‘In large measure becoming an artist consists of learning to accept yourself, which makes your work personal, and in following your own voice, which makes your work distinctive.’ — David Bayles and Ted Orland
September has marked the beginning of Spring in the Southern Hemisphere and the end of the fantastic painting course I did during the last nine Mondays at Browne School in Auckland with the great artist and teacher Matthew Browne.
One of the recommended books in the sheets that Matthew gave us at the beginning of the course was Art & Fear. Observations On the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, written by David Bayles and Ted Orland.
There’s so much to unpack from this little companion book - it is truly a jewel I would recommend reading to anyone interested in artmaking or pursuing any creative work. In essence, this book is not only helping me along my journey of (re)discovering my creative self but also helping me comprehend the challenges (and rewards) of pursuing a path in artmaking. The title of the book suggests the theme of Fear as a central topic, but it really does go beyond fear into reflecting on habits, processes, media, craft, purpose, etc.
These are some lines, nuggets, and ideas that grabbed my attention:
·
Art is made by ordinary people.
We are all creative. We all have the power within us to express ourselves through artistic endeavours. And that is enough. Bayles and Orland make the point in the book that what matters most of the time to a viewer is the outcome, the work itself; what truly matters to us creators, however, should be the process, and that alone is a very personal approach each of us experiment with. There is a sort of need to create, to do something out in the world, or something about the world, or even something for the world.
·
Art is like beginning a sentence before you know its ending.
The authors talk about the need to allow yourself space and freedom to create from within, without certainty or judgment of any outcome. Uncertainty is a virtue. They write:
The lessons you are meant to learn are in your work. To see them, you need only look at the work clearly—without judgement, without need or fear, without wishes or hopes. Without emotional expectations. Ask your work what it needs, not what you need. Then set aside your fears and listen, the way a good parent listens to a child.
·
Most people stop making art when they stop being students.
Bayles and Orland quote this fantastic anecdote from artist Howard Ikemoto:
When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college—that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared back at me, incredulous, and said, “You mean they forget?”
I personally love the candid, innocent but confident response of the child: you mean they forget? It would sound strange that people forget how to read, or write when they become adults. Drawing is such an essential tool to make sense of the world we should all practice - artists or not.
On the other hand, we should all be students for life: continue to learn, to experiment, to share our work.
·
What is worth doing?
The authors mention Henry James’ proposed three questions about an artist’s work:
What was the artist trying to achieve?
Did he/she succeed?
Was it worth doing?
And they follow with a fourth one:
‘But it’s that third question—Was it worth doing?—that truly opens the universe. What is worth doing?’
They talk about the challenges of artmaking and the ingrained rules to break. The need to follow our own ideas instead of pursuing a perfect technique, the encouragement to notice and capture thoughts and observations in a little sketchbook, or to cultivate good habits. Asking and re-asking questions. Giving meaning to the world we live in through our art:
‘The meaning of the world is made, not found.’
I have a confession to make: I struggle with calling myself an artist.
Part of the reason, I suspect, is a deeply ingrained identity of being (already) something else: an architect. The other part of the reason has to do with a very strong impostor syndrome. This is why I rather keep the focus on what I do, rather than what I am. I keep following the clues that grant me permission to keep doing what I love doing, regardless of any label or identity.
My practice - I am learning - is a more complex set of approaches, from many different points of view. This book, Art & Fear (together with others I have been recently reading on the same topic) is helping me connect with my inner self just as that and that enough: a creative being that craves a connection with and expression of her inner voice in this vast beautiful universe. And I deeply believe we all feel this way somehow.
David Bayles and Ted Orland conclude the book precisely by reflecting on making art as having a voice:
To make art is to sing with the human voice. To do this you must first learn that the only voice you need is the voice you already have. (…) You have to see that the universe is not formless and dark throughout, but awaits simply the revealing light of your own mind.
Perhaps, after all, really doesn’t matter who we are or if we are brave (or foolish) enough to (be and) call ourselves artists. What matters, it seems (I am learning!), it’s to be true to ourselves. In making art. In living.
It is worth doing.
📚✨
Happy reading!
Ana
📚 What I’m reading in September 2023:
I strongly recommend reading the book I talked about in this post: Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland. It’s one of the best books I’ve read on art making and the process of doing any creative work as a way of living.
Started reading The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin, another great book on the practice of artmaking and very similar in content to the previous one.
I learned from Monograph by Chris Ware in one of my trips to Auckland’s public library.
I read another murder mystery with my partner (in crime solving): Lord Edgware Dies by Agatha Christie. We read aloud to each other in our little book club and for this murder mystery, for the first time, I took inspiration in illustrating the characters of the story.
Thanks for these notes and reminders of Art & Fear, Ana! That book helped launch me into my daily artmaking in 2018, specifically the anecdote about making 50 pounds of pottery versus making one perfect piece, and how quantity (and the experimentation and trial and error that come with it) leads to quality.
Thanks for the post Ana. Your comment about struggling to call yourself an artist really resonated with me for pretty much the same reasons.
I was out drawing one day recently when a passerby stopped to look at my work and chat. I said something like, 'Yeah, but I'm not an artist.' He said, 'Yes you are. Look.' As someone who has trained as, and calls themselves, an 'academic' also calling myself an 'artist' still sits uncomfortably with me, but not as much as it did.