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Published On: Oct 15, 2004 10:50 PM
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Oct 15, 2004 10:50 PM
NOTES ON ART
No matter how hard you try to put a message
into your work it will be misconstrued by the person viewing it. No two people
will arrive at the same conclusion, thus your statement or intent is lost. If
you really want to say something do it with words, and, even at their best,
words are easily
misconstrued.
The most that Art can hope to do, maybe what it does best, is to raise more questions than it answers. The work can convey many things, emotion prime among them, but for a piece to be successful it must evoke something from the viewer. However, the viewer must bring something to it as well. No one comes empty handed and each viewer brings his/her own baggage along with which to try to understand this picture.... This is not to say that someone who, for the shock value inherent in the subject, paints dead babies in a jar is successful because it evoked rage from the viewer or whatever. The test would be if, after the shock value wears off, does the piece still demand a response from the viewer, then we will know if it does indeed succeed. But if a painting or a drawing just lays there and pulls nothing from us, then it has failed miserably.
The finest paintings, the ones held in the highest esteem by our society, are constantly revealing new secrets, new facets of their construction to us. We find something new in their textures and surfaces, even the subjects and the moods each time we view certain pieces and these stand alone as exemplary. And each person walks away with something entirely unique to their eyes alone. Everybody interprets the piece in a way that they understand and can perceive.... Maybe they have more questions, maybe they have more answers, maybe they only walk away with a sense of well being. Whatever they walk away with, the painting has succeeded to communicate, to move them.
...I would stand in front of his paintings and wonder why people thought he was so great.
...Then, one day, I was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and was wandering through their Impressionist wing. I had spent considerable time in front of the “Joan of Arc” by Bastien LePage, the Pissaro’s, and had worked my way to the Monet’s, when I was riveted to the floor. I found myself standing in front of one Vincent’s oils, a landscape of several trees and a swirling luminescent sky.... I was totally overcome, so consumed with sadness and sympathy that I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling over with tears.
The saddest realization for me is that there are so many people, artists, who have never been moved by art like that. They have never had an emotional epiphany with a piece of art, a communion of sorts, a bringing together of two wills, two hearts.... It’s not that I don’t respect them for wanting to be artists, for taking that first step into a world that demands so much communication with the individuals emotion and demands the exhibition of their personal inner views.... If you answer no to all of these and yes to the last then maybe you are in the wrong place, maybe art is not for you.
Art isn’t something that you dabble in, though many do and that’s fine, but serious artists do not dabble.... You must constantly wrest emotions from deep within yourself and pour it all out on the empty canvas or paper or bronze before you.... They pull various bits and pieces of their emotional past and present out of themselves and set it up for display, in the hopes that we will suspend our disbelief, drop our guards so that we, too, can feel the pain, the rage, the sadness, the happiness. They, as does Art, teach us how to feel, to see. They show us that it is okay to show our feelings, that it is okay to feel sad, to cry even. As much as they reveal themselves, artists and their art reveal much about ourselves as well.
The most that Art can hope to do, maybe what it does best, is to raise more questions than it answers. The work can convey many things, emotion prime among them, but for a piece to be successful it must evoke something from the viewer. However, the viewer must bring something to it as well. No one comes empty handed and each viewer brings his/her own baggage along with which to try to understand this picture.... This is not to say that someone who, for the shock value inherent in the subject, paints dead babies in a jar is successful because it evoked rage from the viewer or whatever. The test would be if, after the shock value wears off, does the piece still demand a response from the viewer, then we will know if it does indeed succeed. But if a painting or a drawing just lays there and pulls nothing from us, then it has failed miserably.
The finest paintings, the ones held in the highest esteem by our society, are constantly revealing new secrets, new facets of their construction to us. We find something new in their textures and surfaces, even the subjects and the moods each time we view certain pieces and these stand alone as exemplary. And each person walks away with something entirely unique to their eyes alone. Everybody interprets the piece in a way that they understand and can perceive.... Maybe they have more questions, maybe they have more answers, maybe they only walk away with a sense of well being. Whatever they walk away with, the painting has succeeded to communicate, to move them.
...I would stand in front of his paintings and wonder why people thought he was so great.
...Then, one day, I was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and was wandering through their Impressionist wing. I had spent considerable time in front of the “Joan of Arc” by Bastien LePage, the Pissaro’s, and had worked my way to the Monet’s, when I was riveted to the floor. I found myself standing in front of one Vincent’s oils, a landscape of several trees and a swirling luminescent sky.... I was totally overcome, so consumed with sadness and sympathy that I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling over with tears.
The saddest realization for me is that there are so many people, artists, who have never been moved by art like that. They have never had an emotional epiphany with a piece of art, a communion of sorts, a bringing together of two wills, two hearts.... It’s not that I don’t respect them for wanting to be artists, for taking that first step into a world that demands so much communication with the individuals emotion and demands the exhibition of their personal inner views.... If you answer no to all of these and yes to the last then maybe you are in the wrong place, maybe art is not for you.
Art isn’t something that you dabble in, though many do and that’s fine, but serious artists do not dabble.... You must constantly wrest emotions from deep within yourself and pour it all out on the empty canvas or paper or bronze before you.... They pull various bits and pieces of their emotional past and present out of themselves and set it up for display, in the hopes that we will suspend our disbelief, drop our guards so that we, too, can feel the pain, the rage, the sadness, the happiness. They, as does Art, teach us how to feel, to see. They show us that it is okay to show our feelings, that it is okay to feel sad, to cry even. As much as they reveal themselves, artists and their art reveal much about ourselves as well.
No matter how hard you try to put a message into
your work it will be misconstrued by the person viewing it. No two people will
arrive at the same conclusion, thus your statement or intent is lost. If you
really want to
say
something do it with words, and, even at their best, words are easily
misconstrued.
The most that Art can hope to do, maybe what it does best, is to raise more questions than it answers. The work can convey many things, emotion prime among them, but for a piece to be successful it must evoke something from the viewer. However, the viewer must bring something to it as well. No one comes empty handed and each viewer brings his/her own baggage along with which to try to understand this picture. If they are pissed off by the picture, then it succeeds. If they love the picture then it also succeeds. This is not to say that someone who, for the shock value inherent in the subject, paints dead babies in a jar is successful because it evoked rage from the viewer or whatever. The test would be if, after the shock value wears off, does the piece still demand a response from the viewer, then we will know if it does indeed succeed. But if a painting or a drawing just lays there and pulls nothing from us, then it has failed miserably.
The finest paintings, the ones held in the highest esteem by our society, are constantly revealing new secrets, new facets of their construction to us. We find something new in their textures and surfaces, even the subjects and the moods each time we view certain pieces and these stand alone as exemplary. And each person walks away with something entirely unique to their eyes alone. Everybody interprets the piece in a way that they understand and can perceive. But, they walk away renewed in some fashion. Maybe they have more questions, maybe they have more answers, maybe they only walk away with a sense of well being. Whatever they walk away with, the painting has succeeded to communicate, to move them. That is successful painting. It is emotional painting.
For the longest time I did not respond to Van Gogh. I don’t know why. I would stand in front of his paintings and wonder why people thought he was so great. It escaped me. Yes, the color was rich, the textures strident and gutsy, but it did nothing for me. I liked his drawings, strangely enough, but not his paintings.
Then, one day, I was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and was wandering through their Impressionist wing. I had spent considerable time in front of the “Joan of Arc” by Bastien LePage, the Pissaro’s, and had worked my way to the Monet’s, when I was riveted to the floor. I found myself standing in front of one Vincent’s oils, a landscape of several trees and a swirling luminescent sky. The paint was so thick, the movement of the brush strokes so emotionally charged that I began to weep. I was totally overcome, so consumed with sadness and sympathy that I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling over with tears.
The saddest realization for me is that there are so many people, artists, who have never been moved by art like that. They have never had an emotional epiphany with a piece of art, a communion of sorts, a bringing together of two wills, two hearts. Why, then, are they artists? What is it that motivates these people? It’s not that I don’t respect them for wanting to be artists, for taking that first step into a world that demands so much communication with the individuals emotion and demands the exhibition of their personal inner views. I do respect anyone who has the desire and the will for this. But, I’m curious as to what really motivates them. I have students who have no idea why they want to be artists. Some thought it a “good” idea, something “cool” to try. Others . . . shrugged shoulders. Is there no passion for this. If you stopped would you go through cold turkey? Would you miss it if it were taken away from you. Do you really get any satisfaction from it? Would you just move on to the next interest? If you answer no to all of these and yes to the last then maybe you are in the wrong place, maybe art is not for you.
Art isn’t something that you dabble in, though many do and that’s fine, but serious artists do not dabble. Art requires your whole being. It requires that you constantly give of yourself. You must constantly wrest emotions from deep within yourself and pour it all out on the empty canvas or paper or bronze before you. Everyday. With each piece you begin. I suppose actors go through the same thing. They pull various bits and pieces of their emotional past and present out of themselves and set it up for display, in the hopes that we will suspend our disbelief, drop our guards so that we, too, can feel the pain, the rage, the sadness, the happiness. They, as does Art, teach us how to feel, to see. They show us that it is okay to show our feelings, that it is okay to feel sad, to cry even. As much as they reveal themselves, artists and their art reveal much about ourselves as well.
The most that Art can hope to do, maybe what it does best, is to raise more questions than it answers. The work can convey many things, emotion prime among them, but for a piece to be successful it must evoke something from the viewer. However, the viewer must bring something to it as well. No one comes empty handed and each viewer brings his/her own baggage along with which to try to understand this picture. If they are pissed off by the picture, then it succeeds. If they love the picture then it also succeeds. This is not to say that someone who, for the shock value inherent in the subject, paints dead babies in a jar is successful because it evoked rage from the viewer or whatever. The test would be if, after the shock value wears off, does the piece still demand a response from the viewer, then we will know if it does indeed succeed. But if a painting or a drawing just lays there and pulls nothing from us, then it has failed miserably.
The finest paintings, the ones held in the highest esteem by our society, are constantly revealing new secrets, new facets of their construction to us. We find something new in their textures and surfaces, even the subjects and the moods each time we view certain pieces and these stand alone as exemplary. And each person walks away with something entirely unique to their eyes alone. Everybody interprets the piece in a way that they understand and can perceive. But, they walk away renewed in some fashion. Maybe they have more questions, maybe they have more answers, maybe they only walk away with a sense of well being. Whatever they walk away with, the painting has succeeded to communicate, to move them. That is successful painting. It is emotional painting.
For the longest time I did not respond to Van Gogh. I don’t know why. I would stand in front of his paintings and wonder why people thought he was so great. It escaped me. Yes, the color was rich, the textures strident and gutsy, but it did nothing for me. I liked his drawings, strangely enough, but not his paintings.
Then, one day, I was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and was wandering through their Impressionist wing. I had spent considerable time in front of the “Joan of Arc” by Bastien LePage, the Pissaro’s, and had worked my way to the Monet’s, when I was riveted to the floor. I found myself standing in front of one Vincent’s oils, a landscape of several trees and a swirling luminescent sky. The paint was so thick, the movement of the brush strokes so emotionally charged that I began to weep. I was totally overcome, so consumed with sadness and sympathy that I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling over with tears.
The saddest realization for me is that there are so many people, artists, who have never been moved by art like that. They have never had an emotional epiphany with a piece of art, a communion of sorts, a bringing together of two wills, two hearts. Why, then, are they artists? What is it that motivates these people? It’s not that I don’t respect them for wanting to be artists, for taking that first step into a world that demands so much communication with the individuals emotion and demands the exhibition of their personal inner views. I do respect anyone who has the desire and the will for this. But, I’m curious as to what really motivates them. I have students who have no idea why they want to be artists. Some thought it a “good” idea, something “cool” to try. Others . . . shrugged shoulders. Is there no passion for this. If you stopped would you go through cold turkey? Would you miss it if it were taken away from you. Do you really get any satisfaction from it? Would you just move on to the next interest? If you answer no to all of these and yes to the last then maybe you are in the wrong place, maybe art is not for you.
Art isn’t something that you dabble in, though many do and that’s fine, but serious artists do not dabble. Art requires your whole being. It requires that you constantly give of yourself. You must constantly wrest emotions from deep within yourself and pour it all out on the empty canvas or paper or bronze before you. Everyday. With each piece you begin. I suppose actors go through the same thing. They pull various bits and pieces of their emotional past and present out of themselves and set it up for display, in the hopes that we will suspend our disbelief, drop our guards so that we, too, can feel the pain, the rage, the sadness, the happiness. They, as does Art, teach us how to feel, to see. They show us that it is okay to show our feelings, that it is okay to feel sad, to cry even. As much as they reveal themselves, artists and their art reveal much about ourselves as well.
Posted: Fri - September 26, 2003 at 12:37 PM