Dropping the C bomb...

When I hear the term Community Art, I find it difficult not to think of kids painting ugly murals, sewing circles putting their work in a glass cabinet, and dare I say it, occupational therapy.  Not cool, I hear you say, but I’m afraid that’s the stigma community art has.

 

The interaction between communities and the arts is really important, and just recently I’ve come to realise that things have changed since I developed my (frankly) narrow-minded view on what Community Art is.  The root of my old beliefs is an issue of language which brings with it a social divide: Art versus art.  (Capital) Art people believe that (lower case) art people are quaint because they try so hard to make pretty pictures but have no idea of the complex nature of ‘real’ art, and find it irritating that everyone gets to say they're an artist because they once participated in a weekend workshop.  (Lower case) art people believe that (capital) Art people are elitist wankers who think that if your art isn’t publicly acknowledged or in a huge gallery it’s rubbish, and will defend even the ugliest, ‘least artistic’ turd in a gallery saying that it’s an important piece of art history.  No prizes for guessing which camp I call home...

 

But now I’m slightly older and (hopefully) wiser, I can see that these things aren’t so black and white.  The community groups that get together to paint a mural, or to take part in a workshop, or use artistic activities to work through an issue or even just to be sociable, are engaged in what I can see as one of three categories of Community Art: Arts-based community activities.  And while these activities aren’t high art in any sense, they do serve a purpose in the community, and they do expose artistic thinking and processes to a very wide audience.  Not my cup of tea, but who made me the king of everything artsy, right?

 

Building a community of artists is another of my categories of Community Art.  This is something that’s vital in developing the arts in any wide community.  Artists need to be in communication with other artists to stay connected with the world around them and to continue their practice in any meaningful way.  This happens in heaps of different ways, but I don’t think they’re always recognised as a community of artists because they’re not structured networking systems like clubs or organisations.  Quite a lot of the time it’s really about socialising at arts events and getting to know the other artists in your local area.  Schmoozing around and keeping your ear to the ground is how you participate in these communities.  Having said that, clubs, groups, and organisations do make it easier to be a part of an artistic community, for example the amazing job Creative Capricorn do in my local area in connecting artists and facilitating projects.  Networking has become even easier now with the use of social media like Facebook, where artists can meet up, spread word of shows and projects, and post and comment on each other’s work.

 

Although these first two categories of Community Art are great, this is where I think things are getting exciting.  Community-focussed arts.  This is where arts organisations use their core business of producing and promoting the arts to develop social interaction and positive community values.  I’ve come across two fantastic examples of this in recent times that really exemplify the idea of community-focussed arts.  The first is my local gallery (the Rockhampton Art Gallery) which has recently changed the way it manages its shows, and begun to involve the wider community to a greater extent.  It’s started to hold exhibitions which are aimed more towards the traditionally ‘un-artsy’ people, in particular exhibitions highlighting local sporting heroes (including one specifically about rugby league) and a fashion-based show.  They’ve also started showing works which may have been considered a little risqué for a regional gallery, making the gallery a bit more cutting edge and appealing to a younger crowd.

 

A call went out from the gallery to help purchase a Ben Quilty painting via donations.  This isn’t a new concept by any stretch of the imagination, but the call promised to make contributors of over $500 an official Donor.  This is almost communal ownership of a piece of contemporary art!  My only real issue is of the $500 threshold.  Why not acknowledge everyone who donates?  Someone may not be able to afford to drop that much cash, but could maybe scrape together five or ten bucks for the cause.  Personally, I’d love to see the painting exhibited right next to all of the names of those who donated.  They could even be arranged with different text sizes to represent the size of the contribution, but imagine seeing your name (no matter how small) next to a fabulous painting that your dollars helped to buy.  Now that’s community engagement!  But I digress... all of these measures have begun to make the gallery a central part of the community, not just a space for art weirdoes and oldies to spend their time.  The art has begun to shape and build the community around it.

 

The other amazing example of community-focussed arts is an initiative in Toowoomba called TheGrid.  This is a space that houses well over ten different artistic enterprises in the one building.  Again, not a new concept, but it’s the spirit in which it is run that makes all the difference.  It blows away the old ideas of an arts centre that’s hidden away from the world, known only to a special few; it’s inviting and exciting and inspiring.  But best of all, it’s not an ‘everyone gets to put their painting up’ type of space.  It’s serious (capital) Art, but specifically aimed at engaging whole communities.  It has a gallery, creative writing programs, dance spaces and programs, retail spaces, and even film makers.  You can’t just rock up and have your turn at being an artist, but if you have skill or dedication or talent or even just a vague interest, you can become involved and mingle and share and explore, and with any luck build up the community using your own skill set.  Creativity and community engagement are the twin backbones at TheGrid.  It’s a prime example of how the arts can be community driven, but not watered down.

 

Turns out that I’ve always been quite passionate about Community Art, I just didn’t quite understand the whole spectrum of the term.  The notion that I have this blog at all is testament to that fact.  I do believe that everyone should engage in the arts, and I love the idea of the community being truly involved in arts organisations and events.  I just hope I don’t visibly cringe the next time I see an ‘art exhibition’ of first-time crochet workshop participants.

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http://creativecapricorn.com.au/

https://www.facebook.com/theGRIDhybridARTScollective

https://www.facebook.com/artgalleryrockhampton

https://www.facebook.com/groups/230133613696489/ (Contemporary Artists of Rockhampton)

 

Sam Jinks: Body in Time: Rockhampton Art Gallery

 

Generally, being reminded of your impending death is a pretty depressing event.  You don’t expect to leave a reminder of your oblivion with a warm, serene, and comfortable sense of calm.  However, this is what you get when you visit Sam Jinks: Body in Time, currently on show at the Rockhampton Art Gallery. 

I was lucky enough to meet with Sam as the exhibition was getting its final touches before the opening.  Our conversation meandered, covering a multitude of topics, and it became clear that the gentle, human touch emanating from his exquisite sculptures are a product of the artist’s contemplative and focussed nature.  The thing that surprised me most from our discussion was the fact that he does not consider his work hyper-realistic, even though the overwhelming majority of the descriptions of his art place it in that category.  He went on to explain that although he was capable of it and has done so in a past life working in the film industry, he doesn’t feel that he needs to ‘take it to the nth degree’ to allow the works to have the level of impact they require.  Amazing, considering that, to me at least, the works look like they could open their eyes at any moment.

As you enter the room, you’re drawn to the large, anatomic exploration of the artist’s face on the far wall titled Calcium Divide (2011), and before you know it, you’re surrounded by bodies, whole and in fragments.  None of them seem overly gruesome or off-putting, due to their unnatural scale, either too big or too small to be actual human parts.  And even the more visceral portions of bodies don’t feel like viewing a corpse.  The room has both a cool, scientific feel, and genuine, human warmth to it. 

The level of detail and care taken to make these works look like realistic representations of people is awe inspiring.  ‘Organised imperfection’ is the term Jinks himself used when describing the complexity and beauty of the human form.  It also became clear throughout our meeting that producing and presenting these works is almost a compulsion for him.  That it can provide a certain catharsis through completion.  This need to make bodily objects to meet his exacting, analytical standards comes through to the viewer in a way that makes you alert, but not alarmed.

When you scan the room you realise that you’re surrounded by slices of life, literally and metaphorically.  Pre-birth all the way through to acceptance of mortality, and death itself is present in the room at once.  Most of the works are presented in a way so that you are at matching eye levels, making the experience very intimate.  We’re used to seeing diagrammatic life cycles of frogs and butterflies, but to be physically surrounded by a human life cycle is a very humbling experience. 

Strangely, these works don’t seem to dredge up massive emotional responses, something that is intentional on the part of the artist who said, ‘I’m not trying to tug at people’s heartstrings’.  His making process of trials and tests of materials and effects, coupled with the clean, almost taxidermy-style presentation of the works actively reduces the emotive response, leaving you with serene, contemplative feelings of appreciating our short but beautiful existence. 

We all know that each visitor to the exhibition will approach and read the works in their own way, but I’m quite sure the joy of life, the spectre of death, and awe at technical brilliance will be present in a vast majority of those readings.

Sam Jinks: Body in Time is on exhibition at the Rockhampton Art Gallery from 24 November to 27 January 2013

 

Walter's Ghost

This is the blurb I wrote to be presented at the unveiling of an installation work of mine, titled Walter's Ghost, that will be on permanent display at the Walter Reid Cultural Centre in Rockhampton.  It was very capably read by Rod Ainsworth, the Creative Director of Creative Capricorn, as I was unable to attend the event. 

In addition to thanking Creative Capricorn, and the Rockhampton Regional Council for commissioning this work, I’d like to thank Shane Burgess for his fantastic cabinetmaking skills, Rockhampton Trophy Centre for all their help with the laser cut stencils, and Kontraband in Toowoomba for their advice on spray nozzles and paint.  Without these people, this artwork would not have come about.

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Ken Leslie

Walter's Ghost, 2012

Mixed Media

300 x 300 x 600mm (30 pieces)

 

This artwork is unique for me.  Firstly, because installation art is unfamiliar territory for me, and also because a commissioned work has the added complexity of having to fit a vision of other people, not just satisfying my own musings.  Something I’m dreadfully unaccustomed to.  I did, however, very much enjoy the challenge, and ended up creating a flexible installation piece titled ‘Walter’s Ghost’ consisting of 30 plywood boxes, each labeled with a Walter Reid and Company Limited logo from one of three different eras of its existence.  The dimensions of the boxes have significance.  Each is 300 x 300 x 600 mm, the size of an early liquor or wine carton, the major trade of Walter Reid and Co.  The work has been designed to be an echo of the past of the building.  Originally built as a warehouse by Walter Reid around 1900, it has been used as an arts centre since 1977[1], and with each passing year, and each refurbishment, the original purpose and life of the building fades a little more.  My aim is to hint at a trace of the past, to recognise, remember, and celebrate Walter Reid, without whom, we wouldn’t have this amazing building at all.

The Oxford dictionary defines the word ‘ghost’ as ‘an apparition of a dead person which is believed to appear or become manifest to the living’[2].  In other words, it’s a spirit that straddles two plains of existence; not really here, and not really there.  My work does exactly that.  It defines several opposing realms, but doesn’t quite fit into any of them.

The work is obviously a product of modern manufacturing methods; each box is made of 12mm plywood, glued and nailed using a nail gun, yet each one bears the insignia of a company long since closed.  They’re neither modern nor vintage.

Two of the three images are taken from actual company logos, and the other is in the style of pre-20^th Century packaging.  On close inspection, you’ll notice that they’ve been applied to the crates using spray paint and stencils, another very modern technique.  They’re neither replicas nor remixes.

The boxes are empty, with no access points for opening.  They will never hold cargo, but have been made a specific size for the transportation of specific goods.  They’re neither useful nor useless.

The crates are made of purely functional, industrial materials, just as they would have been had they been made for transportation purposes.  No effort was made to hide that fact.  But they highlight the beauty of the natural materials, and echo the beauty of the industrial surroundings.  They’re neither functional nor decorative.

The stack of crates (however it’s arranged) will blend into its post-industrial surrounds.  Maybe it’s relics found in the basement, maybe it’s a delivery waiting to be sorted, maybe it’s a historical display, maybe it’s a place to put your drink, maybe it’s an artwork.  They’re neither on display nor part of the environment.

This is a substantial list of what this artwork isn’t!  What it is, and will continue to be, is the spectre of a man who altered the social and physical environment of this region, and a reminder that his actions are still benefiting us today.

 

   

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[1] Gistitin, C. (2004) The Walter Reid Community Arts Centre. [pdf] Museum & Gallery Services Queensland. p.1-3 http://www.magsq.com.au/_dbase_upl/gistitinc.pdf [Accessed: 28-10-2012].

[2] Definition of ghost - mythical being, small amount and visual phenomenon. 2012. Definition of ghost - mythical being, small amount and visual phenomenon. [ONLINE] Available at: http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/english/ghost?q=ghost. [Accessed 27 October 2012].

‘The Moderns: Highlights from the Queensland Art Gallery Collection’: Rockhampton Art Gallery

People often say they don’t like modern art.  More often than not, I’d say those people don’t particularly appreciate contemporary art, and would actually enjoy Modern art.  This theory is best tested with a visit to the Rockhampton Art Gallery to see the current touring exhibition titled ‘The Moderns: Highlights from the Queensland Art Gallery Collection’

Modernism is a pretty big term, it refers to a Twentieth Century trend to ignore the strict art rules developed since Classical times, and to develop new approaches to art, in particular to painting.[1]  Artists started to use colours to express emotion and atmosphere instead of pure realism, it didn’t matter that brushstrokes were visible or that objects in the painting were reduced to block colours, and inspiration started coming from new places like technological advancement or even the subconscious mind.   It all sounds like very forward-thinking European-artsy kind of stuff, but here in Australia, artists were producing some of the finest examples of Modern art in the world.

As you enter ‘The Moderns’, it seems like a very traditional showing of paintings, but on closer inspection of each work, you see that they’re all excellent examples of how this radical thinking at the start of the last century was expressed in art.  The range of different styles in this show is quite impressive; from portraiture and landscapes to highly abstracted and composition-based paintings, and each one a home-grown piece that rivals the best hanging in the best galleries and museums around the world.  Some of the works are seldom seen outside the QAG, like William Dobell’s The Cypriot 1940, and also include some very well known names of Australian art, such as Peter Purves Smith, Margaret Preston, and Russell Drysdale.

A particular highlight, even from a show billed as a highlights collection, is William Dargie’s Portrait of Albert Namatjira 1956.  This Archibald Prize winner[2] is an astounding example of Modernist portraiture.  It shows Namatjira sitting before a fairly nondescript background, staring into middle distance.  He doesn’t look happy, or sad, or bored; he looks regal surveying all that it his (including us, the viewers), yet he’s in everyday clothes looking, presumably, like he did every day.  It shows a man who was a cultural leader, not only in the art world, but also for Indigenous society.  But this is where the ‘Modern’ part comes in.  It’s obviously a well composed and executed painting (a real credit to Dargie), but the fact that you can clearly see every brushstroke, and that it looks like it was painted quite quickly using modern materials gives us the impression that the spirit of Albert Namatjira could not have been captured in any other way, not matter how hard or quickly you tried.  This is a Modern masterpiece.

‘The Moderns: Highlights from the Queensland Art Gallery Collection’ is an important exhibition.  It shows us the strength and might of Australian artists from a period generally dominated by the greats of Europe and America.  It is a real treat for both the art enthusiast and the uninitiated alike, and opportunity not to be missed.

 

‘The Moderns: Highlights from the Queensland Art Gallery Collection’ is on exhibition at the Rockhampton Art Gallery from 5 October to 18 November 2012.  It is a touring exhibition from The Queensland Art Gallery | Gallery of Modern Art.

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[1] Newall, D. (2008) Appreciating Art: An expert companion. Camberwell: Viking, p.155 - 157.

[2] Artgallery.nsw.gov.au (1956) Archibald Prize finalists 1956 :: Art Gallery NSW. [online] Available at: http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/prizes/archibald/1956/ [Accessed: 20 Oct 2012].

... in living colour!

This is the recording of my presentation at the September Walter's Lounge event in Rockhampton. The Keppel Coast Arts Council host a monthly event at the Walter Reid Cultural Centre featuring local musicians and artists. I delivered this presentation as a kind of introductory session on viewing contemporary art. It covers and combines some of the things I've already mentioned here on WAILAT?, but also adds some handy guidelines into the mix, with the added bonus of actually hearing and seeing me say it all! If you don't really want to listen to me speak, or you can read faster than I can speak, I've also added roughly what I said (minus the examples of artworks) as text below.

This was filmed and edited by a pal of mine, Terry Wreghitt. He's a short film maker. You should check him out. But be warned, the two films hosted here do feature me. http://vimeo.com/user1765006

Enjoy!

 

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I have a big question for you...

Who is the audience for contemporary art? The answer: Everyone. My evidence for this is that galleries are generally free to visit and you don’t need a secret password or a key to get in, it’s not a secret society. If you’re one of the people out there who might like to visit an art gallery, you should feel like you belong there, that your opinions on what you’re looking at are valid and worthwhile. The big problem is that many people don’t feel like they have the right to comment on art, especially if it’s only an occasional visit, or if they’ve been dragged there by some well-meaning relative.

I believe that there are many hidden barriers stopping people enjoying art and what art can do for them. I think the biggest of these barriers is that art is confusing. Heaps of art throughout history has been pretty difficult to get a handle on, for a wide variety of reasons, some of it’s full of symbols and hidden meanings, some of it’s confronting, some of it seems empty, and some of it’s just plain old weird. And without a decent education in art, this can leave you feeling like you’re the only person in the room who doesn’t get the joke, or make you feel like an ‘uncultured swine’. We have professional critics, curators, directors, (the list goes on) who are all very adept at being astute commentators on art, and a lot of people think that if you’re not one of them then they shouldn’t be commenting on art at all.

I’m not going to lie to you, having a good grounding in art history helps a lot, but that really shouldn’t exclude you from experiencing art, and it certainly doesn’t mean that your opinion on it isn’t worthwhile. I liken the feeling of not understanding art to a feeling of illiteracy, because you can see that there’s something there, you just don’t understand it. My belief though, is that people actually do have the tools and knowledge to interact with art, but don’t know how to begin or approach it. Luckily, I’ve come up with some guidelines to help anybody make that first step into making expert comments on art.

I’ve boiled the process down to two broad concepts you need to keep in mind when looking at art:

1. Yes, it is art.
2. You need to ask questions to get answers.

I know, it sounds ridiculous. This can’t be everything I need to remember when I’m looking at art, surely! Well, it is. Both points carry some pretty hefty concepts, so I’ll unpack them both, and then we’ll put them into practice. Before we do though, I’d like to remind you that this is only one way of developing a response to an artwork, there are many, many different ways of doing it, but I think that my guidelines are easy to remember, and can teach you a lot about art, and even yourself when you follow them.

Yes, it is art.

It doesn’t really sound like much, but this is a huge realisation for many people. Saying to yourself, “Yeah, this is actually a piece of art” means that you have to drop any negative thoughts about what you perceive as what constitutes ‘good’ art. It’s all about not being side-tracked by thinking, “Bloody hell, I could do that in about 12 minutes” or “My kid could do that” or “This cost how much?!”. This acceptance of art being worth looking at is usually the first casualty of contemporary art in society. There’s three reasons for this, and we need to touch on each to really understand why we need to forget it.

1. History.

Art has a very long history, and the icons we hold up as being the ultimate masters of art, like the Ninja Turtles, Picasso, Van Gogh, are ones that have made works that are now generally accepted as great works. When we see something that is claiming to be art, but doesn’t fit the ideals of being in-line with the greats, many people dismiss it as junk. The thing we need to remember is that at some stage, even the greats were trailblazers and their work was the stuff that didn’t fit in to the accepted view of art.

2. Our homes.

We shouldn’t confuse art that belongs in a gallery with art that belongs in our homes. Just because we can’t picture a piece of art hanging in our lounge room (or even picture it in any residential space at all) doesn’t mean it’s not worth looking at. It has a place to hang, and that’s in the gallery you’re in. Art doesn’t need to be pretty.

3. The media.

I guess sometimes there are slow news days and the only thing to focus on is art. The media has a bit of a history of beating up contemporary art; usually it’s about the cost. Unfortunately, the only thing this does is reinforce the opinion that art is a waste of time and money. This should all be ignored, just like we ignore bad press on sport or anything Kyle Sandilands says.

So, yes it is art. When we forget all of the baggage that has been loaded onto contemporary art, we’re free to see that it’s not nothing or frivolous, and it’s been created for us to view.

The other thing I should mention here is the reason artists make their work, the artist’s intention. Knowing what an artist wanted to achieve with a piece can really alter the way you read an artwork, but most casual observers of art aren’t reading journals and monographs and books about an artist before seeing their work, so we won’t enter that into the equation.

What we’re talking about here is regular, untrained folk going into a gallery on a Saturday arvo, looking at some art and making some intelligent comments and learning a little. And the very first step is to all agree that what we’re looking at, love it or hate it, is in fact, art.

You need to ask questions to get answers.

This one sounds simplistic as well. As a viewer of an artwork, you’ll always have questions, because you’re not the one who made it. They’re the things you would ask the artist if they were standing next to you in the gallery. I guess there are two types of questions you could ask about an artwork, questions of logistics (like “how did they make that?” or “I wonder how they got that in here?), and critical questions (like“Why is it so big?”, “Why is it all black and white?”, or “Why does it make me feel so sad?”). More often than not, the questions of logistics don’t get us anywhere, it’s the critical questions we need to focus on.

Usually, these questions start as minor, obvious observations about an artwork, and are quickly dismissed as being silly or not important and jump to the grand question of“What does it all mean?”. But the truth is, we answer the question of what it couldmean by working though these little observations. I do find it funny that people get annoyed when they don’t totally understand the whole meaning and purpose of a painting in a single, casual viewing, without any research, work, or prior knowledge. “I don’t get it! It’s rubbish!” Artists are clever people, but we’re not miracle workers! Back to my point, it’s important to stick to the first question you stumble on. If it’s the first thing you notice, there’s a good chance it will be the most important thing to you, and it will enlighten you the most. If you notice that the artwork is massive, think about why it is. If you first notice that the sculpture is shiny, think about why the artist would want to reflect the viewer. If you noticed the boobs first… high five, dude!

But who answers the questions for you? You do. It sounds a bit strange, but when you answer the obvious questions with obvious answers, you’ll either work something out about the purpose of the artwork, or it will lead you to a new question to answer. And eventually, you’ll come to some sort of a conclusion or at least a statement about the work or even just a clearer picture of how the artwork makes you feel. In a moment, I’ll go through a few examples to hopefully make this clearer, but before I do, I need to say that not everyone will come to the same conclusion. We don’t need to agree on art, in fact, the best part of viewing art is the discussions it builds with the other people you’re visiting the gallery with. And like I mentioned before, your perception of the work may not match the artist’s intention either, but again, that’s okay too.

In closing, I’d like to leave you with the message that contemporary art is an important thing, and that everyone has the ability and the right to have something worthwhile to say about it. Especially you.

 

Any place I hang my art is home

Just recently, I was speaking with a friend and fellow artist, and I mentioned that because of the way we had rearranged our lounge room, I was now able to hang a rather large painting of mine I was about to pick up from an exhibition.  He said that my house might become like his; that is, filled with examples of our own work.  To which I immediately responded with an emphatic ‘no’.  I’ve never really hung my own work in my own house, a fact that other people have always told me is a bit odd, but I’ve never really understood why I didn’t want to.  I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve come to this conclusion, I’m a bit of a snob.  Let me explain.

Viewing art is a wonderful thing.  A good work of art can teach us something new every time we look at it.  It can hone our minds and make us more worldly, intelligent, and even better people. And I want everything hanging in my house to do just that.  This is also what I expect when I go to an art gallery, but I have a different set of guidelines as to what I think belongs in a gallery, and what should be hung at home.  Not everything that belongs in a gallery can be hung in a home, and vice versa.  The best way to describe this is to tell you about two paintings I have in my home. 

The first is a painting that is quite clearly in the ‘gallery’ camp.  It’s a painting by Grant Stevens titled Short Time Only (2002).  I’ve owned this painting for quite some time, but it still gives me pleasure to see it in my dining room every day.  It’s a fairly minimal painting, a white background with the title text roughly stencilled across the surface in a deep red.  The reason it’s a gallery piece is that it’s part of a critical practice designed by the artist to make a statement.  It wasn’t designed specifically as a piece of decoration, it just so happens to appeal to my particular taste.  It conjures up ideas of parking signs and late night infomercials.  Being told what to do with our time, but only by those authorities we largely ignore.  When we have visitors, they’ll often ask us what it’s about, or give us their own interpretation of the painting (these have ranged from “I don’t think it’s finished” to “an existential comment on the fleeting nature of life”).  This is where the value of this and other ‘gallery’ works lay.  I’m not talking dollars here, I mean the intrinsic value, their purpose for existing in the first place.  They make you think.  Grant’s painting creates a situation that forces you contemplate something.  He chose that exact, ambiguous phrase for that very reason.  Not everyone thinks about the same stuff, but he makes you think nonetheless.

Quite a lot of art is designed to only be seen in a gallery context.  I’m not sure how many people really want one of Damien Hirst’s dissected and preserved animals in formaldehyde as a coffee table, or one of Jeff Koons’ huge, bordering on pornographic photo prints as a conversation starter in their lounge room.  Sometimes there are parts of regular life or non-art that creep into a gallery, like the Art Gallery of Ballarat’s excellent 2010 exhibition of memorabilia of the band Queen[1], but these are slices of the everyday that have been carefully selected to be held up to a higher standard, they’re not just Aunt Mildred’s LP collection Blu Tacked to the wall.

The other painting I’ll describe is one that I treasure just as much as Short Time Only.  It was painted by my son, Colin, at day care using paint-coated wool on a cheap, ready-made canvas.   I love it, but does it belong in a gallery?  Is it art?  Well... no, and only sort of.  We often hear people say things like “my toddler could do that”, and in this case it is quite literally true, my kid did do it, and it looks a bit like contemporary art, but you will never visit it in a gallery.  The purpose of this painting is to look cool, and to be a touching reminder of his development.  Just because it’s slightly Pollock-esque doesn’t make it an Abstract Expressionist masterpiece.  And here’s my point in all of this, things you hang in your home should be something you’re willing to live with day in and day out.  They don’t have to be a carefully considered message.  Much of the time, the best things on someone’s wall have nothing to do with art at all.  They can be sentimental, or decorative, or mood-inducing, or anything you want, really.  And overwhelmingly, these don’t belong in a gallery, because they’re not really artworks.

Sometimes, there is a crossover between these two categories, works that were designed for a gallery, but are attractive enough (in any sense) to be hung in your home.  And this is where my aversion to hang my own work in my house, and my snobbery, come back in.  I’m quite attached to my own paintings, I think they work well on a conceptual level, but I don’t think they’re pretty enough to look at every day.  I’m also a bit of a perfectionist, so I’ll constantly be disappointed with the minute details I don’t like.  It’s just too frustrating, so I don’t often do it.

I don’t like paintings of pretty stuff just for the sake of being pretty.  I understand that a lot of pictures that get sold at markets and homewares shops might take a lot of technical skill, but that’s all it is.  I’ll concede that other people think it’s art, but only just.  If you’re on holiday and you buy a painting that will remind you of that time, go bananas!   If the oversized Buddha head print from Target will look great with your couch, do it!  Just don’t call it art in the same way you would an Andy Warhol painting or a Donald Judd object.  It may be artistic, or technically well-produced, but it hasn’t actually been created with the purpose of being ‘gallery’ art (nor does it make the creator of the picture an artist… there’s a whole other can of worms…).  It’s kinda like meeting an Olympic marathon competitor and introducing yourself as a fellow runner because you ran to the shops last week for a bottle of milk and a Chiko Roll.  I guess it’s true, but it’s a massive stretch of the truth.  I don’t like to call that kind of painting art, and I don’t really want to hang it in my home.

So, I’m snobby.  I’m not going to apologise about that.  But what I will say is this, the most important thing to think about when choosing something to hang in your home is, “will I be happy to look at it every single day?”.   It doesn’t really matter whether it’s art or not, it only needs to make you happy.   If you get half of the enjoyment that Grant and Colin have given me, then you’re doing something right.

Grant Stevens is represented by Gallery Barry Keldoulis

www.gbk.com.au

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[1] Art Gallery of Ballarat. 2010. Queen - The Unseen Archive. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.balgal.com/. [Accessed 04 August 12].

Don't fence me in...

Art’s a traditional game.  Thousands of years of refinement have created an intricate, ever-evolving interplay of language and images that can capture our imagination and teach us amazing and wonderful things.  Traditions of making and viewing art have been born and distilled to the point we have now, with our current system of galleries, museums, and exhibiting artists.  Even the most radical and inspiring innovations in delivering the arts are just part of this history and part of its continua.  It’s quite similar to the way dogs have been bred over millennia to become pedigree breeds, creative culture has been bred to the point where visual arts has become its own beast.

Unfortunately, just like the poor King Charles Spaniel whose brain is too big for its skull (no, really)[1], we’ve bred in some rather odd deformities into the art world.  Although these art world abnormalities aren’t causing violence inducing headaches or are as gross as a perpetual stream of drool, they do present, as I see it, three real barriers to the everyday punter who wants to enjoy some time appreciating art.  The first of the major barriers is one I’ve mentioned in my previous post, language. 

The language of art has become very complicated and intense.  The way artist statements, art journals, and exhibition didactics (that’s the handy blurbs stuck near the artworks at a gallery) are written is a very specific type of language, one that takes a long time to learn and use.   That’s not necessarily a bad thing, it takes a rich and in-depth to and fro between artists, critics and institutions to keep art vibrant and cutting-edge; the problem is the perception that’s developed that you need to be a part of that and to use that highfalutin language to have a relevant point of view or interpretation.  As a viewer of art, it’s pure bunk to think an opinion isn’t valid if it’s not eloquent.

The second barrier that’s evolved in art is one that puts a lot of people off.  Confusing art.  Art can be confusing or confronting for a lot of reasons.  It could be that it looks like it was simplistic or ‘unartistic’ to make, like Carl Andre’s Equivalent VIII (1966) which is made of an arranged pile of white bricks, or any of the ‘drip paintings’ from Jackson Pollock.  It could be confronting like the work of Tracey Emin who publicly listed all the people she had ever had sex with in Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995 (1995).  It could be just plain old weird, read: anything from Joseph Beuys (that guy was bonkers).   People seem to get really shirty about this stuff.  My wife and I were once approached by a woman at an exhibition who, without even knowing who we were, launched into a rant about a particular painting saying that it was rubbish, that her two-year-old could have painted it, and that it didn’t deserve to win the prize it did.  I’m quite sure that the artist didn’t paint his big, ugly, grey, swirly painting to cheese her off, but it did anyway. 

When you enter an exhibition of contemporary art, you really need to go in with an open mind.  The work you see may not fit your particular view of what art should be, especially if that’s pictures of horses and flowers and sunshine, or velvet paintings of Elvis.  We need to remember that the work is part of that evolutionary process, and if you haven’t been exposed to quite a bit of art history, it’s kinda like walking into a movie halfway through and expecting to instantly understand everything that’s going on.  The artwork might be confusing, confronting or weird, but it took a long time to get like this, and you may not ‘get it’ straight away.  That’s cool, just know that it is, in fact, art and it probably does deserve to be there. No skin off your nose, so don’t get worked up about it.  In fact, one of the fathers of confusing art, Marcel Duchamp said that “art may be bad, good or indifferent, but, whatever adjective is used, we must call it art”[2].

The final barrier, or consequence of breeding, I want to mention is the way we all stay quiet when we’re in a gallery.  I’m not sure why this has become the standard, or when, but it does irritate me.  If you’re taking the time to visit a gallery, and hopefully you’re with somebody else who you want to talk to about the work, it really does make it awkward when you’re bound by the unspoken rule that you need to speak in hushed tones.  Now, I get quite excited when I’m with someone and we start ‘talking art’, and the thing I don’t need is being haunted by the spectre of a hair-in-a-bun, horn-rim bespectacled librarian shushing me right when I’m getting into it.  Why I’m imagining stereotypical 1960s librarian is probably a whole other blog...  I guess social conventions like this are just perpetuated because ‘that’s the way it is’ type thinking, but it doesn’t really need to be like that.  A visit to an exhibition will be made all the more richer and entertaining when you’re actually talking to one another.  I’m not advocating yelling and shouting, but I highly doubt you’d be escorted from the premises for holding a rational conversation about the art that’s been presented for you to look at in the first place.  In fact, you may even give a hint to the other punters around you.

I guess I should wrap this post up with a recommendation.  Instead of going to an exhibition and quietly shuffling past artworks that make you cringe or just weird you out, and avoiding reading the catalogue and didactics because they’re pretty wanky; walk in with your head up, talk with your friends and family about the art and get their opinions.  If you really don’t understand it, ask the gallery attendant to explain it a bit more, that’s what they’re there for.  And do it all at a regular volume.  I guarantee that you’ll enjoy it a whole lot more.

And spare a thought for those poor King Charles Spaniels.

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[1] The Independent. 2008. The Big Question: Is the breeding of pedigree dogs leading to cruel abnormalities?. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/this-britain/the-big-question-is-the-breeding-of-pedigree-dogs-leading-to-cruel-abnormalities-902853.html. [Accessed 16 July 12].

[2] Duchamp, M. (1957) The Creative Act. In: Stiles, K. and Selz, P. eds. (1996) Theories and documents of Contemporary Art: A sourcebook of artists' writings. 3rd ed. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Let's talk about art, baby!

I recently went to an exhibition at my local regional gallery with some members of my family.  In particular, I was with my sister-in-law and her partner and my two and a half-year-old son.  It was an invitation entry prize, featuring some of Australia’s best contemporary painters, including Ben Quilty, Victoria Reichelt, and Kate Shaw.  The $50000 award was won by 88-year-old indigenous artist Sally Gabori with a very impressive (and huge) abstracted depiction of a view on Bentinck Island, of which she’s the custodian.   It’s a beautiful painting which prize judge Julie Ewington even called “life-affirming”[1].  Amazing colours, fine composition, overwhelming proportions, a deserving winner.

Now, my extended family is quite intelligent, scary smart really.  A couple of PhDs, Masters degrees, and Bachelor degrees like they’re napkins at McDonald’s; but it felt like they were defaulting to me to provide a clear explanation as to why it won because I was the one to study art at uni.  The big question was why did a painting that, from first impressions, seems to be almost wholly abstract and “easy to paint” win over other works that were astoundingly well-crafted, labour-intensive objects of beauty.  It turns out that I was all too keen to provide a possible insight (mainly because I’m a bit of a show-off...), but what about those people who don’t have ready access to a smart arse like myself?  Do they feel inadequate or not worthy to offer up thoughts on artworks because they’re “not arty people”, even if they’re actually very intelligent?  I’d say yes, they probably do feel unable to voice an opinion or comment, but it’s not really a feeling of inadequacy, it’s more a feeling of being illiterate.

Art is like a language.  I don’t mean that there’s an agreed list of symbols that artists use to spell out specific messages (like if you paint a skull you mean death, or if you paint a squirrel on the northern side of an oak tree you want to marry your first cousin), but that an artwork can give you clues to what the artist may have been on about when they were making it.  These clues may not lead you exactly to what the artist intended to say with their artwork, but it does let you have a good discussion about the artwork or the artist or just stuff in general.  Surely that’s one of the main objectives of art, considering that most people aren’t going to drop $50000 to brighten up their lounge room wall. 

But back to this awful unentitled or illiterate feeling.  I believe that the reason people feel like this in a gallery situation is that they think you need to have expert knowledge and a ridiculous vocabulary to speak about art to other people, and that you need to be able to explain the artwork in its entirety.  Wrong.  It’s true, there is an “art world” full of people who can talk the talk, write the essays, and pour on the attitude, but none of that is really necessary to have a very intelligent, in-depth conversation about an artwork, its message, and its impact on the people looking at it.  It certainly helps to have a healthy understanding of art-making and art history, but in my mind, it’s the obvious comments about an artwork that say the most, and lead you to the best understandings.

When I look at an artwork, I like to go with my very first thought as my first clue in sorting out what I think the artwork is saying.  If it gives you a certain feeling, think about why it makes you feel like that, and then maybe why the artist wants you feel that way.  If it’s just a beautiful artwork, why do you think so?  It can be even simpler than that though.  Sometimes you think something like, “Bloody hell, that’s a lot of red paint!”, so why did the artist use so much?  Having a kid with you can be pretty handy to start the ball rolling.  The first thing to come out of my son’s mouth when he saw the winning Gabori painting was, “That’s big!”  And you know, he was right, it’s massive.  But that leads you to think about why the painting needed to be so big, why wasn’t it smaller.  It’d be easier to move around, look after, and install if it was half the size... why so big?  Well it seems to me that a huge, imposing painting is telling a story of a huge imposing landscape.  The painting seems to wrap around you, filling your entire field of vision.  Then you start thinking about the wild colours and how they’re drilling into you as you stand there.  It makes you feel small, and that you’re standing before something that demands your respect.  I can only imagine that Bentinck Island does the same, and if your entire culture and heritage is connected with the land, that’s a very humbling experience indeed.  Well done, my boy!  Spotting that the painting is gigantic wasn’t rocket science, but it started a great story!

The simple observations that we all make are the best way to create a dialogue with an artwork.  Dialogue is a bit of a wanky way of describing the process, but it does tend to be the best word for it.  It irritates me when I hear people saying things like, “I think the artist is saying that ...” or “This artwork means ...” Three things are happening here: firstly, they’re assuming that they fully understand the artist’s intention with the artwork; secondly, they’re reducing the impact of an artwork to a single sentence or comment; and finally, they sound like a tosser.  We shouldn’t try to sum up an artwork in an instant, it kinda seems a bit disrespectful to the artist.  It really is like a conversation between the artwork and the viewers, you figure things out as you go along, adjust what you thought before, and maybe come to a conclusion or at best an easy place to end the chat.  Do you have to have the whole thing figured out? Not at all.  Some artworks will remain a mystery to you, while others seem straightforward. 

The idea that art can only be talked about by artists and critics is stupid.  Let’s head out to a gallery, say some obvious stuff, and have a great time!

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[1] Art Almanac. 2012. Sally Gabori wins The Gold Award. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.art-almanac.com.au/2012/06/sally-gabori-wins-the-gold-award/. [Accessed 08 July 12].