"The most important thing in art is the frame. For
painting: literally; for other arts: figuratively - because, without this
humble appliance, you can't know where The Art stops and The Real World begins.
You have to put a "box" around it because otherwise, what is that
shit on the wall?" — Frank Zappa
I think that I think more of my paintings than I
should. Not all of them and not all of
the time, of course, but every so often, I really enjoy something about
something I did. Actually, much of the
time it’s on accident. A certain theme
or statement might emerge from a painting after the fact, making itself
apparent while completed and leaning against the wall, rather than from some
stroke of genius while staring at blank canvas.
I know they’re just paintings, but I love when they begin to represent more
than I had planned. I love when a larger
idea is realized with a simple image, especially when it’s something new for me
to think about, stumbled upon accidently.
Most of the time though, the excitement I find when convincing myself I’m doing something “artful” is immediately subdued
by my acknowledgement that it was inadvertent.
It’s like blindly throwing a bunch of spices in a pot and accidentally
creating the best soup you’ve ever tasted, just to disappoint yourself when you
realize you’ll never know your own recipe.
Anyhow, regardless of how a
painting becomes special to me, it’s always a struggle to share that “specialness”
with others. The fact of the matter is,
no matter how important a subject is to me, I have to assume that no one else
will see anything other than colored marks on a canvas. That’s not to say that I’m creating “art”
beyond anyone’s intellect…it’s most definitely the opposite, but why should
someone have to invest any energy at all when looking at a painting. If it’s a non-artist, it’s “Does it look real
or not?” For another painter, it’s “Does
it look harmonious? Is it a good
composition? Does it look like another
artist I respect?” For a few, it might
be a question of “Is it weird enough? Is
it expressive enough? Is it ‘modern’
enough?” Whatever the case, it’s a
decision that can be made at a glance, with a lot of subjectivity, and usually,
at the artist’s expense. My paintings
look like a lot of other paintings, so any argument of the contrary would be
fruitless. And I assume the artists of
those other paintings have the same struggle.
We’re all screaming about something with our work, and right in the ear
of all who can hear…we just can’t force a person to listen.
It must be a constant struggle of
finding your voice, whether with purpose or accidentally, stumbling upon
someone willing to hear you out, and then choosing to hold your tongue. I could explain what a painting means, but I
don’t think anyone is really listening, and if they are, they’ve already made
up their mind one way or another. Maybe,
as much as I find I’ve said in a painting, even if I’m saying it to myself, the
real art is in hearing what a few exceptional viewers believe I’m saying to
them. Or, something like that.
I’ve really fallen in love with
Frank Zappa as of late. His dedication
to his music, audacity in the face of hypocrisy and narrow-mindedness, and
brutal honesty with everything and everyone has stirred up all sorts of
admiration from me. This post’s opening
quote got me thinking…if everything on the wall is already framed, how do you
ensure that your contribution still stands out amongst all of the shit? Does acknowledging that a thing was created
according to an individual’s own definition of art actually make it artful for
all those who see it? Is art just a
product of a person calling his or herself an artist? How many answers can you come up with? If there’s anything I’m relatively sure of,
it’s that none of it matters anyway.
