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The Best Laid Plans: 5 Things to Consider When Planning an Exhibit

1/27/2019

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Okay, so this is me writing about something I ought to be doing right about now (indeed, something I should’ve been doing late last year)—and God willing, I will be. But having done this more than a dozen times before, hopefully gives me enough to share on the subject of how to go about planning a set or a series of works, or for a show.

Again, I can really only speak from my own experience because I’m well aware that what works for one artist may not necessarily work for another. There’s no single, correct way when it comes to creation, I think (although red + yellow will never be green, I think, no matter how much of either you mix in).

Some people are averse to planning, and would much rather just ‘let it flow’. Me being the control freak I am, I tend to plan, not just because I’m a control freak but also because I have limited resources—time and energy being the most limited of all. So, I just like to try and make the most of them.

I do like to ‘figure things out when I get there’ while I’m working (because that’s… the fun part) and there are some things, I think, you really can’t pre-figure out, otherwise. But for me I do that sort of ‘on the fly’ stuff within a prepared structure. (Control freak, remember?) And also, there are other things you can’t plan, because, well, life happens.
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That said, here are five things to consider when planning for an exhibit or creating a series of works—at least, the things I’ve had to consider, in general.

1. What to paint


My last post pretty much covers the how-to-come-up part of this, and like I said in the post before last, whatever it is you decide to paint in the end, make sure it’s something you love. Something you truly believe in.

When working on a series of paintings (or sculptures or prints or mixed media pieces or installations or so on), you expend so much of yourself, you give so much of yourself. So you better make sure (or at least be sure enough) that what you’re about to kill yourself for is something you really truly want to bring into this world and share with other people.

Having exhausted the ideal, as Dumas put it, you must now come to terms with the actual. Consider the gallery, or the venue where your exhibit is to take place—or, where your work will ultimately call home. How many pieces are you making? How big are they? How much space will you need?

This works both ways, in that, you either find a gallery and then plan how many and how big, or you plan the number and the size first and then find a venue to suit your plans. Some people will tell you the latter is ideal, and how you shouldn’t let your resources interfere with your conceptualisation and planning process.

I totally agree with that, and I see the value of that line of thinking against the backdrop of how artists (should) have complete control over their ‘babies’. Personally, I think it’s quite natural to use and be ‘limited’ by the resources you have on hand, just like it’s natural for Philippine indigenous artists to use things like abaca and pandan.

As much as I’d very much like to work sky’s-the-limit style, I’ve often found I’ve had to work with what I had and to just do my best to, again, make the most of whatever that was, and that included the exhibition space.

And then again, it’s not just the space, but what the gallery will (for lack of a better word) allow you to do, or might ask you to do. Say, for instance, the gallery only takes oil paintings, or photographs, or tends to favour photo-realism or more ‘adventurous’ pieces.

So you can do one of two things: you can either find another gallery where you can totally do what you want, or try to work within the gallery’s parameters. It’s all about how far you’re willing to (didn’t want to have to use this word) compromise and what you can live with or whether you’ll be able to live with yourself as an artist, afterwards.​

In any case, these are things you might have to consider when planning your series. You know me, I’m all for planning—but I’m also for being flexible when necessary.
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2. How you’re painting


Medium and technique pretty much go hand-in-hand with figuring out what to paint—not necessarily, but it does happen pretty often, for me, anyway. Although it has happened where I’ll decide what I want to paint—a fish, let’s say (jillashorthand for ‘mermaid’), and then I’ll decide afterwards whether I want to do it in watercolour or something else.

But other things you might want to figure out before you get to the down and dirty includes things like how were you planning on working on your giant painting, say, in a tiny studio space? Don’t laugh, this was something I had to negotiate when I worked on this—​

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—at my desk—
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—which measures a little over two feet by a little less than four feet. Seriously, you save valuable time and effort figuring this out before you actually begin the work, instead of only figuring it out when you get there, you know?

Think about how you’ll keep your things handy, where and how you’ll store finished pieces prior to having them framed, let’s say, or at least before your ingress. Where you’re going to buy your things or get the materials or implements you need, or how you’re going to prepare your things for working on, and whether you’ll need help. Things like that.

Me, I like making lists; I often make thumbs, and sometimes studies. A lot of the time I ‘mentally rehearse’ how I’m going to, you know, do the deed—at least, as far as I am able.
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Mainly because I’m often short on time and I don’t have the luxury of ripping up my I-had-to-have-it-delivered-from-the-paper-importer paper and starting over if I didn’t like how it turned out. (Although I admit I have started certain things over if I hadn’t been satisfied with them even if I had been on the clock at the time.)

3. How much time you have


Aaand speaking of time, one major consideration for me, at least, when planning a series is how much time I have to make everything.

I was once told that six months is ‘standard’ for preparing for a show. I was also asked once how come I was always so stressed ‘cramming’ for a show—the person who asked thought that you basically just made stuff whenever you felt like it, and then when you had enough, went and had a show.

Well one thing I will say—if I had a show after I made stuff ‘whenever I felt like it’ I probably never would’ve had any, lol. And like I always say, Michelangelo didn’t do the Sistine Chapel ceiling in six months.

If you’ll allow me to digress, a little, I guess one ‘bad habit’ I picked up back at art school was learning to be driven by a deadline. That’s not to say I can’t make anything if I don’t have one, but boy is the going slow. And even before I went to art school I’d noticed that anything that was taking me too long to finish made me fidgety, somehow.

So as much as I hate to admit it, having deadlines does help.

In any case, however much time you have between the blessed day you were able to book your show (or decided to work on your series) and opening day (or the reasonable deadline you set yourself), it helps to plan.

Personally, what I do is count how many months, weeks, days I have, and how many hours I have in the day I can work on my stuff. When I’m in full-on ‘factory mode’ I need to paint about eight hours a day on top of my day job. If you ‘live a double life’ like I do, I do suggest you do your best to, you know. Plan to sleep sometimes. And eat, lol.

But knowing how much time you have to work will help you to plan what you’re going to do, too. Like if you only have so much time, you might want to think about the amount of detail you’re going to put, type thing. Or if you must have fine detail, try and see how you can give yourself as much time as possible.​

Like if you were doing 15 pieces, let’s say, you could maybe prime all your canvases or stretch all your paper beforehand. I know some people who work on multiple pieces at once, like maybe they do layering, and work on another piece while the first piece was drying, and then go back to the first one to add another layer. That kind of thing.

4. How much you’ll need to spend


Let’s face it: paint doesn’t grow on trees, and not all of us have a Medici in our corner to foot the bills. So obviously, if you’re a Mulligan without a Milo, you might want to find another way to gild your work (if you wanted to) if the literal method proves a tad steep.

But as steep as the expenses for materials are, they are unfortunately not the only things you’ll have to consider as you plan. There’s also framing (which for me usually costs significantly more than the cost of the paint), or the preparation (if you need it) of say, your pedestals or your monitors or whatever you might need to present your work.

That includes exhibit notes, captions, signage, posters, and so on that some galleries take care of for you and others expect you to take care of, yourself. By the way, be advised that some galleries or venues charge hanging fees and other fees such as those for use of the space.

Some galleries also require you to produce invitations, while some artists just like going the extra mile beyond digital to print hard-copy invites.  So there are those, plus whatever else you might spend on promotions or publicity for your show.

There’s also logistics: will you need a van or a truck to transport your work to and from your studio or the framer’s to the venue and back again? And finally, there’s whatever you might spend for your opening, if you have one, such as cocktails, documentation and entertainment.
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5. What you’ll do during your opening


That is, if you have one. You don’t have to have one but it’s generally expected, or done, so it’s a good idea to plan this, too. I mentioned promotions and cocktails, so, think about how you’re going to tell people about your show, and figure out what you’re going to do when they get there.

You’ll have to factor in the SOP of the gallery or the venue, e.g. some of them like to have ribbon-cutting and all that sort of thing. Some people like to have speeches and live musicians—me, I like to keep things very simple and just feed my guests (that way, if they didn’t like the paintings, they at least had something to eat, eheheh).

So, it might be nice if you did something during the opening that kind of ties in with the concept of your series, that is, if it’s at all possible. (Or even necessary—after all, we don’t want it to be overkill or anything.) Some artists do this; I guess for me there were a couple of times I’ve tried to prepare playlists to suit the mood of what was going on in the paintings.

But this is a nice-to-have, not a must-have, and is only a suggestion. What is not a suggestion and is probably one of the most important things to plan for most people is how much you’re going to sell your work for, if you plan on selling it at all. You gotta admit it's a good idea to plan this instead of coming up with a number on the spot if somebody should ask.

Indeed, most galleries or venues require you to have a price list. So one thing I didn’t mention in the things to consider in the ‘how much you’ll need to spend’ department is how much you might have to pay, say, an agent…the percentage that goes to the gallery varies between, well, galleries. In any case, it’s a good idea to plan for this, as well.


So much planning, desho? The thought has crossed my mind that exhibiting artists (exhibitionists? LOL) might make great event planners or coordinators. Unless, of course, they’re the lucky ones who have people to do the planning for them (or at least, everything that doesn’t have anything directly to do with the actual creation of the works).

In any case, if you happen to be reading this out of curiosity or don’t really plan on working on a series any time soon, I hope this has enabled you to appreciate, even a little, just how much work goes into putting on a show. It’s a lot more than just ‘getting inspired’ and ‘letting it flow’—at least, for me, it is.

So if there’s anything I can ever do (short of getting you a little Eiffel tower paperweight) in my humble capacity to help you plan for your own series, I’m here for you.

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Still can’t think of something to paint? Get thinking techniques here.

12/26/2018

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One of the gazillion nice things about art (or about people, if you like) is how no two artists (or people) think alike. It always used to amaze me back at art school how a bunch of people could be sitting in front of the same flowers or fruit or model and still come up with different things. Nobody ever painted or drew the subject in exactly the same way.

The thought process behind the production of art is different for everybody. There’s no, single, ‘correct’ way, if you will, to think of what to paint. In taking off from my previous entry on how reflecting on why you’re painting can help you come up with something to paint, this entry zeroes in on the actual how to think of something.

Like I said, even if you’re twins or very much in love, no two people are ever going to think exactly alike or conceptualise exactly the same painting. (Okay I take back the latter, as there may be grandfathered exceptions I am unaware of.)

So all I can offer here is how I go about it, in the hopes that it might give you some idea of how you could go about it, too. Especially if (continuing again from where my previous post left off), you’re doing No.13: You’re painting because you have a show.
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The Geek Interpreter


​Generally, I have two main methods of thinking up a painting which I use equally often, but if I were asked for like my main-est method, I would probably have to say Interpretation. This involves me interpreting or giving my own take on a concept or a narrative. In this approach, you’re taking off from (or playing with) what’s already there—even if it’s just one word.
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In the closest thing I have to an artist’s statement (which you can find elsewhere on this site), the single-word concepts I gave as examples were ‘hunger’ and ‘anger’. (Hmm, I don’t seem to have changed very much in the ten years that have passed since I wrote that statement, lol.) So, offhand, if I were to have interpreted ‘hunger’, I might have made something like this:

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Okay, so I didn’t exactly have ‘hunger’ in mind when I made that bug. Closer to home, I think, if I were to have interpreted ‘anger’, I might have made something (more) like this:
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​No excuse for this one, I’m afraid, save perhaps my relative youth-slash-inexperience, at the time. But I’m sure you get how interpretation works as a way to think of something to paint. Take a concept, a story, poem, song or a piece of music. Close your eyes and try to see what comes to mind when you hear it—when the words are read or spoken or as the music plays.

As you watch the images form before your mind’s eye, you might also want to consider the material aspect of your work (remember the ‘conceptual’ and ‘material’ aspects I told you about in my previous post?). What medium or techniques, or colours, lines, shapes, textures and so on would you use that would help you interpret the concept, story or whatever, better?

Other processes I’d lumped in under Interpretation include word play, cultural association and personal opinion. Word play has always been a thing for me (being a writer, I suppose), mainly (and probably only) because it’s fun. An example of this would be ‘The Seer’:
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​Facile, I know, but maybe some of you might have fun with the word play method, too. I also have the tendency to name or title my work this way, because some people have a little trouble thinking of titles for their work, as well. (Me, when I can’t think of anything or I really don’t want to call it anything I just put ‘Untitled’, lol.)

Cultural association is how something is visualised according to a specific culture—like how East and West have different ways of representing dragons. Personal opinion is pretty obvious, although some people might try interpreting other people’s opinions in their own work.

Extrapolate, then Create

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​The second of the two main ways I ‘think things up’ is Extrapolation—if Interpretation involves playing with what’s there, Extrapolation is all about playing with what isn’t there yet. To oversimplify the dictionary definition, if there’s an ABC, then DEF is likely to follow—the continuation of an existing trend.

In contrast to Interpretation, which is personal or subjective, Extrapolation, to me, takes a more ‘scientific’ or objective approach to conceptualisation. In my pseudo-artist’s statement (I really ought to make a proper one sometime), I explained this by saying ‘what would a monster look like based on its habitat or prey’. Take the wengalores in ‘Tessa’s Poem’, for instance:
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I think I came up with wengalores around the time I was working my last job at an ad agency-ad agency. (And if I remember it right, I named the species after what a co-worker called another one of our co-workers at the time.) I remember wondering what the people of a planet that was entirely covered by water would look like.

Even if this planet didn’t have dry land, it had these enormous trees growing out of the sea floor (or something). And I thought, some of these people would be more adapted for swimming, others for flying (depending on whether they lived in the roots or the branches).

So some wengalores had ‘wings’ that looked more like fins, while others had ‘wings’ with giant scales instead of feathers. Naturally, they would be covered with scales, have the requisite webbed hands, yadda yadda.

And that’s not hair on their heads, by the way, at least not as we know it. Under a microscope it would look a lot like the filmy fins or tails on long-tailed fish like goldfish (my bad, I’d paint hair the same way regardless anyway, hee).

In any case, even if you weren’t painting monsters, you might still be able to apply Extrapolation to your conceptualisation and/or production process by dint of its being the ‘continuation of a trend’. In other words, that logical thought process of what your subject could be or would look like based on what you have at hand.

Very simply, say for instance you were painting a house—depending on where the house was, it may or may not have a pool, a fence, window shutters or a tiled or a thatched roof. If it had a garden, you could extrapolate as to the kind of flowers it would have or, if it had a clothesline out back, the kind of clothes and linen that would be hanging from it.

I guess a fun way to use Extrapolation would be to counter the logic in a sort of ‘Anti-Extrapolation’ that doesn’t make sense. Like hanging a ball-and-chain, a crowbar or a monkey from that clothesline, or putting a dinosaur on top of the house instead of a roof for no good reason and making him wear a feather boa. ​
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Brand Old Map


Many people (myself included) find it helpful to write things down or to doodle when they think up paintings, with many of them keeping their scribbles in a journal of some sort. As trite as it is, it really is useful to keep a notebook or something to write things down in when a brainwave hits just to make doubly sure you remember it later.​

Some like to make like the Surrealists and write and doodle automatically, while others prefer a more structured or guided brainstorming process such as mind mapping. Branching out from a central theme or ‘striking leaf blades off of a stone core’, so to speak, can be particularly useful when you’re planning for a show.

This way, each branch (or stone knife or scraper) could represent an individual painting, and you can be sure that each work ties in with the others to form a cohesive or unified collection for your exhibit.

As an example, if I had made a mind map for 'Horselords' (because I hadn’t; I really only wrote things down), it might’ve looked something like this:

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In a way, you could say that in conceptualising for 'Horselords' I used both Interpretation and Extrapolation. I interpreted some of the traditions surrounding tikbalangs and I extrapolated what they might look like if certain species were combined with certain human body types.

So both methods aren’t mutually exclusive and may be mixed and matched—and guided, or directed somewhat using mind maps or some form or other of note-taking.

In any case, I hope this has helped to show you how you might decide on what to paint, if you should still be stuck after determining why—especially if the reason is a show of your own. If you’d like a few more pointers for planning an exhibit, keep your eyes peeled for next month’s post, or feel free to poke me and I’ll be happy to do what I can in my humble capacity to help.
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Don’t Know WHAT to Paint? Ask Yourself WHY.

11/29/2018

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Art is a mind game—so much of what happens when people make things takes place in their heads, even before any paint touches the paper or canvas. And like most things people can’t see, it’s much easier to look past them and to get caught up in the tangible.

A lot of people I’ve talked to over the years have said that they have trouble even just thinking of what to paint. And I’ve often replied that yes, thinking of what to paint is actually the hardest thing about the whole, thing—once you’ve gotten all that pesky ‘conceptualisation’ and planning out of the way, the rest is ‘just mechanics’.

(I mean of course it ISN’T, as ‘the mechanics’ are a whole different ballgame, but, you knew what I meant, I hope.)
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In any case, I’ve given the matter a fair amount of thought and I think it all boils down to answering one simple question.
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Why are you painting?


​Once you’ve answered the ‘why’, you’re well on your way to answering the ‘what’—even if you’re just ‘painting for fun’ or ‘for no good reason’.

Given that there are literally an infinite number of things you can paint, zeroing in on the reason behind your painting narrows the field considerably. To put it another way, it’s much like setting your objective, and then defining the steps you need to take it.

If you’re painting because you want to relax, for instance, then depending on your temperament, painting someone wearing a paper bag mask coming toward the viewer with a chainsaw is probably out the window.

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But before we take a look at some of the reasons why you might be painting, let’s get this out into the open.
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There are two sides, or aspects of art-making.


There’s the material and the conceptual.

The material focuses on the medium and the technique you use. Trompe l'oeil using, well, oil, for instance, or impasto using knives, or wet-on-wet and watercolour and so on. In other words, the material is all about how you paint and what you used.
The conceptual is the idea behind your painting—some people call it a theme, or what you want to express. In other words again, the concept is all about what you paint, or the subject.

So some artists choose or tend to focus on just one or the other aspect in their work, while some focus on both. Those that do both, for example, have an idea and then use the materials and techniques they think would best put that idea across.

Both aspects aren’t necessarily, mutually exclusive and for me, there’s no hard-and-fast rule that says you need to do one or both. Artists are people and no two people are ever the same, so what you focus on in your work is really up to you.
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​Now let’s take a look at some of the reasons why you might be painting.


​Hopefully, in so doing, it may help you ‘think of what to paint’.
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1. You’re painting because you want to relax.


​Apart from choosing a relaxing subject, think about what medium or technique you enjoy using. In fact, you don’t even have to choose a subject—you could just focus on playing around with the medium and your tools and make something non-representational (what most people call ‘abstract’).

You might also want to consider your expected output, as some people get stressed out when their painting doesn’t come out the way they expected it to—in which case, paint something you know you’re going to enjoy making and hopefully love, afterwards.

2. You’re painting because you want to have something to hang in your living room.


​Or any room in your house, for that matter. I guess the easiest way to think of something to paint for this reason is to paint something that either complements your interiors or provides contrast in terms of colour or theme.

If your bedroom comes in shades of blue and grey, for instance, you might paint a seascape, which could look nice in blue and grey, or a still life featuring a dish of oranges, or an orange kitty.

3. You’re painting because you want to give someone a present.


Giving someone something you painted expressly for him is a lot like giving him a sweater you knitted or a cake you baked. I guess the main thing people worry about is ‘will he like it?’ Well, the answer to that entirely depends on how well you know the intended recipient.
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But as you select a subject based on what this person likes, you might also want to keep it simple, as what you end up choosing may also depend on how much time you have to complete the painting. If you know this person likes classical music, for instance, you don’t have to paint an entire orchestra. ​

4. You’re painting because you wish you could give someone a present.


By this, I mean painting because you’re thinking of someone, for whatever reason. While portraiture might be the obvious choice for this and the preceding reason, who knows? The person in question might actually not be fond of or be uncomfortable with having pictures of himself about, or maybe portraiture just isn’t your thing.

In which case you might paint something that reminds you of this person or is symbolic or representative of this person—maybe in terms of personality instead of (or not just) any physical characteristics.
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5. You’re painting because you want to show off.


Let’s be honest—some of us paint because we’re proud of what we’re able to achieve through our skill, whether it’s inborn or developed or both. Nothing wrong with that, I say, and in a way, I think, every time we make something we ‘show off’ to some extent. In fact, I’d even encourage this if it means pushing yourself to do better every time.

In which case, I recommend zeroing on one skill and then choosing a subject that would be best rendered through its use. For instance, if you’re very good at fine detail, then you might choose something with individual hairs—that kind of thing. Of course, you could highlight two or more skills but that would mean more work, which is perfectly fine if you’re up to it.
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6. You’re painting because you’re fascinated by painting.


While No. 5 is fixated on the ‘how you paint’, this reason emphasises the ‘what you used’. Some of us are transfixed by the materiality or the very nature of their medium, or by individual elements such as colour, texture or line. If you’re one of these artists, then you might choose a subject that best showcases the characteristics of the element or medium you’re exploring.

Incidentally, this is one of the reasons behind the creation of non-representational work, because people tend to look at what is represented instead of the medium or elements if the work represents something. For example, most people would look at the apple in a painting of an apple, instead of the colour red. ​

7. You’re painting because you’re paid to.


Usually when we get commissions we’re already told what to paint. There are times, however, when the instructions can be a little vague—which can be a good thing because that gives us more room for, well, putting in more of ourselves and less of the person who’s doing the commissioning. ​

In this case, let the parameters given you by the ‘commissioner’ help you figure out your subject. If you’re still having trouble, try asking this person for more details—which can also be a good thing because that will help to make sure you’ll be giving this person what he wants. For example, “Paint me some flowers”. “What colour? How about gardenias?”
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8. You’re painting because you’d like to get paid to. ​


By this, I mean a portfolio, in which case, see No. 5—because this is where you show people, who could potentially commission you for a piece, what you can do. It’s a good idea to paint things you see yourself painting for others on a regular basis, i.e. if you killed yourself making that 10-foot portrait of Godzilla that one time, then you may want to think twice.​

If you should ever be asked to paint a sort of ‘audition piece’ (i.e. we’re picking someone out to illustrate our book)—try to get all the details you can to help you choose or plan your subject. (And boost your chances of getting the job.) That said, might I suggest that some things (such as being true to yourself as an artist) might be more important than landing a commission.
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9. You’re painting because you paid somebody.

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This time, I mean painting in an art class (where you paid somebody to teach you how to paint).  Sometimes you don’t have a whole lot of time to think of something to paint when you really only found out what you were going to do when you got there. And your teacher is the liberal kind who likes to give students the freedom to choose their own subject. (*Points to self*)

One way to speed up the subject selection process is to think about what you like to paint most and then try to find a way to relate it to the lesson at hand. For example, no matter what, I like painting horses. I could paint them all day, every day. Today’s lesson is pointillism, so I’ll paint a horse using that. But a horse is too big, I’ll never finish today. So I’ll only paint his head.
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10. You’re painting because you have something to say. ​


Remember the conceptual aspect of making art? This would be it. Lots of artists have ‘something to say’ or very strong feelings or opinions about things, and use their art to express it. Or, they use their art to tell a story. If you’re one of these artists and you’re having a little trouble thinking of something to paint that will ‘say’ all these things for you, here’s a tiny hack.


Write down (as in, in words) what it is you want to say; if it’s a story you want to tell, write that down too, in sequence. I’m not asking you to write a three-part miniseries, I’m talking short, simple sentences. Then depending on how many pieces you have planned, choose the most salient part/s of your story or concept, and then choose something that symbolises them.
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11. You’re painting because you have something to vent.


Much like relaxing, or reason No. 1, a lot of people also use art as a means of catharsis—which is probably a lot better than picking fights or smashing crockery. Letting your feelings out into painting can result in, well, paintings that pack a powerful visual punch.

I’ve always said that drawing upon personal experience when you paint (or write or play) gives it oomph that purely technical works may not be able to convey. Apart from the subject, try placing more emphasis on elements such as line, colour and texture (see our old friends, the Expressionists), as well as technique such as gestural painting, spattering or impasto.
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12. You’re painting because you’re joining a group show. ​


In a way, this is much like Nos. 7, 8 and 9, where the rules of the game aren’t entirely your own (even though in a perfect world, I think, they ought to be). The trick is to be able to balance who you are and what you want while being able to play nicely with others. If there is a theme, try to choose a subject that doesn’t deviate from it too much (‘play nicely’, remember?).


It does happen, however, that the show is one you just can’t not join, but the work just isn’t what you would normally do. In that case, refer to No. 9, and see if you can find a way to relate what you usually do to the theme or the prevailing technique if it’s something you’re into. Again, the important thing (to me, anyway) is to remain true to your own artistic values. ​
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But what if you’re painting because you're having your own show? ​


And what if you really do know why you’re painting, but still can’t think of anything, anyway? I’ll answer those in my next post. Because the truth of the matter is there is no one-size-fits-all reply to ‘What should I paint?’; if I told you ‘go paint a hammerhead shark’ and you hated the sea (or sharks)… In which case I’d be happy to help you toss ideas around if you’d like.

But no matter what subject, concept or material you choose, make sure you paint something you love (or at least like a whole lot). Even if it’s meant for relaxing, art involves a lot of time and effort—why expend it painting something you hate? ​
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Why You Might Choose the Path of an Artist

10/28/2018

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​Call it mid-life crisis, I suppose. As I write this, I’m in the middle of a forcible removal of myself from, well, everything, going on at the moment, which has given me a little time to think about where I am, where I’ve been and where I’m going next.
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And seeing that this is what I project to be the first in a series of, ‘scribbles’ for anybody who might be interested in my work, or might be into (or planning to get into) art as a career (or as something to do because bungee-jumping wasn’t exactly their thing), well, I thought I might do a little ‘scribbling out loud’ on the subject.

I mean about why anybody might choose to do what a lot of people consider quite useless or impractical or just plain weird. Why anybody might choose to do something that doesn’t always lead to fame or fortune (although when it does, boy does it ever) and has most everyone you know looking at you funny because you don’t go to work in a high-rise in a suit.

Nobody likes to be looked at funny (well, generally, anyway), and I reckon everybody likes to be, well, accepted and to have people have a good opinion of them. “Oh, he’s got a good job” or “Oh, he’s vice president now” or “Oh, she’s got a lovely three-year-old.” People who do what I do don’t always get that.

More often than not, we don’t, and derision (polite or otherwise) is just something we have to live with (unless you’re one of us who hits the big time and buys a car or a condo with every painting sold). So why do we. Why would you? Are we masochists? Maybe.​

I guess the only way I can answer this, really, is to answer from my own experience. ​

Which would actually begin with the fact that I never really wanted to do this as a career, really, to begin with. I mean, when I was a kid and they asked you “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I never said “a painter”. I remember saying “architect” (or “carpenter”, even).

As a high school senior, I remember wanting to be a copywriter, like in an ad agency. Seriously. I have this vague memory of some chick who used to work at an agency describing what it was like to write commercials or something (I have this even vaguer memory of it being for shampoo), and I remember thinking to myself, hey, I’d like to do that.

But even I had the idea at that age of not being able to make a decent living if I had painting for a job.

While I hadn’t taken the talent test to get into uni I remember I did pass the entrance exam as an art major—but one of the reasons I ended up going where I went the first time round was because I reckoned I wouldn’t be able to get a ‘real job’ after graduation if I went in for painting.​

Yet, I spent the first couple years or so making jokes to the effect that I was actually enrolled over at the uni where the art was, and spending my time taking figure-drawing classes at the gallery I’d been taking lessons at the time, and unsuccessfully (and quite naively) joining student art competitions.
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And I just kept taking and taking classes. ​

Even when I already was working at an ad agency as a copywriter, all my money was going to paint and to art classes (and the gas to get there). I really can’t seem to pinpoint when I decided I wanted to DO this. Maybe it was around then. I just couldn’t help myself. And I knew I wanted to go back and get my art degree (as in ‘fine’, not ‘communication’, lol).

And I did. I knew that if I did that, I would lose the relatively okay copywriter’s paycheque I had, and that it might be difficult to go back to agency work once I’d left. (I’d always had a sixth sense that way.) But I did it anyway.

I remember asking my creative director whether he’d allow me to go to school and work at the same time (because I knew this other chick who was doing market research or some such was doing just that), but he said no. But I was happy to take the plunge.

I admit things went to shite right after I made that decision—money was tight at home and even if I had been working a regular job up until then it’s not like I was helping out, but Mom and Dad let me carry on, anyway (thank you, Mom and Dad). I remember at one point I was working six jobs (including the radio station) on top of school, but it all worked out somehow.

And I was happy, more or less. (More like less? Lol) The upshot of it being I was doing what I wanted to do. Which was to paint things. Make my own pictures. Learning (or trying to learn) how to make them better. More believable.

I wanted to make my monsters come alive—I figured, the more ‘real’ I could make them the more I could get people to believe they were real—or something like that, anyway. I don’t know if I’ve succeeded since then, lol.

When, as I’d predicted, I had a hard time getting back into the workforce after I got out of art school, it was the art that kept me going. One thing led to another and I finally got my first show at the tender age of 30, LOL.

I remember at least one person thinking I was ‘very brave’ (i.e. you’ve got some nerve showing junk like that in public), but even now I knew I wasn’t quite ready at the time. Even now I don’t know that I am.
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All I know is that when I don’t make ‘junk’, I’m not, happy. ​

I mean I’m not, ‘happy’, but I’m even more ‘not happy’ when I’m not making anything. I really don’t know why that is.

I mean, I’m exhausted? It’s always galled me how most people seem to think I just sit around all day doing nothing (more so now since I work from home), although the older I’ve gotten the less I’ve come to care. (Really.)

And yet this year, the year I finally took that supposed year-long break -away- from making things, here’s me about to attempt to crank out a few more canvases in time for December. I’m as tired as I’ve ever been, but at least that, gnawing (for lack of a better word at present) I have in the back of wherever has quietened down, somewhat.

Deep, deep down I guess I knew this would happen, which was why I kept putting off this “year off” for a couple or so years  (I’m not quite sure when I started to want to take it). But now that I -have- actually tried to take a year off to just recuperate, I know now that for people like me, perhaps, it’s just not possible.

I guess you could say it’s like being a mermaid, or a centaur. Running around like a horse is making the centaur as tired AF, so he thinks he’ll take a break for a while and -not run-, and spend the break focusing on his man-part, instead.

But see, he really is half-horse by nature, and before the year is up, even though he hasn’t quite recovered from more than 10 years of living both as a horse AND a man, he’s ‘back in the saddle’ again.

He can’t help it. It’s his nature. He’s really built that way. You can’t separate the man and the horse, and if you did he would probably die—like chopping conjoined twins apart when they’re sharing major organs. He can’t stop running around, it’s what he is. He just HAS to do it.

So I guess that would be like, the reason (or ‘a’ reason or at least MY reason) for choosing, of your own free will, to put up with “Oh why don’t you get a ‘real’ job” or “What’s the point? You’re not making money doing that” and so on and so forth.

Choosing to burn the candle at both ends because art demands a 100% commitment the same as any day job, whether you work from home or not. Choosing to sacrifice your time, your well-being, your resources and possibly any relationships you might have to Daemon and to your Muse, allowing them to drive you like a whipped nag on her last legs.

It’s because you WANT to do it. You -have- to do it. To just do it because if you don’t, you just… it just doesn’t feel right. Something is missing. ​

Sure, you’ll probably sleep more and you’ll have more money (because you didn’t spend it on framing or new knives), but I think what you end up doing with all that extra energy and resources is to just keep on running from who (or what) you really are.
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And doesn’t running make you tired, anyway?

And while you’re running, you have all these new images, these new monsters—popping up in your head and since my own head is not very big (my brains, I mean, anyway, lol), it soon becomes crowded and the monsters start scratching at the walls or trying to bust holes into them, clamouring to be let OUT. Geez, what a racket, lol.

You have to let them out, or you will go crazy. It’s not the kind of noise you can shut out with a pair of noise-reduction earphones. I’d always understood that it wasn’t healthy to keep things that demand to be let out, in, because if you did you got sick. (Not that I’ve ever been particularly concerned with being healthy, anyway.)

You know, it’s like I always say—​there’s no such thing as a perfect job. Or career. Or calling or whatever you want to call it. Like this lady said on this self-help show I used to watch, every job has a sh-t sandwich—but if you love what you’re doing THAT much, you won’t mind eating it. If you do, then it might be time to find a new job. Or Something to do.

I forget right now who said this (I’m pretty sure I heard it during one of those Van Gogh films) that you need to give your whole heart and soul to art, if you’re going to do it. I know I heard in this anime movie I must’ve seen a gazillion times that you shouldn’t get into the martial arts unless you’re willing to go all the way. Martial arts = still art.

I’m not sure feelings are enough? Because feelings change. I don’t know what it is, but I do know it must be more than that. But whatever it is, it’s THAT that will drive you to choose this less-travelled path, and make it possible for you to continue on it, although, more and more people do seem to be following it these days, and I say, good for them!

If you’re one of them, to you, I say, good luck, Godspeed, and however hard things get (because they will get hard), keep going. And if you can’t, ask yourself why you’re on this path in the first place. And if you need help figuring that out, for what it’s worth, I’m here.

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    I don't purport to know everything. Yet if the little I do know can be of any help, you are more than welcome to it.

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