What do you think? Ranamok
The word on the street is that we aren’t very impressed. If that is the case: Why? If not, defend it. It does seem to be fairly unanimous with the folks I talked to, that tastes lie elsewhere. But if they do, where are they sleeping?
Stone Summer Theory Institute: “What Do Artists Know?”
This event is planned to start at 1:00 pm on Sep 20, 2009 at School of the Art Institute of Chicago. From James Elkins blog. He puts the question like this. ” Do artists have a different kind of knowledge from other people? Do artists have “tacit knowledge”? Intuition? (And if so, what is that?) Or is the knowledge artists have more like just skill, talent, etc. — something that can be practiced and learned? ”
Here is one theory.
artistic-creativity-and-the-brain
What do you think?
If someone says your work is sublime, do you take it as a compliment? Do you think that they are just a blowhard? What?
Riding my bike home from the studio the other night, during a down pour, my tolerance was out to a test. It was cold, wet, and dark; raining hard enough that I couldn’t see the bike path clearly.
You may be wondering about now, why the hell I am posting this on a blog about art and no, it is not just to get sympathy, and more vegan treats on fridays.
What occurred to me, or what I was forced to confront, out of my own self-pity and misery, was: The slower you go the faster you get there. The inclination I had that night, and in fact each time I get on a bicycle, is to go as fast as possible. This causes all sorts of unnecessary stress. Why is that person on a junky old bike passing me with my sporty new one? Why is that woman passing me, she is surely older than I? I should be able to catch that guy, he isn’t that fast. Oh shit almost got nailed again (while speeding across an intersection.) You get the picture.
I made myself so anxious on all those trips, and particularly that night, in my rush to get home, I got to the point where I just wasn’t going to do it any more. Buy a car, take the bus, WALK, but I was done with riding. But some how out of this crappy mood emerged a system, or maybe better described as a process, of being. Just go slow. Pay attention, enjoy the ride, don’t focus on the end.
And that is where this all comes back to making art. As makers, and in particular as makers in school where each semester we are asked to create a study plan, (that inevitably has an “outcome”) it is all too easy to get caught up on focusing on the end result that we wrote down, or preconceived, and fail to see the potential “eureka” moments that happen along the way.
Of course too this can be a tricky balance to maintain. Do I stick with my exploration of surface tension or do I delve into the new direction of dissection that my explorations led me to? I certainly can’t follow every single new idea that comes along as I am working. But I CAN go slowly enough to at least confront this as a concrete question, and make a decision about what direction to head, and not miss the opportunity in its entirety.
And that is where I came up with my new motto of the week: The slower you go, the faster you get there.
Go slow enough to enjoy the ride, the process, the work, the seeing and being, the out come of disasters before they end up in the trash. Do I change direction? Yes? No? Maybe, no, but at least I got to see another possibility.
My rides home since that night have been exponentially more enjoyable. Riding in the cold rain at night has become akin to on of my favorite pastimes, late night cross-country skis, where the sliver of night sky appearing light against the deep black of the forest trees, was my only guide. The rides now provide me with a chance for contemplation, rather than a chance to embark on some bizarre Tour de France fantasy. In the studio? I have been there in the past, methodical, working, seeing, neither rushing forward frantically towards a goal or turning off the path at the slightest bump in the road. And that is where I hope to be again soon.
And I am working on it.