You are Probably NOT a Self-Taught Artist...

Go to http://www.avam.org for more information about the art of "self-taught" artists. Such a cool website, and a very cool museum to visit.

It would probably surprise some of the folks who refer to themselves as self-taught artists that a formal definition for this term already exists, and they are not included in this group of special artists. Type "self-taught artist" into the search engine of Wikipedia for example, and you are redirected to "Outsider Art." This entry contains other synonyms such as art brut, raw art, rough art, naive art, and art of the insane to name just a few. Outsider Art is one of my favorite art genres, and with a short read, you can find out about this incredibly interesting and inspiring art movement.

See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self-taught_art. For the purposes of this blog entry, I'm agreeing with the definition set forth there. My point in this blog entry has to do with this quote from the article:

The term is sometimes misapplied as a catch-all marketing label for art created by people outside the mainstream "art world," regardless of their circumstances or the content of their work.

I'm agreeing with that premise, too, although "sometimes" should probably be replaced with "most times". To be polite, I find it confusing when someone refers to themselves as "self-taught." If I weren't going to try to be polite, I'd think the person was ignorant at best, or a pompous ass at worst. Although I guess making stuff and then trying to sell it to make a living does require some sort of ego, I daresay. Generally though, I consider myself a kind person and return to the feeling of confusion and wonder what he or she is really trying to say? And if they call themselves "self-taught" to an editor of an art magazine for example, doesn't that make him or her sound ignorant of an entire named and recognized art movement?

Ironically, true self-taught artists would most likely not realize that they were self-taught, or even call themselves artists at all.

While a small portion of the definition does have to do with education, that is not all there is to it. It seems that this part of the definition has been grotesquely mutated in order for those who use self-taught to describe themselves to take some sort of extra credit that is ultimately unearned. It implies the artist thinks of himself as gifted in some way, because he didn't require any of that pesky directed education in order to do the stunning work he does. But the opposite is true, and in no way does that set the artist apart in any special way whatsoever.

"Self-taught artist" does NOT mean that you practice alone in your studio a lot. It should go without saying that any artist spends a great deal of time honing their craft and communing with the Muses or other higher power (or not) to create something that somebody might one day proclaim as art. (If this hoped-for proclamation is the reason you work, well...uhm-m-m-m...hmm...bigger confusions might exist.)

"Self-taught artist" does NOT mean you lack a college or art school education. And since when is that something to brag about anyway? I mean, where does that get you? Because by misusing the term, you're already illustrating a certain lack of education, whether self-directed or not. I'm not sure I'd want sole credit for that misunderstanding.

"Self-taught artist" does NOT mean you did a bunch of metaphysical research on your own, either. Nobody cares except in how you're able to morph that into your art in some way that speaks to somebody else. Or not. Nobody should care but you.

Think about education, formal or otherwise. Did you watch somebody's YouTube video? Page through their books? Watch a dvd on the topic? See a how-to spread in a magazine? Try and follow a tutorial? Take a class? Watch a demo? Go to college? Go to art school? If you did any of these things, you cannot consider yourself part of the self-taught art movement and you are misusing the term. More importantly, you are not giving credit where credit is due. That's where I tend to get off-track in my thinking and find myself wandering along the pompous ass track.

If you were one of the self-taught artists in the creative vacuum described by the Outsider Art movement, you most likely wouldn't be reading this blog, or even using the term. Another quote, one of my favorites, was coined by the person credited with defining the Outsider Art movement, Jean Dubuffet:

"Art is at its best when it forgets its very name."

I only wish my intentions could be a pure as a true "self-taught" artist. As it is, I'll spend a great deal of the rest of my life trying to attain that goal and put forth great effort. And as the term "self-taught artist" is misused and overused, I'll probably continue to put forth great effort in attempting to understand what the artist using the term -- and making a first impression -- is really trying to say.

The Art vs. Craft Discussion

Studio, thinly disguised as a garage...

I've always found this discussion to be mildly annoying and for me moot because the only way to settle the distinction is through the work itself. That is, if there is even a distinction to be made, of which I am unconvinced. And if you're talking about it, you're not working on it. And if you're not working, you'll never create work that somebody will want to try to put in the "craft vs. art" box. Also, I should mention that I hate boxes. Which is kind of funny, because while I've recently had to conclude that I am not the neat freak I thought I was, I am somehow obsessive-compulsive enough to try to organize my belongings, and I routinely find boxes of stuff within boxes of stuff, within other boxes. But I digress...

I oftentimes think these sorts of "intellectual discussions" are rather clever methods of procrastination disguised as important. I also think the more intelligent one is, the more clever and sneaky the procrastinations, to the point that even the person procrastinating doesn't realize he or she is in the throes of a really good one. For example, I find myself writing in this blog about a topic that I've already mentioned I find mildly annoying if not altogether moot -- don't think for a second that the irony escapes me.

Ultimately, the work stands on its own, and I find this reassuring. But if you're thinking and talking about art vs. craft, you're probably not working. I'm stingy that way: anything that takes time away from my working time sucks for me, and that includes esoteric discussions of whether or not an artist is engaged in making "craft" or "art." When I make something, I'm doing it because I have to for the most part. That is, I have an idea of something that I have to make, and I cannot be satisfied and therefore happy, until I have made it. (If you consider yourself an artist and are working for any other reason, we can talk about that issue another time.) Generally, I don't give a damn how somebody wants or needs to categorize the work. The mildly annoying part for me is that by attempting to categorize an artist's efforts, the categorizor is judging whether the categorizee's work is "better" or "best." This pigeon-holing has no bearing whatsoever on what I make next. It doesn't create some sort of intellectual shortcut that allows me to skip steps on my journey, so again it becomes moot.

The other problem I have with the art vs. craft debate besides the fact that it is an argumentative time sink, is that it sucks the magic right out of the artistic soul. For example, sometimes I get an idea to make something, and something else happens during the process. This type of event can be extremely cool or extremely frustrating. Either way, it gets me farther along my artistic path.

Or sometimes I sit down to make something, and I have an amazing out-of-body experience where I am at peace and in that place of absolute nirvana, and it's as if I am merely a conduit for something greater than myself. That's the adrenaline rush. That's why I keep working. Because quite frankly, I can probably count those times on one hand. And I've been "making stuff" since I could grip a pencil and hit a sheet of paper with it. Don't get me started on cardboard and some paste. Anyway, the art-vs.-craft debate could not be farther from my motivation in either of these two examples.

Lot of surface patterning. Or superficial design?

Were I to analyze a feature of my own work, I would say it's no mere coincidence that I enjoy pattern-making on the surface of my glass -- I'm not at all interested in the artificial perception of great depth that can be achieved with glass. Just as I hate wasting time on unanswerable questions. Don't even get me started on, "Why am I here?" or "What is the meaning of life?" So debate away. I would find it extremely disappointing if anyone ever answered the question of whether something is art or craft in any sort of definitive way. Meanwhile, I continue to do the work so that there is something upon which to pass judgement, for ultimately that's the reason for the debate. And quite frankly, the answer will not affect this artist's pathway. And if it did cause some sort of effect, what kind of artist would I be?

Too Short, Grasshopper...

This big guy showing up on my window screen reminds me of the fact that summer seems to go by so quickly. I know I was complaining just last week about the heat this year. It's hard to sit in front of a torch and kiln in the heat of summer. I did a show up in the Philadelphia area this past weekend, and when I got back home, the signs that summer is almost gone are evident. I know before I left -- a mere three or four days ago -- I'd been sleeping on top of the covers with the ceiling fan on full blast, and now I find myself sleeping under the covers with no ceiling fan action at all. Soon I'll be closing windows, and after that configuring the storm windows. Then there will be that day when the heaters are used for the first time. Of course there have been signs of the end, such as the shear size of the big guy who's peeking into my window. And the tomatoes ripening on the vine. As summer progresses the insects get so loud here in the country it could be characterized as deafening. Those who think the country is quiet have never spent an evening in the country in late July and August. One has to practically shout to be heard above the din some evenings. The days still get "too" warm, but there is that hint of cool air in the undercurrent. And the nights cool off making for good sleeping weather. So my hope now is for a long, slow, lazy autumn, because conversely to summer ending so fast, it always takes such a long time to for it arrive again only to go through its seemingly disproportionately short timeframe. And while there's always the hope of an "Indian" summer, it is just one more sign that indeed, summer has gone.

Becoming Reaquainted with a Lost Love

Before I was a glass beadmaker, I was a papermaker and book binder (among other things). I have not spent much time on the bookmaking in many, many years. Lately however, I've had a yearning to get back into it. I love books and reading so much that I almost cannot be without a book within reach or physically on my person at all times. Sometimes I even fall asleep with them, and both sides of my bed are flanked by floor to ceiling bookshelves, the nightstand is stacked with books, and there's another pile on the floor that belong to someone else that I need to read. Thank goodness for my Kindle, where at last count I had over 500 books. It has cut down on the weight of books that used to be in my purse.

So I've been trying to combine my "vices", and I've spent the last few days reacquainting myself with various book binding skills.



Initially, I have made "little" books, more accurately categorized as "miniature" books by the book arts community. They are approximately 1.5 x 1 inch when closed. Since I really don't like being without a book on my person at any time, that concept provided the impetus for my little books. They can easily be incorporated into jewelry or other adornment. All are blank and awaiting owners to personalize them in some way. I'm working out how exactly to combine the books with my glass art, but for now I think I'll just enjoy the book binding separately since it's easy these days to burn out on the beads. I've made 4 each of 3 slightly different kinds. The top picture is a closeup of one of the leather books. The three pictures on the left are groups of 4 little books of a kind (don't ask me why 4 of each, but it is kind of bookish in that each sheet in a signature-bound book has 4 pages, so one tends to think in multiples of 4). The top photo are books that I made of upcycled material, mainly packages and paper bags, with an exposed longstitch binding, decorative endpapers, and ribbon and bead closure. I added an anodized aluminum jumpring to the top of the spine for hanging on a necklace or something. The second picture shows the leatherbound version, with same exposed longstitch binding, little folders built into the endpapers, a leather tie closure, and jumpring. The bottom picture is a group of leather clad japanese tortoise shell stab binding books with decorative endpapers. I made a special wireworked hanger for each, and then crafted a leather button and braided ribbon and bead closure.

I must say I'm enjoying myself immensely, and several more ideas have sprouted as is usually the case when I'm working. It's one of the laws of artmaking -- the more you work, the more you want to work. I think my next step will be in making 1-, 2-, or 3-signature books in a size that would easily fit in a pocket -- maybe a size similar to the moleskins I like so much. Also, I discovered a really cool binding that combines an accordian fold spine with origami and a very clever way to hold in sheets without glue or sewing. And even more cool is that the sheets can be removed or moved to other places in the book. Since I'm constantly changing my mind, this might just be the perfect book. I'll keep you posted!

Edited to add labels.

A Lost Poem Found...

So in the process of cleaning out 2 tall bookshelves, 2 bedrooms, and 3 closets, I came across the following poem that I had written...

How to let him out?
But no.     No.
Life if you leave it is scary empty
                                            overwhelmed.
     Do not go so soon.
We are old but young;
     try mad wild experiments with me...
paint    watch people    dream    create
   compose    live free    live deepest.
Imagine purple bold love returned.
                                  We can, too.
                           Write me here --
                    Hurry before I have to go.
                                          Capture me.
      You are shimmering so gorgeous!

Working Sabbatical

Above: Origami boxes that I make for no reason, made from old calendars.

I was reading another blog today and the artist admitted to being in a creative slump -- resulting in not going into the studio for several months. The frustration expressed by this artist was palpable. And I can thoroughly empathize with that feeling. I have been there for a good long while, now -- perhaps a couple of years, if I were to really admit it (although a certain amount of that self-awareness is due to hindsight).

I've been doing what I do for about 15 years now, and mostly I still love it. I mean, where else could I be sitting in my pajamas, watching satellite T.V. or listening to books on tape while simultaneously working and earning a living? Most days, my commute is about 15 yards. I never have to be trapped in a conference room in one of those interminable company meetings so loved by most corporations. I don't have to try to get things accomplished by reaching a consensus with my team. All my efforts go toward providing for me and my family. Advantages to my way of earning a living as an artist abound, and while I still feel they outweigh the disadvantages, real challenges also exist.

The first challenge is that artists essentially live off their creativity, and the soulful effort this takes can be daunting and draining, especially over any span of time. Secondly, they must rely solely on their own impetus and discipline, hour after hour, day after day, year after year to not only get into the studio and get the work done, but to also wear the many other hats required to get the work sold to make the living. A third obstacle can be that inner voice constantly nagging, "Why are you doing this?" or "This is no good. Why do you constantly waste your time?" or "Why do you keep on doing this?" A fourth challenge comes with success. Successful artists at some point come to the realization that they can easily become victims of their own success, turning an item they once loved to make into something they almost can't stomach making one more time. I mean, it's great when you make that bracelet worn by the starlet, but not so great in some ways when the famous department store wants 1000 of them.

Balance is a huge issue in living the creative lifestyle. My areas of balance have always been the same -- how to balance "work" and "life", how to balance making tried-and-true successful products with time to play creatively in order to create new successful products, how to balance wearing the artist's hat with the business woman's hat -- to name just a few. Most days I'm convinced that I'm no closer to unlocking the secrets of balance than I was as an unwitting newbie 15 years ago.

So top the challenges and the balancing act with a serious bout of creative block and no wonder the idea of a sabbatical was born. Wouldn't it be nice to take a year off and travel the globe without thinking about "work," for example? While I believe everyone is creative and therefore in need of the occasional sabbatical, for artists, because work and life are so closely intertwined and less easily separated, the sabbatical is often the only way they can keep going in their profession, and is often the reason many artists leave the artistic life. Ironically, most artists are not so successful that they can afford any sort of proper sabbatical, myself included -- no working, no eating either.

To cope over the long haul, I think I have been taking what I refer to in hindsight as a "working sabbatical." I work at the stuff that is successful, just enough of the time, and then I escape as best I can with other things. Lately, I've been reading a lot (pure escapism), crocheting a lot (a somewhat mindless, repetitive soothing activity), bookbinding (don't ask me why other than I love books), and making various origami boxes (another somewhat mindless activity for no good reason). As I look over these other activities, I think I'm trying to achieve some sort of balance and incubation and recuperation time for my brain and creative soul. I think a lot of artists do this and put it into the category of "artists' block."

For myself, I really don't think of it that way. I simply try to remember that these sorts of spells are part of the intense creative process that I've chosen to engage in for my living. I know when I'm in the throes of one of these spells that I'm on the verge of something new and exciting. I try to welcome that "bored with myself" feeling and take advantage of it. I know that no matter how much I must work to earn a living, that when I'm in the thick of the funk I'm where my most potential exists. And most importantly, I know I'll survive as an artist because there's something built into my DNA that will not allow me to work without some sort of creative (not monetory) reward. And so I creep along in the midst of my working sabbatical sure in the knowledge that I'm on a path that I can sustain for the long haul, and deep satisfaction is forthcoming -- again, and again.

On Turning Fifty and Thoughts on Nostalgia

nostalgia
n. a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

I am not a particularly nostalgic person, and generally think of nostalgia as a nearly completely useless emotion that can suck one into a place one could get stuck -- and not in a good way. Not only does it rob one of the beauty of the present, it also renders one ungrateful for current blessings as well as all those received on the journey from then to now. Nostaglia unchecked can render one stunted in any sort of growth due to life experience, whether good or bad. I do get "curious" about my past, though.

For the past several months, friends I grew up with have been coming out of the woodwork it seems. These are folks who I have not spoken with or heard from for a good solid 20 or 30 years or more. I must say, it's been great fun, and I'm going to go out on a limb and hypothesize that this trip down memory lane has something to do with all of us hitting approximately at the same time the 50-year mark. Facebook has certainly been helping the process along. (Just enter your schools along with the date of graduation, and you'll probably find lots of friends you've lost track of over the years.) While this sort of thing could trigger feelings of nostalgia, I've more felt curious as much for my own past and journey as for those of my friends.

So in some ways the process of hooking up with the past has been helpful to me. Not just in the way that I'm not the only one with gray hair, sagging facial and other features who's put on a few pounds over the years. (Shwew!) But even better and more important is that I can see that the essence of what I liked about all those kids so long ago has grown and intensified -- the adults have become more themselves than they were. And since I think I've done the same, it's magical in a way because I still like the same things about these friends. It's been fun getting reacquainted. And I've missed them. They know about me in a way my more recent friends never will, and I find this history valuable, although I'm not interested in repeating any history!

And so far, I'm really feeling pretty happy with fifty. In my head, I'm 28, and feel like acting like I'm 16 sometimes. I've been renewing my love for music, trying to wear lipstick a little more often, and actually thinking about buying a bicycle. I used to like riding a bike to get places. It could work for me here in the mountains if I have enough of those low gears and a comfortable seat to accomodate my 50 year old body. And I guess a helmet these days -- honestly though, how did we all ever grow up without all the body protection gear? And I'm beginning to see the need to take dance breaks between beadmaking sessions.