Blog Archives

Q: What do you dislike most about being an artist?

"Some Things We Regret," soft pastel on sandpaper, 58" x 38"

“Some Things We Regret,” soft pastel on sandpaper, 58″ x 38″

A:  It’s the fact that too often artists remain unappreciated while they are alive and/or do not share in the rewards after long years of struggle against numbing odds.  They/we do whatever is necessary to keep creating new work even as it is ignored and misunderstood. 

This unfortunate situation has repeated itself throughout the history of art.  As Hilary Spurling stated in the preface to her two-volume biography, Matisse The Master, even Henri Matisse was misunderstood, his work regarded as “merely decorative” during his lifetime and long after.  

At this time I have few illusions about the difficulties of being an artist.   Somehow I still tell myself, ignore the setbacks and work like there’s no tomorrow.

Comments are welcome!               

Pearls from artists* # 236

"Some Things We Regret," soft pastel on sandpaper, 58" x 38"

“Some Things We Regret,” soft pastel on sandpaper, 58″ x 38″

* an ongoing series of quotations – mostly from artists, to artists – that offers wisdom, inspiration, and advice for the sometimes lonely road we are on.

There are so many things that art can’t do.  It can’t bring the dead back to life, it can’t mend arguments between friends, or cure AIDS, or halt the pace of climate change.  All the same, it does have some extraordinary functions, some odd negotiating ability between people, including people who never meet and yet who infiltrate and enrich each other’s lives, it does have a capacity to create intimacy; it does have a way of healing wounds, and better yet of making it apparent that not all wounds need healng and not all scars are ugly.

Olivia Laing in The Lonely City:  Adventures in the Art of Being Alone

Comments are welcome!   

Pearls from artists* # 128

 

 

Self-portrait with "Some Things We Regret"

Self-portrait with “Some Things We Regret”

* an ongoing series of quotations – mostly from artists, to artists – that offers wisdom, inspiration, and advice for the sometimes lonely road we are on.

A chastening day yesterday.  Color rose up and towered over me and advanced toward me.  A tsunami – only that terrifying Japanese word for tidal wave will do – of color, and I was swept off my feet.  In a frenzy, I tried to catch it.  Sheet after sheet of Arches paper spread around the studio, covering all the surfaces of all my tables and finally the floor.  I tried to keep one step ahead all morning.  In the afternoon, I managed to get a toehold, and once again recognized my limitation:  that vestige of all that a human being could know that is what I do know.  I see this delicate nerve of myself as unimpressive.  The fact is that is all I have.  The richness of years, contained like wine in the goatskin of my body, meets my hand narrowly. 

Anne Truitt in Turn:  The Journal of an Artist

Comments are welcome!