Graphic courtesy of A Modern Blog by kchaloux.blogspot.com
Knowing me as you all do now, you might think I made up Stuckism, especially when I’m bemoaning creative blocks. I did not. It’s legit, though. See that turquoise circle down there on the lower right, sticking out beyond all those played-out Post-modernisms? It’s in the vanguard, but taking aim over its shoulder at Art’s 20th Century Pompous Bad Guys: “Against conceptualism, hedonism and the cult of the ego-artist,” proclaims the subhead on their Twenty Point Manifesto from 1999. I like Stuckism, it’s cheeky and makes more than a few savory points I can relate to. It may also have saved my artistic soul. So let’s cherry pick and see how the thoughts of some grumpy British painters apply to a philosophical American ceramicista.
Mamma Mia! Here’s a new one: What if a bunch of artists got together for a group show made up entirely of personal renditions of Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa? All media welcome. Could be a rollick and I said, “Sì Sì.”
Sometimes an artist just needs to go wandering. It’s good for refreshment, perspective, inspiration. Good for body, mind, spirit. In college I took the train back to school in Santa Barbara a couple of times. It was better by far than a rideshare car, the Greyhound or a small plane. For one thing, the train is smooth and level, and for another, one can walk around. Plus that particular section of Amtrak’s Coast Starlight – San Jose to Santa Barbara – passes by always-interesting and at times spectacular, world-class countryside. So, while I have been away from the studio and exhibits this week, I have not been without a fascinating and poignant trip to stir up the juices. Here are some highlights from the journey South.
For this discussion, PTCS means “Post Traumatic Critique Syndrome” and Defectology, means focusing on lack and limitation.
A Story
I can still see my Beginning Painting instructor’s bushy 70s walrus mustache motating as he critiqued – no, outright criticized – my certainly awful attempt at the current assignment: paint a self-portrait as a famous person. On a 3’x4′ canvas I had modeled a full-bodied gesture of Greek-robed, barefooted Isadora Duncan in mid-bound and was having trouble putting my features onto it at all convincingly. I particularly remember the mustache’s emphatic contract/expand curl as he sneered the word “dumpy” in slow motion. “IS-a-dora DUN-can WAS NOT DUM-PEE! ” he intoned as he was actually looking down his nose at me.
Thing is, this guy worked hard in his critiques at tearing apart the whole line-up of our work. I was not singled out here, but by the time he got to me I was seething. At the sight of that slo-mo sneering ‘stache, I blinked. Out of hot shame and powerlessness, I sputtered back with all I had: my born fightin’ Ulster-Scot sense of justice and fairplay. “We already know our work is bad!!!!!” I yelped, “Why don’t you help us see what’s good about it???? Or at least suggest what we could try to make it better????”
I wish I could tell you what happened afterwards, or even the rest of the semester, but soon after that episode I had an emergency appendectomy and took an Incomplete. Within the year allowed to remedy the INC, I returned to his office with several other paintings I had done without the torment of his criticism. I got a B. Not sure it’s a direct consequence, but I have never taken another painting class.
Ceramic Works by Karen Hansen (foreground) and Liz Crain (middle and background)
One great thing about a National Ceramics Exhibit in the neighborhood is there are bound to be several invitees who one might know personally. Or even have studied with. The Rare Earth Exhibit at Cabrillo Gallery is about half way through its run and, since I walk by it twice a week going to my Beastly Beauty Philosophy class, I usually pop in for another gander. To see what I didn’t see. To notice what I didn’t notice. To appreciate not only the anointed company my work is keeping in general, but to acknowledge my connections to the meaningful work of five women I have either studied with and/or feel a tribal closeness to. I am sharing photos of a portion of their work on display and thanking them for the ways they have touched me.
I popped into the newly opened “Rare Earth: National Ceramics Exhibition” currently open in the Cabrillo Gallery in Aptos today. And I got wowed! Without a lot of interpretive yak, I thought to simply share with you a smidge what I saw that was new and exciting. And I do mean smidge as there are another few visits-worth needed in order to let the great range of work percolate through.
The Set-up: I live and maintain my studio in an impossibly old (1933) cottage facing what has, over the decades, become a main artery street in the charming beach village of Capitola, CA. I see lots of dogwalkers, strollers, bicyclists, joggers, skateboarders. Middleschool kids. Motorcycle groups. Lots of semi-lost out-of-townies. (How do you give directions to a lovely German-only-speaking gentleman and explain there are two separate Grace Streets and he’s on the other side of the creek from both of them? Give him a highlighted AAA map. Remember those?)
We endure a panoply of perennial foot and wheeled traffic clogs related to: school/church/concerts/festivals/races/Junior Guards/Surfing Santas/car shows/construction and nearby freeway tangles. Our place, built in a time of modest one-story homes on larger chunks of land, sits way back on a deep and angled lot, buffered by a front wildlands of Redwoods, Sword Ferns, Nasturtiums and Japanese Maples. And also by my growing ceramic sculpture garden! It’s cozy and generally feels far from the madding crowd. Yet the border between us and them is a porous one. Cue the ominous music.
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