WEEK 1I’ve been thinking about what it means to practice art. To have an art practice. On the one hand, it positions art with other professions that are also thought of as practicing: e.g. medicine and law. “Practicing” in this sense is equated to “masterfully doing,” not “learning and trying,” and these professions are known to require significant education and knowledge, and bring prestige and the opportunity for wealth accumulation, so it’s interesting that art is in their linguistic company. Art (I suspect) is more likely seen as requiring almost no education (rather an innate talent), and perhaps as deserving of less respect. This makes me think this phrasing must harken back to another time when Art was viewed as a more elevated pursuit.
I also think about the notion of practice and what am I doing when I “practice art”. I tend to think of “my art practice” as the full spectrum of activities related to being an artist. It encompasses research, networking, marketing… everything that happens inside and outside of the studio. And in fact there are discrete activities that I “practice” in the sense of repeat over and over with the aim of improving my ability to do them. I’m thinking about things like stretching canvasses, packing and shipping art, submitting applications, or posting to social media. The nuts and bolts of the job, and the least pleasant.
Versus what I do with my actual art-making, which is a continual series of experiments: new materials, new techniques, improvisations that incorporate but are not limited to past riffs and moves. There are dead ends, strange detours, frequent failures, delightful surprises, unforeseen pit stops. Namely, the opposite of practice.
Or is it? Perhaps what I am actually practicing when I am making art is the act of bravery, leaping without fear off a cliff and not worrying about sticking the landing. I’m practicing the ability to trust my instinct and intuition. The fearlessness required to do something to a canvas that just might ruin it, but inaction or a “safer” choice would most certainly doom it completely.
I’ve come up with techniques that trick my mind into letting go:
I buy supplies in bulk. I hate the feeling of preciousness that comes with using small amounts of materials. I’m naturally inclined to stinginess, I hate to waste things. Having a big bucket of some gel medium at hand, a giant bag of sand, a huge roll of fabric, makes me feel resplendent in materials, free to use them as liberally as I want in that moment, free to fuck up and fail.
I view all of my work as “experiments” and none of it as “final work”. I try to have a mindset that even when I’m making large-scale time-consuming work, it’s all just things I’m trying in preparation for some other, later, “real” pieces (that never happen).
I typically work in multiples, doing similar if not exactly identical things to several pieces at once. One might fail, one might succeed. I sometimes feel like a scientist in a lab, with different petri dishes going at once. What if I did this? What if I did that?
I don’t let myself think too far ahead. I’m never working towards a specific end result. Instead, I’m discovering the path as I make it, one step at a time. I think: What am I going to do next? I’m going to use this material, or this technique. That’s what I’ll do. And then I do it. And then I think about what comes next.
I try to work quickly, not mulling too much over what I’m doing. I just go for it. One thing that helps is that many of my most ridiculous and sure-to-fail experiments have resulted in some of my best successes. I’m learning to trust myself.
All of this is perfectly represented by the first card of the Tarot, The Fool. The Fool wanders off a cliff, following its fancy, oblivious to the risk and danger, only to find the road magically appearing under its feet, step by step.
It is a state of grace.
Week 1: Hello Chicago!