Some of the heaviest comments made in a critique are the ones that are not said. I remember experiencing such a critique my first year in graduate school. I had been feeling pretty confident about the work I was showing, since I had spent dozens of hours cloistered in my studio, boiling all the elements down to their essential state. In fact, I couldn’t imagine any other work that I should be making. But the instructor I had made an appointment with was not so much looking at my work as he was looking past it. To the blank wall. Behind it. He was being very quiet, and he had a slight twist in his facial expression, like he was experiencing a small stomach cramp. He seemed like he needed help getting the conversational ball rolling, so I started to list some of the decisions that had lead me to making the paintings that were hanging right in front of the blank wall. I told him about my choice of media, how the colors came together, and why I felt that this imagery fit me so well. He interrupted my laundry list, and asked, “Have you ever had an artistic vision?” The hanging, implied comment, of course, was “…Cause this sure ain’t one!” I meekly responded, “Well, what do you mean?” But I was knocked off guard, and my ears were buzzing, so I have no memory of the rest of the conversation. Consequently, I have had to come up with my own answers about this business of artistic vision:
· I cannot make or plan an artistic vision. There is no magic combination of media, concept, and motivation that will lead to revelation. Not even when you are in grad school. And you have a critique deadline.
· Though I have had many high school students ask, I have never relied on illicit substances to tap into my creative subconscious. Drugs do not make you see the world more creatively. They just make you dumb enough to perceive some things as art; Pink Floyd laser light shows, Jim Morrison’s lyrics, tattoos designed by your buddy…
· Though not as exciting as drugs, there are certain alchemical ingredients that, when properly combined, can create the conditions under which brain waves are generated. They include (but are not limited to):
o slow meals in large groups
o road trips
o relaxed and rambley conversations with my wife
o playing with my three year old son
o long walks with my ten year old daughter
o making almost anything with my seven year old daughter
o competing fiercely at any sport with my twelve year old son
o giving open-ended instructions to a classroom full of teenagers and standing back to watch what happens
o washing a warm and sudsy sink load of dirty dishes by hand at the end of a long day
In other words, artistic visions are not made in the studio. Objects are made in the studio.
· Not only is inspiration more difficult to predict than the weather, it is often difficult for me to recognize at first. Great art does not begin with lightening bolts. It is more like a fog that slowly envelops me, clouding my thoughts with a haze that just will not lift.
· A sure sign that I am in the throws of a meaningful creative problem is insomnia. I am not content to just “put it away” for the night, but will continue entertaining possibilities, like trying to fit puzzle pieces into places that they almost fit.
· Eventually, artistic vision builds to compulsion. Just like the nervous tick that will not let some people leave a room without flipping a light switch repeatedly, my twitching fingers can develop a phantom-ache as I imagine the physical manipulation of materials. And then when I do get my hands busy with studio work, a lot of time might pass before I even consider how strange it is to be, say, wrapping cinder blocks in packing tape…and scabs of dried paint…two hours past bedtime…
So, in the end, an abstract vision leads to concrete objects. And those objects will be critiqued. The best measure of any artwork is not just whether it catches your attention on the blank wall. The best work somehow transcends itself and makes you start dreaming about more that must be made.
See my work at kevinpkellyart.artspan.com
