writing & language

Work-in-Progress- 11/11/13

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Today is Veteran's Day in the United States, a day that I have paid deep attention to ever since I worked on the Tears of Stone project. At the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918, the Armistice was signed that ended the "war to end all wars". Or so they thought.... and hoped. Here is one last excerpt from Stone Work, the book by John Jerome that I have been quoting here recently, and which relates to my approach to my current as-yet-unrealized project. I could have written these words myself:

“I haven’t learned to let go of the need to control, direct, keep the canoe (or anything else) pointed straight: the westernized, apollonian requirement that one master things, apply more power. I keep fiddling with the throttle.

            Of course I like effort, but that is not a sufficient excuse. I like effortlessness more, or claim to. What I like most is the search for that, for the effortless way, for those little physical moments when it goes just right: epiphanies, again. What I like best about stone work is working at it slowly and carefully, figuring out how to get the stones and get them into place with never the strain of a heavy lift. I like trying to make stone work effortless, which is satisfactorily impossible, and therefore endless, task. You can put a lot of effort into finding the effortless way.” (Jerome 135-136)

Work-in-Progress- 10/27/13

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I'm currently working on a project that has gone from nebulous to partially-formed in the past few months. But I am still wrestling with how to make it sing, am still in the middle of it, trying to figure it out, which means that I am frustrated by my apparent lack of progress. (Even though I know that every time I work on it, I am making progress.) I love this excerpt from John Jerome's book Stone Work, which talks about seeking a breakthrough:

“It is when I am finally stopped, when the sentence falls right, when what I’m trying to say finally comes off my tongue, when I understand what someone is saying to me, when the pieces fall together and what was muddy confusion is suddenly clear:  the eureka moment, when some conglomeration of ideas comes together for you, that otherwise, until then, you were unable to link. A connection made that you can’t explain, that just . . . furthers you, somehow.

            I used to have a wonderful quote about this moment pinned above my desk, but I lost it. Insert your own wonderful quote here. Mine was about that moment before which all is confusion and despair, and after which things suddenly become clear and there’s never going to be any confusion anymore. It doesn’t work out that way, of course, but the moment when you think it will is worth preserving. It is what I work for, I think.

            The physical epiphanies available in working with wood and metal and stone are no different from those other little instants when some flicker of truth comes in. when the information from some sense organ or other succeeds in breaking through. I always thought these moments were supposed to be intellectual, the product of pure abstract thought. But they come to us through the sense organs. It was the taste of the apple, I think, that flipped us out of Eden, into the world.” (Jerome 108-109)

Thoughts on Learning to See- #1

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Author John Jerome (1932-2002) wrote a book titled Stone Work, which I found thought-provoking and inspiring. The book follows Jerome as he sets about building a stone wall on his New England property, a creative process that was as rewarding and frustrating as any other. Here is a quote that speaks to me as a photographer: “I’ve never learned how to focus my attention, just as I never learned to study in school, only to read the books—the stories—that pulled my attention out of me. Actively focusing attention, coming up with enough mental energy to keep attention focused on something, was entirely too much effort. I didn’t know how to do it. I still don’t.  I want to be able to step back and let the sheer beauty of this place overwhelm me, carry me passively along, but clearly that’s all wrong, a sure way to tune out: what I have to do to see into the woods is dig into the details (as Mies van der Rohe pointed out long ago—quoting, I’m sure, someone else). To focus on detail I take notes, attempting to write down the riches of the woods, trying to convince myself that I have gotten those riches. But I haven’t, I never have. I don’t know enough, don’t see enough, don’t know how to see. Don’t know what I’ve seen, what was going on, until I get back and start writing about it, telling myself the story: debriefing myself on the experience. Every time that I see a little bit more, it tells me there are worlds and worlds to see, deeper yet.  The pleasure I get when I see a little tells me that all pleasure, all happiness, lies in seeing more. Whenever I manage to see some tiny bit, I always say to myself again, yes, that’s the way I wish I lived: seeing these things.” (Jerome 195-196)

Starting a Project- The Inner Critic

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Here's an excerpt from an article by author Mark Slouka in the Sunday New York Times from August 25 that I found totally relevant to any artist. Although Slouka is talking about writers, just substitute your media/field, and I think it will speak to you, too: “If writers agree on anything—which is unlikely—it’s that nothing can damage a novel in embryo as quickly and effectively as trying to describe it before it’s ready.  Unfortunately, because we’re writers, aka bipedal nests of contradictions, avoiding the temptation to share is never as easy as simply keeping our mouths shut.

            Why? Because we’re unsure—about very nearly everything. Because in our hearts we’re only as good as our last paragraph, and if the new book isn’t going anywhere, maybe we’re no good at all. Because we’re running on faith and fumes. In the early stages, before that magic moment when the voice of the story begins to speak, we want—no, crave—validation, someone on the outside who will say, preferably with godlike authority and timbre: “It’s brilliant. You’re on the right track. Just keep going.”

            The problem, of course, is that our inner critic, the I.C., is whispering in our ear that we’re not even remotely on the right track—that we’re blundering around in the wilderness, in fact."

This article speaks to me because every time I am in the beginning phases of a new project, my experience is exactly like that. My normal confidence seems to desert me and I am filled with insecurities about the value/success/relevance of my new endeavor. Can you tell that I am embarking on not one, but a few new projects right now??!!!

A Book on Wood Carving

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In the March 16th issue of the Economist, I read a review of a new book by woodcarver David Esterly. The title of the book, The Lost Carving: A Journey to the Heart of Making, immediately caught my eye and the review made me want to read it. Here's the part of the review that spoke to me most: (The book) "...is a meditation- on "beauty, skill nature, feeling, tradition, sincerity", all now art-world anachronisms, he fears. But above all, it is a song to his medium, the wood itself, its grain, the way it answers to the blade, the conversation to be had with it. "Making" is the word in Mr. Esterly's title, and it is the nub of his book. He is in love with the physicality of his art, the flowing together of hand and brain, of chisel and creativity. The idea that the artist should both master and be mastered by the medium clearly fascinates him.

Lovely! Will have to read it ASAP.

Artist's Statements- Do's and Don'ts

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Over the course of time, I've developed a set of "do's" and "don'ts" regarding artist's statements. I'm sure that everyone reading this post  will have their own opinions on the subject. Let me hear from you if you have a particular issue I haven't touched upon and I will add them in another post! "Do's"

  1. Make it only as long as it needs to be to say what you want to say. No longer.
  2. Write something that adds to the reader’s understanding of your work that can’t necessarily be learned from looking at the work itself.
  3. If you tell a story, make clear how it relates to the work, or to your philosophy as an artist.
  4. Make a point. Let there be a clear reason why you wrote this.
  5. Make the first sentence or two so interesting that I want to read the rest.
  6. Sound like you know what you are talking about. Use words that convey confidence.
  7. Use language that clarifies rather than obscures what you are talking about.
  8. Make sure the writing is free of technical errors (grammar, punctuation, spelling, syntax, etc.)

“Don’ts”

  1. Don’t make it unnecessarily long. Why go on and on if what you want to say can be said in one or two paragraphs?
  2. Don’t sound like everyone else out there. You are a unique individual with unique experiences and insights. Share them with your audience.
  3. Don’t just write about how much you have loved art since you were a kid.
  4. Don’t use language that is so opaque and convoluted and jargon-filled that only 1% of your audience can understand it.
  5. Don’t use words or phrases that weaken your reader’s confidence in you. Avoid phrases like “I hope….”, “I try to….”,  “I intended to ….”, etc.
  6. Don’t allow technical errors! Bad grammar, spelling or sentence structure can kill your credibility.

 

Artist's Statements- What Makes a Good One?

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Having covered the reasons for why artists write artist's statements in the "Artist's Statements- Why Write One?" post, here are the three primary factors that I think makes for an effective one. (Please note that I don't think that there is a particular formula you can follow for this, as part of what makes for an interesting artist's statement is the personal writing style of it's author.) 1. Write a piece that complements the work, rather than explains it. This approach provides additional information to the reader that cannot be found in the work itself. The writing therefore can give your audience a greater understanding of your goals and motivations for creating the work, and help them gain further insight into it.

2. Use appropriate, direct language that clarifies rather than obscures what you are saying. In other words, don't use "artspeak" jargon!!! Here is an article that beautifully explains how annoying and pretentious you can sound if you do. Although the article cites galleries as the offenders, they are often use the text that artists provide to them.

3. Write in your own voice. Don't try to sound like someone else. If you love to write creatively, then use that skill. If you are more of a keep-it-simple-and-direct kind of writer, then write that way. Being yourself in your writing will ring true for the reader.

I honestly feel that if you use those three points to guide you, your chances of writing a statement that can serve the purposes outlined in my "Artist's Statements- Why Write One?" post are going to be greatly increased.

There is way more information to be found on what makes for an effective artist's statement. I particularly like the advice found in this article by Joanne Hurley and Kate Ware.

More on artist's statements in a later post.

Artist's Statements - Why Write Them?

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I don't know many artists who actually like writing artist's statements. But artists end up  reading a lot of them in the course of looking at websites, going to shows, etc. And most artists have to write one at one point or another, like it or not. But why do we need to write one? There are three clear benefits that I can identify. First, I've come to realize over time that an artist's statement is as much for my own benefit as it is for my audience's. Writing a statement often clarifies my thinking about my work in a way that creating the artwork itself does not, so I now see it as part of my creative process.

I have also experienced that an effective statement helps gallerists and dealers choose and sell my work. If they have a written document that supplements both what they see in my photographs and have learned from me in conversation and stimulates their interest, then it gives them more reason to choose my work and try to generate sales or buzz for it.

Finally, a statement can also help critics to write knowledgeably and thoughtfully about my work, and is a necessity when it comes to getting publicity for a show.

The result of these insights is that, while writing a statement is still like pulling teeth for me, I now embrace the exercise as an opportunity rather than as a burden.

Byron Wolfe has two statements on the Bio/CV/Statement page of his website. that speak to the above issues. The first statement addresses his general interests and shows the reader the foundations upon which all his work is grounded.

ByronsMissionStatementSmallThe second he calls a "Mission Statement", which is a visual rendering of "the territory (he finds) most satisfying." For him, it functions as "part manifesto, part guide".

What a great way to discover that which is already inside you, but might have been hidden!

 

In addition, Joanna Hurley and Kate Ware have written a very comprehensive article on the ins and outs of artist's statements that really digs into the topic and is, in my opinion, spot on.

I'll write more about artist's statements in future posts.

"Daylight" Books & Magazine

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Anyone interested in photography that explores the elusive boundaries between conceptual fine art work and documentary should check out Daylight, which is a "non-profit organization dedicated to publishing art and photography books." Daylight's writers include Kirsten Rian, whose ongoing "Alphabet of Light" articles count among the most eloquent, thoughtful writing on photography that is being done today.

A talented writer/painter/musician/photographer, Rian makes connection between the

Kirsten Rian

photographer, the photograph and our internal and external world in ways that are extraordinary. I always end up feeling like I have learned something new after reading one of her pieces. A gift to the world....

Thoughts on Writing

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Another excerpt from the interview with David McCullough from Yankee Magazine's Nov/Dec 2012 issue: "I think where history is going to suffer is that nobody writes letters anymore. And nobody keeps diaries anymore. Certainly nobody in public life keeps a diary anymore. They don't dare; they can be subpoenaed and used in court against them. So I don't know how future historians are going to write about is...I wouldn't be all that surprised if future historians don't have much about us to go on."

I've thought about that issue so often- how the written record of our lives and activities is so different than it was even in the 1970's and '80's. Will the e-mails and text messages of today be preserved into the future? Will our children's children have a written record of their parent's courtship? Their friendships? Something invaluable will be lost without those written records.....

And what about the visual record? With virtually all family snapshots taken digitally now, how will these treasures be archived, if at all? What will the visual record show about our family and social histories 200 years from now? Will there be much of one? Will these images even be accessible? How many of them will exist as prints? It makes me want to time travel into the future to see what the answers will be.

Working on a Project

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I just read an article in Yankee magazine in which historian David McCullough (author of Truman and John Adams, among others) states that "...writing is a bit like enrolling in college: I know I'm going to be there for four years, and just think of what I'm going to learn." EXACTLY! That's what it's like for me to start work on a new project. It's a major kick to think of all the things that I will discover along the way.

Thoughts About Language

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I loved this excerpt from an article titled “The Long-Dead Native Language Wopânâak is Revived” from the Nov/Dec 2012 issue of Yankee magazine, and thought it was the perfect way to start the New Year: "The first gift we give our children is language. That whispered welcome between a mother and her baby when the child is first laid upon her breast begins a lifelong dialogue through which subsequent gifts are given. Our beliefs, our dreams, our heritage- we pass these things on through the spoken word. Biology gives us our body, but language delivers our soul."

Words create worlds.

Amen to that.

Herzensschatzi Komm (Sweetheart Come)

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This link will take you to a site that has found a permanent place in my creative self. It tells the story of a German mother of two named Emma Hauck who spent many years in a mental institution in the early 20th century. While institutionalized she wrote the phrase "Herzenschatzi komm" to her husband thousands and thousands of times. Directly translated, this phrase would read "treasure of my heart, come", but the meaning is more accurately rendered as "sweetheart come".

These letters, while incredibly sad given the story behind them, are testaments to the power of repetitive mark-making. I am fascinated by what they look like - at once simple and complex. Here's one example on the left.

 

The Process of Creating #1

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This is the perfect description of what is important to me about making art. While author John Irving creates with words, he could just as well be speaking about studio artists: ““You have to know as a writer the difference between how you consider yourself publicly and the way you must continue to only consider yourself a lowly practitioner,” [Irving] says. “Every new page you start, you are a beginner. And I am writing every day to challenge myself, to make myself better and stronger.”

His mouth hikes up, and his voice takes on an amused, challenging tone. “You never see a great wrestler who doesn’t drill, who stops fanatically practicing his best shot. My old coach used to say that if you were in it for the trophies, you were in it for the wrong reasons.” He pauses for a long time, hinging together two thoughts as if with one of his trademark semicolons. “If you presume to love something, you must love the process of it much more than you love the finished product.”

This is his way of saying …that his life as a writer has been about the drills, the practice, the lovely drudgery of putting one word in front of another and building characters and worlds that may speak of their time but will also, with the help of faithful readers, be lasting.”

From an article on author John Irving in Time magazine, May 14, 2012