two arts -- rich and regular

It’s got to be amusing when you realize how limited your view has been, how when you’ve only seen one side for so long you think it’s real, and then some random conversation on a street corner, or maybe in facebook, reveals the rest of the story, the part that’s been missing. I admit to being peasant class. Oh sure, the parents aspired, always well-presented in public, a big stupid car, but I’d seen water carried into the house a generation back, and had as a child even sat on a board with a hole cut in it, thistles by the door. I thought early on the ‘game’ we played was to get a lot of money, but the carrot seemed so far away I decided to be an artist instead. I rented a studio and began from scratch, and that was my first mistake.

I didn’t know there was a difference between rich people’s art and everybody else’s, and I’ve struggled with it ever since. Rich people’s art is as commodified as poker chips, which in a kind of way they are. At the top super stars rake in more and more money for doing less and less, and not even touching the product at all is grand. Hire grad students for as little as possible to do the work, they’ll consider it a relief from flipping burgers, and the art is so easy you can leave them alone with it. Sell it for millions, expos, parties on boats, so glamorous, and everyone down the line wanting a piece of that. I didn’t even try. From the outside rich peoples‘ art can look sort of silly.

Up ‘til now there hasn’t been much of a public market for art, not a lot of art up in homes, and galleries have a habit of sprouting up and blowing away, many times just money-losing indulgences for well-heeled people wanting to jump in. They show rich peoples‘ art, and wonder why they don’t do better. Let me explain. All that glamour at the top gets sliced into slimmer and slimmer pieces the further you get from urban centers, and by the time it gets to a small southern town that kind of art needs government assistance, with just a cargo-cult resemblance to the real thing, so sad. Still, this style of ‘rocket to fame’ art represents the aspirations of many faculty members and ambitious townies, and finds support from an extremely small section of the community who want to pretend they’re rich, too. So sensitive.

I don’t think there’s a poor people’s art. There’s just art, all one thing, but change perspective and art changes too -- it’s a back and forth deal. I personally don't think it’s great to know about an artist before the first time encountering their work, just a distraction. See, we’re on a different path already. Wanting to know a name, maybe a bit of bio, after a painting proves interesting seems more natural, but it’s still less important than the picture. Why is this so wrong?

On the other side, buying a piece of art as an investment would be like raising a child to play professional ball for the sake of a comfortable retirement -- a missed opportunity to bond. I hate to tell you, but a surfeit of stuff tends to short-circuit some of the drama of life, and yearning and ecstasy are there in the art if you can see it. That’s why common folk are beginning to like it, because they’re seeing independently produced art for the first time in public places, and community awareness is approaching a critical threshold of familiarity and acceptance. If that happens, and an appetite for regionally produced art arises, what rich people want far away won’t matter so much.

arrogant dependents -- art’s salaried

Elitism is a scary disease, antithetical to democracy, but big art loves it. It says give me art so vile and stupid the government will have to subsidize it, and we’ll build an industry of dependence around it. Don’t worry if the art seems aggressively arbitrary, pointless and shallow -- everybody has a share, is what they’ll say. This is their plan -- by limiting art to only trademarked vendors, the sanctioning board creates an exclusion zone so tight millionaires will elbow past each other just to get in, and myriad government agencies, including the universities, can all hitch a ride. The price will be paid by the six-pack cretins, quaint moms and pops filling out W-2’s, the great herd of aesthetic illiterates out there living on fast food in pickup truck hell. They float this bloated cruise ship in the thin air of condescension, merchandize their gift shops, and monopolize media with a weaponized disdain. Pirates would so respect such sophistication.

Brillo boxes in an art museum is super silly, best I can say about it. I could repeat the ton of corn that put them there, but it’s dreary. In my house cleaning supplies go under the sink, and irony, ha ha. Worth millions you say, now that’s the irony, if you’re not getting enough day to day. Most folks have their share already, and such droll dalliances with commercial packaging probably won’t move them. This doesn’t make them dumb, although spending ten minutes in front of an Ellsworth Kelly in a museum could be a sign. Museum directors, the reason your attendance dwindles is because you make with such big promotions and deliver so little, and how much time do you spend with post-modern, so great to see it everyday?

When we resettle our priorities maybe they’ll be gone, the rapacious millionaires tearing off their slices of fame while talking down to the dealers who pick their pockets, the peer review groups on the dole recognizing and rewarding their own, the university art departments resentful of talent, squatting on educational real estate. Maybe we just won’t be paying attention to them, anymore. That’s because ordinary people are beginning to wonder where art went, and why they don’t have more of it in their lives. Medical facilities, traditionally austere and foreboding, have softened the environment with local art, creating a thought provoking gallery for a legitimate cross section of the community. Visitors, and all those feeling well enough to look at art, feel the respect the artists have shown them and it’s reciprocated. Maybe they’ll buy a piece if they see the same artist for sale somewhere, and art will take care of itself.

functionality -- working hard for the money

What people don’t understand about art is its functionality, its purposes and its utilization. Art isn’t a passive possession like a bank note, or even a corporate stock bouncing up and down while you sleep, but lives right there with you, shares your space. Put it this way, if you buy ugly art because your dealer suggests you’ll make a killing down the road, it’s better to send that soul-sucker to storage than to struggle against its negative influence in your life. Recently a billionaire bumped on his peers by spending over a hundred million dollars for a painting so toxic it reeks of drug induced suicide, and that’s the way, incidentally, it turned out to be. Keep it in a lead-lined box and find a bigger fool, or throw it in the ocean.

For a lot less money it’s possible to acquire a piece of art that will restore your sense of autonomy, bolster self-confidence, and pry the scales from your eyes -- have you appreciating the sunset and seeing reflections after a rain. Why this works is hard to say, but original art, unique and direct, serves as an example and offers quiet testimony to simply paying attention, noticing the mundane moment and extracting everything it has to say. Better art does this better, but anything consciously made by hand exudes a raw freshness machines can’t touch, qualities that can be seen and felt. From the quaint charm of the talented family member to the dedicated professional’s best efforts, works of art on the wall are the permanently charged batteries of household furnishings, beacons of energy here and there around the house.

This isn’t a competition, gathering together a portfolio of cutting edge images on paper and canvas all going up in value, making you look so sly. It’s about using art in the home like pieces of mental exercise equipment, low impact aerobics for the mind, an incremental conditioning of perception. Sounds pretty good, sure, but how does the average citizen, such as yourself, go about finding the art with vitamins, art that lifts and delves and calls into question anything you care about? Try this -- line up ten pieces, all in a comfortable price range, and pick the one you like best, can’t go wrong. Do it ten times and you’ll have a house full of art that reflects who you are and what you care about, familiar and rejuvenating, fun to come home to.  

law and society -- artistic license revoked

What happens when those in authority really don’t like a work of art? I have a cautionary tale from Cincinnati, mostly from recollection. Seems city fathers, in the early seventies, wanted to commission a piece of art to stand in front of their new courthouse, while concurrently commemorating the one hundredth anniversary of the Cincinnati Bar Association, a grand occasion. Its title was to be, ‘Law and Society.’ They held an international competition and selected a german artist, Barna von Sartory.

To give the artist a head start they quarried a massive block of ‘miami river marble,’ a fine grained limestone complete with quarry marks, rough cut. They set the block up in public with the vague notion of some classical maestro in smock and floppy beret whacking away with mallet and chisel, heroic art emerging for all to see. There was a deadline. The block, gray and hulking, sat months in the sun and rain, ice and snow, nothing happened. Then in the final week, a low-boy trailer pulls up and delivers the rest of the artwork, four square highly-polished stainless steel legs about eight feet high. The block is hoisted on top and that’s it, commission complete. City fathers were aghast, perplexed, massively unhappy.

The piece never made it to the courthouse. It sat on fountain square for a couple of years, lonely, ignored, and unloved. It was on a cold day in march, me just hanging on the square and contemplating this odd sculpture, people passing by. In a moment a single woman in a red coat walked past, and reflected in stainless steel I glimpsed several red coats going different directions, all in a flash. ‘Law and Society’ I thought, the mandated name of the piece, and suddenly I understood -- which part was society and which was the law. I suspected they saw it too, but wouldn’t let on. They affixed a plaque directly to one of the legs, explaining that this sculpture was meant to represent the solid foundation law provided society, figure it out. They then started moving it closer and closer to the river. Its final destination, so far, is under a bridge next to a parking lot.

Those were not the only indignities they’ve heaped on it. When one of the stainless steel legs began to delaminate, they assigned some junior motor-pool apprentice to weld it back, globby and scorched, contempt exuding. It sits wounded, in constant shadow, maybe you could check it out while parking the car. Was it a joke, a singular abuse of ‘artistic freedom,’ or was it a legitimate statement, a check on the authoritarian drift of any civil society? Could it be just abstract? It’s certainly successful, even provocative, in that regard, but I suspect on some level everyone understands the subversion, the impudence, the gleeful anarchy it represents. One day it will just disappear, plop.

revival -- the second coming

The world of art is divided into old testament ‘representational’ and new testament ‘modernity,’ with different liturgies and separate versions of god. Old testament art can be really old, maneless lions stalk equally extinct elk on cave walls, and somehow, although we live in a very different world, we get it. We know those animals from fossils found, and we discern their beastly motives, contentedly grazing or stealthily hunting. That’s a lot of communication from a long way off, and doesn’t it add dignity and humanity to people archeologists had always demeaned as subhuman? Down through the ages pictures have defined societies, provided cohesion and unity of thought, and through our own materialistic lens we attempt to understand previous cultures through their art.

The modern world is literate, for one thing, and we’ve all been taught words are more important than pictures, and that knowing something means being able to say it. The ability to read comes in handy no doubt, instruction manuals in seven languages, but in some respects it requires rewiring and modifying the machine we’ve inherited. Humans are ‘sighted’ animals, fifty percent of the mass of the brain and eighty percent of the circuits somehow involved in sight, from TV documentaries, yet we live in a world in which pictures have been reduced to illustrations for words spoken, the same ten seconds of video repeated over and over while talking heads debate.

Somehow in the last century, words, like ivy, eventually covered up and smothered the direct communication pictures convey, and cults of personality, balefully myopic theories, and pompous declarations began to displace simply seeing art. A new testament arose featuring the arcane puzzle boxes of an artist, Marcel Duchamp, who simply couldn’t paint, he tried. Clement Greenberg pretending divine authority, apparently, extolled the virtues of ‘flatness,’ and such silly shit as that, because dealing directly with pictures requires more than just bluster. In the recent past teachers at the U maintained a separate drawer of dour judgements for any student audacious enough to present representational art during class critiques, when they were tolerated at all.

Modernity presents a pretty tinny set of saints is all I’m saying, these days clutching at social causes to animate a depleted narrative, moving public money like a pea under a walnut shell, all the while taking the temperature of the planet’s stolen wealth, a sad sideshow. Yes, friends, gather round, we’re talking old time revival. As example, representational murals are going up everywhere. In cities, independent agencies are commissioning studio artists to cover blank walls, and marvelous historical paintings on flood-walls ripple out into parking lots and city parks miles from the river. There are clever departures, imagination abounds, but haven’t seen an ‘abstract’ yet. These are artists with something to say, and don’t you wonder where have they been? Are these programs, utilizing public spaces to present serious art, the vehicle of a new public awareness, are they more likely its result, or is there some sort of an organic change in public sensibility taking place all around, and the murals are just a part of its expression? Everyone check all of the above. Gimme that old time visual expression, induced empathies and non-verbal insights -- it’s good enough for me.

symbolic absence -- erasing art

the removal of confederate monuments -- 
John Hunt Morgan's statue has to go. Ride off into the sunset patina-green knight, because you can’t stay here. He was erected, not so much as representative of a criminal rogue regime, but as local cultural icon, poster boy for bluegrass landed-gentry, dashing and feckless. Around here he’s most famous for riding through the front door of the family mansion with yankees close behind, and out the back, presumedly without dismounting. Big house. Colorful but not a great military victory, not even gallant, a comic opera diversion from a brutal bloody carnage.

I suppose I’ve never taken John seriously, more like the uniformed prince-charming from a local fairytale, so erect and noble on his transitioned horse, sort of a joke. As art his monument is something like a Jeff Koons three dimensional, and a swell lawn ornament for a refurbished courthouse tourist center, but it’s not to be. He’ll become a symbol of a tidal wave of historical correctness booting his revisionist ass right out of the park, by not being there. That’s right. He’ll wind up becoming more significant in his absence than he was when he was here, and you can’t get more zen than that.

Doesn’t it remind the student of art of the famous ‘erased drawing’, a blank piece of paper? Seems Rauschenberg convinces deKooning to give him a drawing he can erase. At first deKooning says of course not and has to be convinced, for dramatic effect don’t you see, but finally finds a genius sketch for Bob to deconstruct. Some rich guy owns it now in a little frame, so precious. I always thought that was sort of a joke, but now I see, there’s power in being gone. John Hunt will soon be gone. Where he stood will be scoured and disinfected, and considering what a mess his being here could cause, can’t be too soon.

I say save him not too far out of town, because someday, when current points have been made, when immediate social issues have been settled, or at least evolved, maybe he can come back, the nostalgic conceit of a past that never was, only an all-weather, politically neutral, wonderfully well-made piece of yard art.

alchemy -- the practice of art

Alchemy was a pretty crazy idea back when it was happening, the neighbors thought it strange and gave wide berth. Here is a man, presumedly with long suffering wife, who instead of earning daily bread spends all his time in his ‘laboratory’ trying to convert common pot metal into gold, so stupid. It isn’t going to work, atomic scientists agree the conversion isn’t possible, doomed to futility. Everybody sees it, and sometimes he suspects himself, but he goes there everyday anyway.  

He probably has a different definition of gold, and sees his operation as partially successful, close to the breakthrough, on the verge of justifying all the time and effort, the frugality, the weird looks in the street and the profound distance of neighbors. Oh it would be gratifying in its way to pull up one day in a long shiny car, toss around a little cash, do a grand ‘told you so’ tour, but that isn’t what drives him, such a dreary revenge. It’s beginning to seem this person, the alchemist, just likes the process, enjoys the challenge, wants to face the impossible -- Ahab without the ocean, hardheaded. 

Creating something of value from common material is just called industry in this age of the world, and the crucible of competition mandates efficiency, streamlines production, and squeezes the maximum value from every ton of ore, every truckload of corn. Machines are great and technology is awesome, but the greatest conversion of nothing into something is still done by hand. It’s called painting. Canvas and paint are definitely not high-tech, totally common, and have been in use all the way back to the first people we call human, pot metal for sure. In the studio the artist attempts to raise their value by an astronomical percentage, enough ideally to provide a modest living, buy new canvas and paint, and pay rent on the studio. 

It wouldn’t be possible at most other times in history, and it’s a privilege in this one. With a year or two here and there for hourly wages, and occasional help from the state, unemployment comp and worker subsidies, the independent artist skates by with a low heat lifestyle, cheap rent and homemade recreation. Hold out as long as possible, don’t waste a dab of paint or an inch of canvas, and possibly find a bridge, the kindly millionaire patron you accidentally bump into, the big city dealer visiting a sister who sees a fast buck. Mostly alchemy is a long slog, doing the same rituals every morning while results move geologic, going backward part of the time, and nodding to the neighbors, smiling at in-laws.

The artist hopes to call out similar personalities, to impinge on related points of view, and to include as many as want to come along, anyone willing to ‘see‘ what they’ve painted. It’s a quest for a bead of gold in the bottom of the cup, for a value much greater than seems possible from simple stuff.

the art market is to art -- sizzle vs steak

The ‘art market’ isn’t about art, it’s about acquisition. Very wealthy people vie with each other at pissing away money, it’s what they do. These days you won’t be seeing them lighting their cigars with hundred dollar bills, a blatant insult to poor folks everywhere, but they will drop a few conspicuous million on anything the other rich guys want too, just because. This is, seriously, the way art is sold across the board. A renowned local dealer has been quoted, ‘the price of a piece of art is what others are willing to pay for it.’ Period. What’s the style, what’s it about -- didn’t come up. This is, in the first place, a strange door to walk through. Art is no longer valued by whatever is on the front, but instead relies on an indexed desire to pay by a spooky consensus you’re just going to have to believe in. The whole business exudes an oily unwholesome mystique, but if it produces great art why ask why? You be the judge. 

In contrast art is defined differently here, and we could start with price. The price of art, as far as you’re concerned, is what you’re willing to pay for it, after deciding how much you want it. All those phantom bidders trying to get this thing away from you, let them have it. There’s no reason to compete with them, resist the urge. Instead consider investing some of your assets in something of value you can see and live with everyday, that enhances your life and adds substance to your home. Unless you’re trying to impress your friends you won’t be spending millions, but the real thing isn’t cheap and shouldn’t be.

The artists, based on all they know and have experienced, make the best art they can make, that’s their job, their side of the bargain. If they change it a little thinking more people might want to buy it, or so their peers will approve, or because they want to be famous, they’re not living up to the code. If they’re honest, what they have to say as artists comes through no matter what they paint, can’t help it you understand. Ten artists painting the same thing will produce ten different pictures depending on their skill and discernment, and seeing them all together would reveal their individual quotient of each. In a rational world prices would be assigned accordingly.

Far away in the contemporary art market, new money in pursuit of status is churning millions for trademark art a sign painter could easily forge, and has. Around here artists have day jobs, sacrifice to pay for supplies, and steal their work-time whenever they can, because average people like you, my friend, have been convinced by the evening news that art is an extravagance that goes with yachts and exotic automobiles. Once it occurs to you, and to a few fellow citizens, that original art has been missing on your walls, from restaurants where you eat and offices you visit, and when you begin to recognize area artists by their work, that million dollar gossipy game-show frenzy ceases to be relevant.

surf's up -- the next big thing

Bucking the system isn’t going to be easy. In attempting to present their work directly to the public, artists forego a gallery’s media and social outreach, along with a downtown track-lit presentation. The prospective buyer is required to know more as well, having already considered art by other area artists along with their prices, so there are disadvantages, even obligations, for both parties.



On the other hand, the artist has the opportunity for direct interaction with the public, the chance to discuss their art with thoughtful people, and not just those with pen in hand. For the prospective owner, it’s the privilege of meeting the artist in person, the opportunity to relate a personality to the work, an insight that will enhance appreciation over the years. There are more practical considerations as well. 



For the artist to receive their asking price, the buyer pays twice as much to a gallery. You can be certain it’s totally justified, but when the possibility exists to deal with the artist directly, is it always necessary? Gallery directors insist they help their clients avoid making ‘mistakes,’ but could it be the major mistake they hope to avoid is this person buying art from someone else?



This is basic, art is a noble product, the most significance possible from humble constituents -- wood, canvas, and paint. The occasional authentic truth is something you’ll recognize firsthand, in some indescribable way resonating with something inside. Closer to the source is where it’s most likely to be found, just another new-found insight of a larger societal movement. Simply looking at art for sale in restaurants, salons, and offices, visiting artists‘ studios when tours are available, and seeking out popup artist’s galleries will help you catch the crest of a wave that’s on its way to be.