Don’t you just love the new layout of Failure???
Posted by: admin in Artists are their own worst enemies, The tortured artist, Misunderstanding the artist's life, The excesses of artists, Friends of Failure, The art world is its own worst enemy, The failure of American Art Museums, Drinks with artists, Failed artist, Decline of human accomplishment in art, My own artistic failure, The struggles of artists, The Cult of the Amateur, Artistic failure in AmericaI’ve been busy with administrative tasks on CAFA the past four days, so I’ve not had time to think any new thoughts about failure. (I promise, by the way, to have my blogroll back up soon…)
However, here are some interesting links from sundry Friends of Failure:
—One of my favorite artist blogs, SELLOUT, which is an examination of the hard issues facing artists—written by artists—declared suddenly yesterday it’s going on a hiatus to refine and retool. The reason for this sudden stoppage, despite the quick notoriety the site has gained: Overwhelmed with email… Hey, SELLOUT, I hear ya. If you figure that one out, let me know. But hurry back!
—Sharon Butler, author of the arts blog Two Coats of Paint, which recently went through its own retooling, just published an expose-style article in the Brooklyn Rail, called Swimming in Pigment, about the lollapollooza art fairs that occur in Miami Beach. Her conclusions about the events? They’re a mixed bag, but mostly, when you take into account only the good art that was there, she found the experience positive:
It’s too easy to scorn Art Basel Miami Beach and its satellites as a vulgar coalescence of dilettantes and profiteers. Beneath that veneer, they provide an invaluable one-stop annual inventory of the art world: a dazzlingly broad array of artwork, much of it vigorous and thoughtful, in two nearby neighborhoods geared for high-intensity viewing, through which art becomes a proud rallying point for an entire city. On an individual level, accepting the challenge of apprehending such a vast ocean of work without props, as it were, is to rediscover the very process by which you first figured out what you loved about looking at, and making, art. The opportunity to redefine and articulate your passion is a lot more than just a good party.
—Meanwhile, Art Happy Hour!, which also just retooled (must be the season for it), wrote that it is holding its inaugural gathering in Minneapolis. If you’re anywhere near the area, you simply have to come check this out—the first artist community-wide happy hour in the country (that I know of)!
–And, finally, your favorite CAFA administrator, Michael Fallon, has just caused himself no small amount of trouble by publishing an essay about the artistic drive in artists, titled (provocatively, on purpose) “The (Endlessly Annoying, Horribly Consuming, Creepily Off-Putting) Drive in Artists to Make Art.” Here’s just a little teaser, in which I take to task a pretentiously wannabe-artist, and former friend, named Mike:
EVERYONE AT SOME TIME IN LIFE ENDS UP WITH A FRIEND LIKE MIKE. Mike wanted desperately to be a screenwriter. Or, to put it more accurately, he wanted you to think of him as a screenwriter.
Another friend of mine, G. (who wouldn’t care much whether or not you knew how accomplished an arts writer, artist, and craftsperson he actually is), first encountered Mike after a meeting which was initiated for the purposes of “screenplay research.” “Man,” he said, “that’s a guy who’s just desperate for attention. Do me a favor and keep me out of the loop next time.” S., yet another friend and a self-taught artist who earned his skills by hard toil over band saw and workbench, after a few months’ acquaintance took to calling Mike an intellectual Baby Huey. “You know Baby Huey, right? Always wanting attention, always bumbling into every situation like an attention-seeking whale in a wading pool. That’s Mike!”
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February 13th, 2008 at 11:23 pm
Reading this latest article was like looking through a fascinating window into a foreign land. In fact, I think it may be the rosetta stone into understanding your perspective on the art world. In particular, it all coalesces in the last two paragraphs, where you (perhaps) correctly identify the secret of Esther’s success, though I have a hard time following your reasoning (her hesitancy to interview her grandmother could betray the very psychological hangups you condemn earlier in the article). But prior to that, her behavior, your speculate, was perhaps identical to that of Baby Huey. So while you conclude that she is successful due to her diligence, you entertain the belief (and I sense, subscribe to it fundamentally) that it’s all just a matter of chance. But then, so is life, and by extension, all other professions as well.
All the successful artists I have met have been intelligent, practical, and professional. They have honed their skills, have an entrepreneurial mindset, and approach their life/work concienciously Likewise, the obnoxious artists I have met have been shallow and flaky. Nobody wants to be around them except for their small clique of likewise shallow/flaky. But why you think these attitudes are particular to the art world is beyond me. The same folks are in cubicles, classrooms, and carpools all across this great land.
Perhaps the problem is that the artworld humors these people, believes they’re “misunderstood” or unappreciated, when in fact we should just ignore them. Perhaps a little scorn for flavor as well. To that extent, I think your article succeeds. But I fear your tone will just empower the pathetic in their self-righteousness… and therein lies it’s shortcoming.
Along these lines, I recommend a great old book, “Born Under Saturn,” about the formation of the modern artist way back in the Renaissance. In it, we learn wonderful anecdotes such as the premier painter of angelic cherubs back in the day was in real life a profound asshole. The point hammered home, is that “art” is a skilled trade and business, subject to the rules of the real world. All that other stuff is just yammering by the lacking.
February 13th, 2008 at 11:34 pm
In all of this, to one degree or another Sam, I’m just reporting what is. I’m not filtering things through my own self-interested lens (as I’m not, myself, an artist), just observing… In this particular essay, I was concerned foremost about the foibles, drama, and shortcomings of artists, and how they make their decision to become artists, and how that contributes to the overall failure of art (in America). The crux of the piece is not the obvious point–that some artists become artists for the wrong reasons. Rather, the crux is if this is true, then why? Why are certain people drawn to the artist’s mantle, even when it’s absolutely the worst thing they can do? What is it about the artistic temperament that is so self-defeating?…
Meanwhile, thanks for writing in. I’d love to read more about your professional experiences, and about the professional experiences of other artists.
February 21st, 2008 at 7:08 pm
Now, Michael, you didn’t write an article about the artistic drive at all. You wrote an article about the egotistic drive. Boring one’s friends to death about a project that one isn’t actually working on is NOT ‘working on a screenplay,’ it is an attempt to gain validation of self by manipulating the perceptions of others. This person ‘failed’ because he didn’t even try.
You also have no idea whether your successful friend engaged in this sort of tedious friend-torture at all. I’m willing to bet that she didn’t. Even if she did, at least her story would have changed from time to time, because she was actually moving forward.
Being a successful artist requires, at the minimum, the willingness to work very hard for a very long time, and the willingness to honestly assess one’s own shortcomings. A person who is entirely invested in ego may sometimes do the first, but will almost never consent to the second.
February 22nd, 2008 at 10:28 pm
Well, sure. “Mike” was ego-centric, but isn’t it interesting that it was through art that he fed his ego? That’s what I’m grappling with. How and why do people decide that art will be the locus for all of their dysfunctions and neurosis? And why do they all torture me with this?
As for Esther, I’m almost sure she has never tortured anyone with her pursuit of art. If you ever met her–and it’s possibly might some day, Pretty Lady, since she a Brooklyn neighbor of yours–you’d know that after just five minutes of speaking with her. Probably one of the few absolutely full-of-life people I’ve ever met.
Thanks, and kudos, by the way, for your thoughts about art and work and honesty…