More Thoughts on Art Residencies

I wrote about Art Residencies on 13th August, when I had just returned from a Residency in South Italy.  As life accelerates again, that experience is receeding a little into the past, although I am still creating art inspired by that visit.

Nonetheless, as I was reading the wonderful Eric R. Kandel book, The Age of Insight.  The Quest to Understand the Unconscious in Art, Mind and Brain, I found a passage that seems to me to be really pertinent to art residencies. My thanks go to Professor Kandel for these insights and my using the quotes from his wonderful book.

Professor Kandel discusses the essential prerequisites for creativity - in other words, what an art residency seeks to offer.  The basic requirements are "technical competence and a willingness to work hard" (page 456), according to the famed Viennese art historian, Ernest Kris, and psychiatrist, Nancy Andreasen. Those criteria are givens, I suspect, in every selection an art residency makes of artists who will spend time at the residency. It would not make sense to have people coming if they could not perform competently as artists, unless, of course, they are coming for courses that are offered.

The other prerequisites that Professor Kandel cites are: "(1) the types of personalities that are likely to be particularly creative; (2) the period of preparation and incubation, when a person works on a problem consciously and unconsciously; (3)the initial moments of creativity themselves; and (4) subsequent working through of the creative idea."

The mixture of individuals who are knowledgeable in a discipline, the different cultures in which each individual works and the social field when the person comes all combine to form a creative mix.  That, to me, is a good summary of the interest and rewards of an art residency when the artists are all serious professionals, from different walks of life and coutnries, but all willing to share ideas and experiences.  This was the situation I experienced in South Italy, and it made the art residency there a delight, despite drawbacks on the administrative side of the residency.

Creating Something from Nothing

Listening to NPR, this morning, Rachel Martin interviewed the English songwriter-singer, Emeli Sande, about her music, now that she is launching her first album here in the United States.  She is a highly lucid and engaging young woman, a neuroscience major, who has reverted most successfully to her first love, music, since opportunity came knocking. 

At one point, when asked when she started writing songs, she replied,

"I began writing when I was about 6 or 7. And even at that age, I just thought it was so incredible that you could create something from nothing, and it was all in your mind and imagination," she tells Weekend Edition host Rachel Martin. "The combination of poetry and music I just thought was incredible."

The phrase, "you could create something from nothing, and it was all in your mind and imagination", set me reflecting on how the same thing is true about visual artists, all composers – just about any creative act.  It is all so, so simple, in truth.  From some magical recesses of one's brain, out pops an idea, an inspiration, a "what if you do such and such a thing?  It is like finding a shiny, perfect shell as you walk along the beach.  You pick it up and turn it over, marvelling at it, evaluating it, examining its possibilities.

This remark dovetailed in a way with many of the theses that Simon Schama puts forward in his marvellous book, The Power of Art, in which he had fascinating and stimulating chapters on eight artists down the ages, from Caravaggio to Rothko, who have been revolutionary each in their own way.  The 2006 book accompanied a BBC/PBS series of the same name, which alas, I have not seen, but in any case, the book is - as always with Simon Schama's books - a gem.

Each of the artists examined in this book basically dared to adhere to their own visions, the ideas that emanated from their minds and imaginations. They pursued these ideas even if they were totally at odds with what other artists were doing or even what their patrons wanted them to produce by way of art.  Of course, they evolved over time, but they kept believing in their own inner voices and ideas. 

Blue, orange, red, Mark Rothko, 1961

Perhaps the last artist written about, Mark Rothko, was the one who had to keep seeking and clarifying his ideas the longest.  He once said that paintings had to be miraculous, Schama wrote.  And indeed, he was fifty years old before the miracle paintings began, his dazzling, amazingly subtle colour stacks. (Above,Blue, orange, red,  and below, Pink and orange.)  

Pink and orange, 1950, Mark Rothko

Rothko said that painting was an exercise in continuous clarification, as Schama wrote, but once the artist had clarified the ideas, he had to ensure that this clarity was passed on to the beholder.  Back to the dialogue, the communion, between artist's work and the viewer, for instance.

So simple, so elegant, so difficult - this materialisation, seemingly from nothing or nowhere save the inside of one's head - of something that then becomes interesting, beautiful, inspiring, memorable enough to speak to other humans.  Something from "nothing".

The Highs and Lows of Artists

I have a suspicion that every artist, writer and other creative person knows that there is an inevitable pattern to life. By pattern, I mean that there is an excitement, almost euphoria, when there is an event to prepare, such as an art exhibition. Then, after everything is over, there is a let-down, a flatness and almost, sometimes, a short depression, before life reverts to a more even keel.

This has certainly been the case for me over the years, especially with my Art-Tasting events. Lots of work to prepare, hang, exhibit the art, and ensure that the wine-tasting and party are organised... a week of steady preparations before the date. Then the day of the Art-Tasting comes. This year, the weather was perfect, the marshes were magnificently golden and wide-flung and the garden still unaffected by freezing temperatures. Lots of people came, at a steady tempo, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, the main objective of the party.

The hours fly past, the table empties of food, artwork disappears out of the house under people's arms... and then it is all over.

Clearing up is made easier by wonderful help, and in the subsequent days, I put the house back together, and take the art down from display. Slowly, slowly, the world returns to its more peaceful rhythm, and I recognise that I feel flat and devoid of creativity. Luckily, this is only a brief period, I now know, and suddenly, I will get excited again about something I see or think of. Then I become a practising artist once more, and life will flow into other channels. The period of highs and lows passes once more.

I wonder if this happens with writers who launch a book, composers who hear their music played for the first time, ballet dancers in a new performance – a hundred versions of launching one's creativity into the public arena.

Putting one's creative soul out into the wide world is exciting, challenging – but then there is the counterpoint, the emptiness, the let down. I suspect that everyone learns with time about the yin and yang of creative life, just part of the whole process of being an artist.

The Solitude of Creation

Yesterday, I attended a gathering to celebrate the launching of a new book by Robert Coram, a very talented and successful author who spends time in McIntosh County. Entitled Brute. The Life of Victor Krulak, U.S. Marine, it is the biography of a legendary hero in the Marine Corps. Published by Little, Brown and Company, the official publication date is November 10th, the 235th anniversary of the U.S. Marine Corps.

During the short speech Robert made, he talked of the solitude of creation, the long hours he had spent in his studio here on the Georgia coast whilst writing this book. He intimated that the transition to public persona when a book appears is a difficult passage. He is now beginning the book tours, the speeches, the book review process - the antithesis of the lonely creative work.

I reflected that so much creative work necessitates this dedicated solitude. As a visual artist, I know that producing art - and especially trying to create good work - completely precludes a social life style. The hours needed to work are precious and require jealous guarding against intrusions from people, phones and the distractions of daily life. Every artist learns to programme life so that time to work does not get whittled away. Of course there is time and opportunity to "join the outside world" on occasions, but when a project is underway, solitude is vital. I have always found it interesting to note how many very successful artists are single... there is thus less danger of creative energies being drained away. And even those with partners are frequently blessed with people who understand this need to work alone and be periodically obsessed by what is being created.

This solitude tends to be one of the hallmarks of a serious artist, writer or other creator. Otherwise, books would not get written, poetry or drama would not appear, music would remain silent and the arts would not get produced. Yet, interestingly, once the creative solitude has yielded its fruit, that creation requires the presence of other people - the public in some form - to complete the circle and render the work launched and thus alive.

Robert Coram is the perfect example of how dedicated, organised and creative solitude yields wonderful results. As an artist, I am so glad to be reminded by him that I need to be serious about ensuring I have similar solitude on occasions. Not always easy to achieve, but definitely something to try to do!

The Arts and Joy

I was listening to the BBC in the car today and heard a piece by the singer-songwriter, Tracy Chapman, talking of her acclaimed song,"Fast Car" and others. What I found interesting were her observations about the creative process being "very mysterious", in that she does not set out to deal with any specific issue. She apparently just sits down "for the joy of it" to create, using her love of music to develop whatever "inspires me". Although everything is autobiographical in some sense, she allows the creative process to evolve and lead her.

I kept thinking about the joy of the creative process, because of course, it resonates with me and every other artist in no matter what field. I could not help reflecting that it is indeed seldom that one hears of someone in business, finance or many other occupations who talks about experiencing "joy" in what he or she does. Perhaps that helps to explain why so many things go wrong!

For an artist, joy is an emotion that is complex, marvellous, fugitive and very precious. It is also highly unpredictable. Allowing time, space, quietness and personal happiness in one's life are all ingredients that feed into the joy of the creative process. Ultimately, for many people, creating is as simple as breathing, and as necessary.

Henri Matisse, Mimosa, 1949-51, Gouache on paper, cut and pasted, mounted on canvas (Ikeda Museum of 20th Century Art, Ito, Japan)

Dominant Curve, oil on canvas, Vassily Kandinsky,1936,  (Image courtesy of Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, Solomon R. Guggenheim Founding Collection)

The Joy of Color, acrylic, San-T (Image courtesy of the artist)

From the perspective of someone whose mission it was to try and introduce people to this joy, awareness of the arts is key. Dana Gioia, former Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, said,"the purpose of arts educators is to create a complete human being who can lead a productive life in a free society." To achieve a greater respect for the arts, he felt that experience was the best path. He evoked sitting in a concert hall and being "moved to the deepest centre of your humanity", going to a museum and being "simply ravished by what you see".

Yet in order to be moved, ravished, uplifted, each of us has to benefit from fellow human beings who have experienced the joy and inspiration of creativity in some fashion and given us works of art. It is an extraordinary chain of gifts down the generations from time immemorial.

Back to drawing - hooray!

How nice it is finally to get back to drawing after travels and the imbroglio of daily life! Life drawing is a passport to sanity for me and makes me feel more centered again. That hush in the room as a dozen or so artists concentrate on drawing is like a benediction; it reminds me that there is this whole union of artists out there all over the place, quietly doing their best to create art in all sorts of versions and visions, all intense and passionate. A nice universe of which to be a part!

Time and time again, I read in the press the comment from an artist that only when he or she is actively involved in art-making is there a sense of coherence, even harmony, in that artist's world. When one is not drawing, painting or whatever the creation involves, then there is a feeling of disquiet, dislocation. It is true in my case.

As I peer at the intricacy of fingers clasped, or the play of light on muscles on an arm or across a back, time becomes meaningless, for a while. That is a good feeling. It makes me think of the quote I read the other day from Antoni Gaudi, the great Catalan Modernist architect from the later 19th and early 20th century (think of la Sagrada Familia church in Barcelona): "Everything comes from the great book of nature." Life drawing is certainly part of that enormous and endlessly fascinating tome.

Main Gate, Dragon, Antoni Gaudi, Guell Park, Barcelona

"Treat Life like Art"

Maya Angelou wrote that we should "treat life like art" and to "remember that we are all created creative and can invent new scenarios as frequently as they are needed". I had been going to write about the interconnection of life and the visual arts, but as I was opening up this blog site, I began reading Tyler Green's entries in Modern Art Notes about Considering Torture through Art and Bruce Nauman's Double Steel Cage Piece. It seemed an ironic reversal of what Maya Angelou said. The recent and increasing discussions about the Bush-era issues of torture and abuse remind one that many people do not, in any way, see life as potentially beautiful or noble or even ethical. As Tyler Green said correctly, artists are among the few people who can address such issues as torture since they are "independent contractors", able to "embrace ambiguity rather than reject it" and address it through art.

Not all of us, as artists, feel equipped to tackle such important and weighty subjects, but thank goodness there are many who are the conscience of a society. However, I also feel that each artist is particularly passionate about some important issue and thus will marry life and art as eloquently as possible. In my case, it is the natural world and the need to respect and care for it that move me.

To that end, often, I find that the choice of what I paint or draw is, consciously or subconsciously, guided by environmental concerns and observations. Even when one works plein air, there is a constant "invention of new scenarios" by pruning and editing of the scene in front of one to achieve better the desired effect. Life and art are so closely allied that it is hard to separate them out and the art of living, or living for art, are both full time occupations, requiring practice and thought, a code of conduct and a very necessary sense of humour. As Ms. Angelou reminds us, there is always that gift too - the option of inventing new scenarios, in our own lives, or on canvas or paper - an option to grow as an artist, as a person. She also said, "You can't use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have." A good thought for an artist to remember!

Is creating art a process of discovery?

It is often said that curiosity lies at the heart of all good art. Frequently, one has an idea about a subject to paint or draw, and the next thought is: why not try it in such and such a way technically, what if one includes x or y subject matter, or what if one approaches the subject altogether differently? In other words, how best to convey the inspiration? Since most artists are innately curious and observant, each drawing or painting turns into a voyage of discovery. Every piece of art has its own "voice" as well. So the artwork will, in essence, tell the artist how to draw or paint it. It is a question of being open, intuitive and attuned to what is happening on the canvas or paper.

Whatever the art being created, the artist will learn from the process of painting or drawing. I find that when I am doing a silverpoint drawing, I observe closely the subject I am depicting, partly because I want to understand it better but also because I am mindful that silverpoint is a severe taskmaster. You cannot erase the lines you make with the silver stylus on the prepared paper, so you live with what you put down. It is a good discipline because you try to understand the subject matter in order then to draw spontaneously. That spontaneity leads in turn to a stronger evocation of the subject.  Just as in other media, the silverpoint drawing technique should be the "silent partner" in the art making duo, playing the important but supporting role to the artist's curiosity and passion which engendered the art in the first place.

Think of Vincent Van Gogh's passionate curiosity. He embarked on extraordinary voyages of discovery every time he started a new painting, whether it was landscapes and scenes in and around Paris, Sunflowers, Dr. Gachet, the Yellow House or Cypresses. Each painting taught him something new and led him on to the next one in his headlong fevered creativity. 

The Yellow House, 1888, oil, Vincent van Gogh, (Image courtesy of the Van Gogh Museum, Amerstdam)

Each of us, as artists, aspires to retain that freshness and energy needed to exercise curiosity, to go on voyages of discovery. Those voyages can lead to the creation of good art.

Art inspired by Music or Music inspired by Art

I find that inspiration from music comes at all sorts of unexpected moments. This watercolour painting, "Palestrina at St. John's Cathedral", came about one spring because I was lucky enough to go to a wonderful concert by the Tallis Singers in St. John's Cathedral, Savannah, Georgia, during the Savannah Music Festival (http://savannahmusicfestival.org). While I sat listening to ethereal notes of Palestrina, I found myself composing this painting, based on the beautiful polychrome interior of the Cathedral.

Palestrina at St. John's Cathedral, watercolour, Jeannine Cook artist

Inspiration occurs in the other direction too, of course. Just this last weekend, February 21-22, 2009, in the Leisure & Arts section of The Wall Street Journal, Morten Lauridsen wrote a fascinating description of how Francisco deZurbaran's "Still Life with Lemons, Oranges and a Rose" (www.nortonsimon.org) was the inspiration for his composition, "O Magnum Mysterium". The intensity of feeling conveyed by the lemons, oranges, orange blossom, single rose and fine china cup depicted against the dark background, together with their eloquent placement on the table, helped Lauridsen define what he wanted to say in his musical composition. It is an article well-worth seeking out for its insights into how one form of art allows for great inspiration and creativity in another form of art.