frustration, ennui, and a lack of fulfillment.

Because I don’t want him to go there, and lose the spark that makes him so beautiful, I’ve been wondering  what to say to him that will help him ride the inevitable actions of poor leaders. That led me to think about what makes a good leader. Obviously, billions of dollars are spent every year trying to isolate the things that define good leadership and to develop training programs so leaders can be better, but I think good leadership is rooted in the same qualities that make a good artist.

From my perspective as a business woman and an artist, here is what makes a good leader (and a happy human being).

Leaders are creative, willing to learn from others around them, and are driven to make a difference.
They possess a confidence that inspires others and they are not afraid to make mistakes.
They lead by example.
They are courageous, and they are empathetic.
They are not intimidated or threatened by other’s successes. In fact, they rejoice in them.
They are disciplined. They keep working and are committed to their vision.
They are also flexible because they know that there is not a single right way to do anything and they know that doing the same thing over and over again generates the same results.
They know who they are and aren’t trying to prove anything. They don’t need to. They are fulfilled by the challenge of doing, and are their own best critics.

In summary, good leaders are like artists. Passionate, visionary, not afraid to try something new to get where they are going, and not afraid to fail, they are engaged, alive, curious, and aware. They do not allow themselves to be trapped by pettiness, or power-hungry people. Good leaders know that the company needs them more than they need the company. Like a canvas or a ball of clay, each new venture is another blank slate that furthers them along their own path. They know that all their efforts to cut, add, mottle, might mean starting over with a new work, or they might create a masterpiece. They follow the thread of their own passion where it will lead and inspire others to follow them.

Good leaders know that their life is their greatest work of art and that they shape their own destinies. Consequently, their personal sense of power is never threatened and they never have to lord it over anyone else. Instead, they look for those who understand what it means to be a leader and do what they can to nurture those same attributes in those that are on a similar path.

Are you a leader in your life? Do you hold your vision, stay true to your discipline, and encourage others? Are you courageous when you write or paint, sculpt or sing? Are you willing to listen, try new techniques, and make mistakes?

The more we allow the artist inside us to get out the better our lives become, because when we are fully engaged as the creative, passionate, aware people we were all born to be, power is no longer an issue, competition becomes meaningless, and petty insecurities disappear. As we claim our right, and our humanity, we inspire others to do the same.

 

 

 

 

How Capitalism Can Save Art?

In a recent article in the Wall Street Journal, Camille Paglia posed some interesting theories about what has happened to visual art in the last half century.  I have a great admiration for Paglia and think she has done some excellent work.  She is a woman author who is also an exceptional thinker.  In this article, however, I think she is missing a fundamental.  The real question, I think, lies in how has capitalism separated artistic relevance from individual and community experience? If art isn’t relevant, how can it be revelatory?

Here are some excerpts from the article:

“What has sapped artistic creativity and innovation in the arts? Two major causes can be identified, one relating to an expansion of form and the other to a contraction of ideology.

Painting was the prestige genre in the fine arts from the Renaissance on. But painting was dethroned by the brash multimedia revolution of the 1960s and ’70s. Permanence faded as a goal of art-making……

……But there is a larger question: What do contemporary artists have to say, and to whom are they saying it? Unfortunately, too many artists have lost touch with the general audience and have retreated to an airless echo chamber. The art world, like humanities faculties, suffers from a monolithic political orthodoxy—an upper-middle-class liberalism far from the fiery anti-establishment leftism of the 1960s……. It’s high time for the art world to admit that the avant-garde is dead….”

Some of what Paglia says is astute and on the mark.  I like the way she looks at industrial design, and the influence of technology on the young.  However, I feel that she is, in many ways, only scratching the surface of the real ills. 

Currently, I am working on a follow-up to Shaping Destiny.  This book will look at how art shapes communities, rather than the personal impact of art on individual lives.  I am wondering about the impact of the industrial revolution and the rise of art establishments on the relevance of creative expression in local communities.

I think it is probable that as artists were isolated by arts establishments and mass-produced goods replaced local aesthetics, hat we shifted from art that had distinct relevance to individuals and communities (note Paglia’s reference to spiritually devoid art and to the hands on industries where design is still flourishing) to art as luxury commodity for the elite.  We have replaced innate creativity with trained consumerism and ceased to value excellence and authentic expression.  Today, most people don’t like art because the art they know, that which is touted by the arts establishments, is condescending, confusing, and irrelevant.

I’ll be talking about this more over the coming weeks, but I would love to hear your thoughts on Paglia’s article and where you think art has lost its oomph.

Time for a New Arts Movement

In several conversations over the last few weeks, I’ve talked about a piece I wrote a few years ago and have been asked to repost it here.  I welcome your thoughts and comments”

Time for a New Arts Movement?

It surprises and angers me that the art establishment places so much value on the meaningless manipulation of material as if the application of media in new or different ways can, by itself render the media into art. New does not always equal innovation, and innovation by itself does not equal art. Art is the emotional and intellectual expression, and subsequent personal revelation, of individual experience. The focus has moved from developing depth and honesty in individual expression, to celebrating innovations in material and technique that seek simply to shock, disturb or confound the viewers without taking them further into themselves or their world.

Throughout history, artists have manipulated media in response to their need to express more fully and with more depth that which they needed to communicate. Generally techniques and material innovation derived from the artistic process of self-exploration. It didn’t happen the other way around. Consequently, innovation does not necessarily equate to good art and just because one can make something doesn’t necessarily mean one should. What is cool is seldom profound and technology can not substitute for authentic human expression.

Unfortunately, this emphasis on new media and techniques has replaced the emphasis on content and in the process, we have lost our value for the aesthetic which, while we have tended to relate the word to beauty alone, also means perception. For me, art is that which gives voice to things in ourselves we do not know. It expands our consciousness. It resonates deep within us and soothes us through the honesty with which it reveals the world around us, our common experiences, and the value of our individual journeys even as it validates our yearnings, desires, hopes and dreams.

Art should never just be a commentary or a political statement. In the same breath, art should never be merely sentiment or raw emotion. Instead, art should create a dialog through which both the emotional and intellectual response to experience is revealed. In that instant of expression, all we know of an object, a subject, or an abstraction of them — the individual, the historical, the present moment – is translucent, revealed to us through the vulnerability and courage of an artist who is willing to be fully honest. Then, as viewers, we can discover that in anger there is both love and fear, that hope comes from loss and is only sustained through determination and self-actualization, that our memories weave the fabric of our present, and that every one thing we thought we had defined has myriad parts yet to be discovered.

It is time for a new arts movement; time for artists to collectively define the direction we take in the 21st century. It is time to focus on those works which embody authenticity of expression over material manipulation, depth over observation, beauty (which does not mean pretty) over disturbing, clarity and insight over shock and confusion. Our continued willingness to support works whose meanings exist only through the interpretation of curators (whose jobs depend on the fact that the works require interpretation) condemns us. For if, as a culture, our highest accolades are reserved for those who seek to shock, destroy, and manipulate as they deny the breadth of our experience, then all our culture can aspire toward is more of the same.

Instead, we must inspire the art establishment to value once more that which is both perceptive and beautiful, regardless of media or subject matter. For too long we have lived under the umbrella of our recent history. There is no truth to the conviction that bad work sells and good work gets hung in museums. It is time to eradicate the myth of the starving genius and the wealthy sell out. It is time to lay to rest the notion that if you can’t understand something, then it must be good. Finally, it is time to help our world heal through works and exhibitions that value human endeavor over human despair. Each of the major movements leading up to and through the 20th century were created by just a handful of committed artists. Can we not do the same? Truly, if we lead won’t the world follow?

This is just fun

Earlier this year I was invited by SRAM Parts Project to create an art piece using at least 25 bike parts.  95 artists from the US, Canada and Ireland were invited to participate in this year’s New York City event.  I was honored by the invitation and support the cause completely.  The project is part of the World Bicycle Relief and places bikes in Africa and other 3rd world countries.

Here’s their statement about why this is so important:

“World Bicycle Relief serves people in underdeveloped regions of the world who suffer from lack of access to health care, education, and economic opportunity. With a bicycle you can travel four times farther, carry five times more, and save up to three hours a day in travel time (based on a 10-mile commute). So you can get to a doctor, to school, or to work faster and more safely. Doors closed by distance are now opened, as is the way to a better life.”

My collage is entitled “Gears of Hope.”  It was a huge challenge to take a minimum of 25 bike parts and turn them into something that looks remotely like art.  Let me know what you think

Thinking about Artists

I’m sitting in the Portland Airport, waiting for my flight back to New Mexico after a whirlwind trip.  Yesterday, I had the privelege to address more than sixty artists, art appreciators and aspiring creatives at the Eugene Store Front Arts Project.

It was a humbling event, and I walked away feeling both grateful for the opportunity and sad for the state of the arts.  We all talk about the tradgedy of losing arts funding in most public schools, the frustrations we have trying to make a living as creatives, and the general disconnect between the arts community and the rest of our society, but we seldom talk about why this is true.

I’ve been giving a great deal of thought to this conundrum and have some ideas about why this might be so.  Over the next several months, I’ll be doing research and working on a follow up to Shaping Destiny that addresses this issue.

In the meantime, I welcome your thoughts as I share mine on the blog.  I hope  you’ll engage in a discussion that is vital for the health not only of the arts, but for our communities as a whole.  Below you’ll find some talking points.  Please share your ideas.  Thanks.

1.  Our lives are our greatest works of art.  How does art impact our ability to create the lives we want to live?

2.  What role do art institutions (museums, galleries, etc.) play in helping or hindering local arts endeavors and increasing public participation in the arts?

3.  How are artists responsible for their own success/failure?  What ae some things they can do to help themselves?

4.  Is there a difference between “creativity” and art?  If so, what differences exist?

I’ll be sharing my thoughts on these questions in upcoming posts.  Remember to follow the blog to see how this dialog unfolds.