I think this is something that most artists struggle with.
I know I do.
There really isn’t anything like being in the process of creating. Whether I’m sitting with pen and pad, charcoal and sketchpad, or behind the camera or computer, I’m at my best when I’m creating something.
You’re probably the same. You’re probably at your best when you’re creating something.
If, as artists, we don’t need inspiration to create then what do we need?
Perhaps it’s the idea of creation as a response?
Theoretically we respond to anything. You respond to emotions of rage, anger, love, lust, etc…aren’t those emotions enough to trigger something – anything – that can, in turn, work itself through creation?
I’m doing that now. Just writing about creating is, in itself, an act of creation that can trigger responses to my lack of production in the past couple of weeks.
While it may feel forced at times I think it’s worth noting that forcing yourself to be creative from time to time can actually be an enormous gesture. Especially if you embark on this forced journey with no goals in mind. Perhaps it allows a subconscious idea to emerge that can transform into a new project or direction in your artwork.
]]>Throughout my life as an artist I’ve faced (and so far beaten) that tendency that every single artist faces from time to time. Some artists are able to beat it but most aren’t.
That tendency?
We aren’t talking about stopping. We’re talking about quitting. Never picking up the brush, the pen, or the camera again.
There is a difference. I’ve stopped making art for days, months, even years at a time. But I’ve never really quit. I’ve never lost that core thing inside of me that gives me my identity as a person.
I hope that I never lose it.
In truth, I don’t think I could.
I do wonder though;
Why do they let their brushes go dry? What makes them pack up their cameras never to use them again?
Is it fear?
Sometimes I think that discovering the answer to this question would somehow help prevent me from becoming an art quitter. Another failed artist.
I don’t mind “failing” really.
I don’t think I really will fail to be honest and not quite so freakin’ humble.
I just figure that I’ll be too stubborn or shortsighted to know that I’ve failed and I’ll die trying.
I think I’m okay with that.
]]>Overrated.
Obstacles in our paths. That’s what both of these words represent to me.
One is the quest for making your own mark in the world. The thing that sets you apart. The idea or vision that every artist truly attempts even if they search for it in the works of the masters of the past. This can take more than a lifetime.
One is the idea that once we “make it” someone, somewhere, has the ability to completely denounce our hard work and possibly end our career (even before it’s really began). The art world is brutal and fickle. It can be maddening to entrench yourself in this arena and even more maddening to find yourself a spectacle instead of a gladiator.
Over it. That’s how I have to be when these thoughts creep into me. I have to strive past the idea that true originality is unattainable. I have to suppress the fear that someone out there, without any control of my own, can “make or break” my career.
Own it. I own it. I own my art. I own my path. I own my career.
]]>I think most of the people in my life worry about the same problem. Not so much “over-reflection” on their part. No, rather, I think most of my loved ones and close friends worry about the deep places I go to during these times of reflection.
They worry about my over-reflection.
I suppose that’s why I refer to it as “over-reflection” rather than simply “reflection”.
This also happens to be the reason I don’t take pain medications anymore.
I’ve been tired, sore, groggy, busy, bored, uninspired…physical therapy sessions will do that. At least this is temporary. At least I’m not facing surgery again.
An old injury flairs up and I become almost worthless. At least I caught up a little on my Hulu and Netflix?
Back to work!
]]>That’s something I’ve struggled with; as an artist, an individual, a husband, and a father.
But why is that important? What makes this “acceptance” so important to me (or to you for that matter)?
There’s a myth about art and artists that’s been floating around forever. Art takes talent. Talent? Like some mystical insight into the world that is only bestowed upon a few lucky/unlucky individuals.
Art really only requires a focused learning of acceptance of oneself. That’s it. Nothing magical about that at all. Not really anyway. It’s discipline, hard work, and perseverance that makes someone an artist.
And these traits are either nurtured or condemned by those who would surround an artist in their daily lives. The most important influencer, of course, is the artist him/herself.
And while I’d like to think of myself as extraordinary the simple truth is that I’m not.
I may be unique. I have a unique set of characteristics and traits that allow/force me to work in the art realm. These traits, while seen as weaknesses or strengths (pick your poison), are really just a different set of traits than anyone else but no more special/better/worse.
There is a trait, inherent in my persona, that forces me to try every attempt to overcome obstacles. This trait doesn’t allow me to think in terms that I’m doing the best right now at any given particular task. I’m forced to look back at past projects and contemplate what I did right and wrong all while simultaneously looking forward to the next task at hand. How can I use the knowledge and skills gained to better overcome the next hurdle/task/project? While this sounds like a very positive trait the truth is that it can paralyze me just as easily.
The act of making art somehow engages a profoundly accurate feedback loop of information about what I intended to accomplish and what I actually accomplished. I either don’t meet my own expectations or I exceed them. Meet them? I’ve given up on that I think. Or I’m lying to myself.
That’s really what making art is about right? The process.
Here’s something to think about. Everyone cares about the product. The finished work. The print. Everyone, that is, except the artist.
To me what really matters, I mean when I’m not trying to make a buck off this “talent”, is the process. Sometimes I sell work sometimes I don’t. That doesn’t stop me from creating. Nor should it. All along, the more I contemplate this, I realize that it was always about the process.
What am I learning about myself through this process of creating? That’s what’s really important.
I’m finally getting to a point where I can confidently say I don’t care what anyone thinks about my finished work.
Self delusion or self defense?
Perhaps it’s easier this way?
If I’m only making art for myself does that somehow equate the finished art to the finished self? The flawed art to the flawed self? The successful art to the successful self? What about when I’m not making art? Does that mean, somehow, that when there is no process of creating art there is no self?
]]>That’s a great question. One that I ask myself often during the editing process.
Here’s what I should be thinking every time I work on my craft:
I certainly don’t always succeed in creating thought provoking and awe inspiring works. But that doesn’t stop me from trying.
]]>You know…in your spare time? When you’re just casually looking?
It’s something I feel I need to explore as an avenue to better understand photographs and art.
The critical process.
I have to admit something:
Perhaps I still am, but I’m getting over that as rejections come in more and more. It’s growing pains. *shrugs*
I used to equate criticism in such a negative light. Judgments. Negative Judgments. Expressions of disapproval.
It’s sort of the opposite of when you post an image to Flickr and you get comments like “Brilliant!” or “lovely”. Not that those are bad, per se, I mean, I could always use the ego-boost that those friendly faces provide.
Those snippets of brief approval only provide minimal value, though, when I’m trying to grow as an artist.
I’m thinking I need to actively ask for critiques on the images I post.
Most people won’t do it.
Maybe it’s just a matter of asking them to tell me how the image makes them feel or think?
Maybe that’s asking too much.
It’s how I need to portray my thoughts about other people’s photographs. I need to actively think about how those images make me feel and what they make me think. I need to exercise that part of the brain that forces me to confront the emotion of art. If I took the time to stop and actually look at a photograph I need to take the time to listen to it as well.
I want my words to live and to breathe.
Maybe I’m asking too much of myself?
]]>It’s a journey I, unknowingly, began over 4 years ago when I started blogging. The first “blog” I had was on MySpace and it was used mostly as a promotional vehicle for the portrait and wedding studio I owned in part.
Teacher.
I was hardly ever a good student so the thought of actually being a teacher just seemed, to me, like a big fat lie.
During that first stint as a “blogger” I quickly noticed that the posts that happened to gain the most traction or got the most attention weren’t posts on what was going on with the photography studio. They were blog posts that were “teaching” something.
I guess I had read somewhere in one of my dozens of marketing books that you had to educate your clients so that they would be able to realize your true or full value.
So I would write about how the work we were doing in the studio wasn’t just portraiture. It wasn’t just pretty weddings. It was rooted in artistic learning and application of aesthetics and design as it relates to photography, art, portraiture, and wedding photography. We were artists not “just photographers”.
Whatever.
Now I run a fairly successful photography tutorials blog that has allowed me to stay in touch with the photography community while I reshape my own photography career.
I could have written about anything photography related to accomplish that goal.
But something compelled me to “teach” photography.
I’m still not sure why but I’m happy that I do that.
See, to me, photography for the average user is kinda like a gateway drug to a better appreciation of art in general.
Everyone has access to a camera. Everyone is exposed to photography in their daily lives. And while everyone is also exposed to art in their everyday lives, they seem not to be able to recognize, or appreciate, it as easily.
So, somehow, I’ve tried to bridge the gap of teaching photography technically AND creatively. I sprinkle in as much “Art” as I can.
I honestly don’t know how successfully I do that or how much of a contribution that I make in the art world but I have to believe that there is some contribution.
]]>There is also a lot of really crappy art.
So how do you know if your art is any good, or great?
One tip:
No really. They do. Regardless of how much you think your idea, your art, your passion is great, there will be more people that hate your art than people who love it.
That’s when you know it just might be great.
This seems especially true if your art is controversial or “not normal”.
And normal is boring.
And who wants boring anyway?
Boring doesn’t create good art. Boring doesn’t tell a compelling story. Boring is where everyone else lives. Boring is the art that everyone else creates that doesn’t say anything to you.
There’s also this sort of sad fact that those closest to you; your friends, your family, your colleagues, your peers, they may not want you to actually succeed.
Because the truth, that most artists would never admit, is that success would change you.
Maybe that change would be good or maybe it would be bad. But it would be change you nonetheless and, as a general rule, most people also hate change.
It removes predictability and throws people’s lives in directions that, quite frankly, most people are not prepared for.
So screw ‘em.