Vignette 19
It’s Hard to Call Myself an Artist
Sometimes I wonder what my Mom would think, if she knew that I had landed so far from home, and that I am not a teacher anymore; but an artist who spends every available moment in her own paint splattered studio. Actually, I know what my Mom would think, and I try very hard not to dwell on that. My safest guess is that I wouldn’t be getting too many pats on the back from her if she was still alive. It is true that I try to not to care what my Mom would think, but in truth, at 53, I would still love her approval. Since it is too late for that, I would settle for trying to earn my own, although this has proved harder than I ever imagined it would be.
I have always been an outgoing person, creatively speaking, who will try just about anything once. Expression has always come easily; whether it was locking myself in my bathroom to fully appreciate the acoustics assisting my heartfelt rendition of James Taylor’s You’ve Got a Friend, or making up a spontaneous dance to go along with the theme song for Star Trek the Next Generation. If you watched Star Trek as much as my family did, you would understand how indelibly the theme song has been imprinted upon me. It is common for me to dance along with the music at the grocery store, or to pull the car over to pluck a couple feathers from fresh road kill Tui, Pukeko or Hawk. I have a collection of bird skulls as well, that are lined up on a shelf in my studio and I admit that I am very attracted to the quality of fish eyes. I hope that these confessions are not in vain, as I am trying to figure out why it is so hard for me to confidently and proudly answer the question most frequently asked at a cocktail party, “So, what do you do?”
I still feel uncomfortable answering such a simple little question that might shed light on whether I am an upstanding, contributing citizen of the world, a total slacker, or at least interesting enough for the person asking to continue the conversation. For some twenty years I stood a little straighter before answering confidently, “so what do you do?” with, “I am a teacher.” My evaluations tell of my competency in engaging students in learning. But all the rules have changed. I have now entered a new profession that allows anyone and everyone to evaluate my work. When I will be paid for the job that I have done, can feel like a giant question mark. After working very hard to become an artist for the past eight years I still feel slightly embarrassed and presumptuous to speak up and declare, “I am an artist.” You see, the more that I live and breathe art, the more humble I become about thinking that I have mastered it.
Before I moved to New Zealand permanently, Scott suggested that I take the time I needed to transition from being a full time technology and science educator to a full time student of the arts. This was a scary proposition for an overachiever. I clung to a fall back position of getting my teaching credentials transferred to New Zealand, just in case. Knowing that education is key; every week for two years I lugged my materials across to Auckland City, and hoofed it, or took the bus if it was raining, all the way up to ArtStation on Ponsonby Rd. to study painting and drawing with Matthew Browne. Matthew has a strong following, and it is first come, first serve to get in to his famous Painter’s Progress course. Devotees line up on the street at the crack of dawn, waiting to get their names on next term’s roster. For the entire time that I studied with Matthew, I didn’t encounter another American in his class. This was a great way to assimilate into my newly adopted culture. Sometimes it felt like trial by fire, and I was definitely the butt of many jokes; ranging from imitating my accent to jabs about the intelligence of the American people for electing Bush for a second term. At a class lunch I was asked by a fellow student if it was really true that American’s cut up all there food before eating. The entire table stopped to hear my answer. Where did they get that information I would like to know?
As the weeks rolled by I made some new friend’s; Patsy (a Brit) and Julie, (a Kiwi). They gently pulled me further into the world of New Zealand culture and art. We ate lunch together each week somewhere along Ponsonby Rd. Our favorite place was Lulu’s for their superb eggs benedict. The owner was grouchy, so Patsy would ask, “Where are we off to today gulls, Rude Looloo’s?” Not only did I learn about the perceptions the rest of the world holds about Americans, but I had a great time sharing my insecurities about my change of career. Any given week, one of us would have a melt down about some comment Matthew made about our work, bruising our fragile artistic egos. I can’t imagine why he wants to be surrounded each day by pre and post menopausal women, who tend to go overboard about nothing. I credit him with starting me off on the path to becoming a professional artist. He took me way out of my comfort zone much of the time and actually taught me things about art that had nothing to do with technique, but everything to do with seeing.
I participated in my first real exhibition in 2004. Three other Matthew Browne students asked me to join them in a group exhibition at The Depot, in the upscale town of Devonport. We rented the space and invited all of our friends. Matthew kindly chose the paintings and hung the show. The show was called, Four Play.
I did a series of nude bodies outlined in oil stick on top of collaged tissue paper and vivid acrylic paint. The figures hold gestural poses, dancing for joy. I asked Scott to take pictures of me while I posed through the shower door with soap in my hair. This became a three painting series called, Shower Girl. I sold two paintings at this show. It was a great experience, because I didn’t have to step out there all by myself.
Later in 2004 I had another exhibition with my American artist friend on the island. Jenna is an oil painter who loves local island landscapes as subject matter. Jen also has a thing for rocks. She has been painting for many years and knows a lot about marketing. We met at the Red Shed, an arts collective on the island, and eventually plucked up the courage to do a two woman show. We wanted the exhibition to be unique, to reveal the underpinnings of art, and the process that the artist goes through. So we tried to meet somewhere around Palm Beach each week, to sit on a rock and talk about how our paintings were coming along, and take photos of whatever caught our eye. We also took photos of our paintings at different stages and wrote little messages to explain the evolution of the painting. We chose a few to post next to the paintings. The exhibition was titled, Palm Beach, More than meets the eye. We both sold a few paintings and added another feather to our artist caps.
It became apparent while I was building a body of work for the Palm Beach exhibition, that I was drawn to a particular format for my subject matter. While Jen focused on landscape, I preferred to zoom into study small sections of kelp, grass or oyster shells. I was drawn to layers, and enjoyed the act of trying to crop and simplify the shapes in charcoal before moving to the canvas.
Jen and I felt confident as a team, so we put in a proposal to the Waiheke Community Gallery for a joint exhibition titled: Renewal, to run the following February, 2005. I tried to distill the concept of renewal down to one single multifaceted concept: breath. Then I wrestled with how to paint breath. In and out breath was transposed into incoming and outgoing tide. I used my experience in yoga as a way to further apply breath to my renewal series. Breath in yoga gives energy so these paintings were kind of spiritual as well.
Jen collected interesting quotes that represented the flavor of renewal and printed them off on vinyl to run as a border beneath our paintings. They added a wonderful touch to our exhibition. We also charted our art processes that we both included as a visual journal for viewing at the opening.
No matter what, openings are always nerve racking. You feel a nagging insecurity that you won’t sell a painting and everyone else will, thus branding you a failure, never to work in this town again kind of thing. It causes histrionic behavior, this path to becoming an artist. Thank God for all the friends that showed up to support us. We were unknowns and not a big draw for gallery patrons looking to buy fine art, but there was a hand crafted furniture exhibition in the big gallery that drew a large crowd, so that helped to fill the place up on opening night.
These first few exhibitions taught me to follow my heart rather than what I thought people wanted to buy. When I started painting for me rather than potential buyers, my passion came through and people really did start buying my paintings. This was a struggle most the time because of how I perceived success. Jen and I talked a lot about these issues. It is very important to have a close person to trust with your art insecurities.
Each year I learned a little more about composition and that seemed to propel me further than anything. I began to work on a painting by turning it 45 degrees each time I worked on it. If the painting continued to have a strong composition from each turn’s view, I knew I couldn’t go wrong. I read many books as well.
Books that I read during the first few years of studying art:
To be continued…
