 About four years ago I returned from a trip to the grocery store to find that not only were we working from home for the next two weeks, but just about everything was being shut down to the public to "stop the spread" so to speak. We all know how that went. Looking back this March of 2024, I am fairly comfortable saying that Covid is in our rearview mirror for the most part, but the effects linger. Some may be in the form of closed businesses, lost jobs, or diminished friendships, while others may be as serious as lingering health effects or the loss of friends and family entirely. We all lived through a very strange few years and each of us dealt with that situation and its effects in our own way, largely alone, but all at the same time.
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I'm not sure what I would do if my trek required walking through a sacred place, if I stumbled across an ancient burial ground or found remnants of a recent tragedy...but simply passing through for the sake of continued exploration seems a bit impersonal. I'm not really arguing that these explorations shouldn't take place or that it's unique to these specific endeavors (science and "progress" regularly disregard individuals or the feelings of those that came before us for better or worse)...I'm not even really criticizing the specific people who take part as most do seem aware of the spaces, history and emotions attached...but I do think there is a question of respect versus necessity and, at some point, the entire enterprise seems somewhat imbalanced.
One nice thing about a working within a series in comparison to a one-off painting is a relative lack of stress when getting started. There's no guarantee that another addition will work out similarly or as well, but when one has a good foundation to build from you've got some built-in confidence from the first mark made. The bones are there (no pun intended) and, to some extent, you put some existing pieces together along with a few new ones to create something somewhat familiar, but still fresh; A variation on a theme. Again, you never know for sure it will work...but it's a bit more like discovering something that already exists rather than creating something completely novel.
When it comes to a new, one-off painting, you're starting from scratch. Yes you have your typical tendencies, aesthetics, and techniques to fall back on, but until you find that "it factor" , for lack of a better term, that differentiates it, calls for attention, or adds weight a new painting is just colors on a canvas waiting for a reason to be there...not that there has to be a reason for that painting or that putting down paint isn't worthwhile, but, at least for me, there's an anxiety carried through a new painting until you find something that differentiates it. You never want to feel like a new painting is just a less-old derivative of something you've already done, but there's also no way to find that new thing without going through that process of pure exploration. All that said, eventually comfort turns to boredom and when a series starts to feel repetitive that's when I think you need to set it aside, end it altogether, or try something a bit out of the box that may not fit with the rest. Exploration and experimentation is what drives exciting creations. Following a set of rules for too long can hamper both the enjoyment of creating and the success of the result even if, for a time, it provides a welcome sanctuary. 
And just to make it perfectly clear, ArtStart Rhinelander was a wonderful partner throughout this and I am very thanful for their trust and assistance in making the show happen. No one had any idea what was around the corner at that time and I cannot express enough how grateful I am for the opportunity and welcome I received by the staff and community in Rhinelander. Check them out HERE to see what they're up to now.
 Different Bathers was created back in 2016 in the midst of one of many periods of excessive production. At the time I was painting almost entirely large-scale and had recently begun to integrate a wider variety of styles and aesthetics into the paintings. More representational depictions of humans also started making a comeback after years of more abstracted figures and flat, graphic shapes and symbols. Largely, the paintings remained fairly shallow in depth. Often objects and figures floated over large swatches of color in fairly indeterminate settings. In some instances the color became the setting, a pool in the case of "Different Bathers", but often the background largely acted as a backdrop to set off the featured objects or symbols. I remember thinking I had stumbled across something interesting with this painting. Not only was it on a larger scale than even I was used to at 48x84", but I felt like it had broken away from some of my more derivative habits and that had exemplified much of my painting up to that point. The stereotypical Basquiat-esque graphics and drawings were replaced with a more somber and melancholic tone. Figures replaced associations of objects, bringing a direct sense of humanity where previous paintings held a bit of sterility or distance. Even the background became an important player in the narrative. While this painting kept the solid colored background, instead of a backdrop it created a scene. Following this painting my backgrounds obtained depth and a more purposeful connection to the rest of the scene. The painting made its public debut at the VAR Gallery Annual Figure Show back in 2017 but has been in storage since. It remains an all-time favorite of mine and I think it is a great example of the transitional period between my more illustrative/graphic style I explored in the half-decade after college and the landscape-based paintings from the last few years.
In terms of the painting process, they present ample opportunity to explore color and shape, positive and negative space, and play with pattern and form to create or eliminate depth. They can be energetic or stoic, joyful or somber and the objects depicted can evoke emotions as well as a figure. On the contrary they can also carry a decorative element that won't overwhelm a space or viewer. While artwork with difficult themes and imagery may be powerful, not everyone wants a large political statement in their living room. With a still life, you can, to some degree, infiltrate spaces with symbolism where they otherwise might not be welcome if more overt. I have always liked the idea of a "Vessel"; Look through my past work and you'll find countless examples of vessels and vases, both as subjects of still lives and interacting with figures; but beyond the occasional painting, I haven't made them a primary subject of a series. The Vessel series will explore literal vessels in the form of still lives, but also the idea of vessels as in human vessels, and various other "containers" which wander into my purview.
 "The art looked good and people liked it" - me after 99% of show openings.
That sentence may seem simple, but dig a little deeper and it encapsulates the wide ranging emotions faced when reflecting on an opening. The art looked good - This is what we aim for. If the art looked bad, I think it's safe to say that the show, even if well attended, was not particularly successful. If the art looked OK, then clearly the artist is not entirely happy with the result no matter the response. Some art is not pretty, but that doesn't mean they want the installation to look poorly done. Looking good is more about the quality of space and install than it is about the art being pretty or attractive. People liked it - again, at least for me, this is a major goal in making art. I don't need people to like everything I do and I'm not trying to be a people pleaser, plus you always want a deeper connection than just "that's cool"...but on the baseline, viewers "liking" your art is a good thing. Whether that's through aesthetics, the experience, finding deeper connection, or just getting to know the artist, if a viewer walks away from a show with a positive view of you, the artist, and the art, that's generally a successful showing. What's not said - "The show sold out"..."Had a great turnout"..."scheduled some studio visits"...these would definitely be part of the report if they happened. No artist wants to leave a show and simply say "I didn't sell anything" as if that's the only thing that matters...but pretty much every struggling artist I know does think about sales and, when they don't come, question the ultimate value of the art and show (not to mention the effort put in to create it). Turnout is the same way. I've never gone into a show thinking "if I get X number of people I'm happy" but if you only have 10 over a few hours, you feel the dread creep in. That said, if those people engage in conversation, take their time, talk to you about the art, and/or buy something, 10 can feel like a thousand. On the flip side, if a bus full of drunkards stumbles in and out within 20 minutes or your art is the sideshow to some other event, having a hundred people there doesn't really feel any better. It's quality over quantity, at least to some extent. Well, I had fun! - There isn't a concrete answer as to what makes a successful show. Different artists have different expectations, goals, and realities, and what may be an uplifting opportunity for one could be a disappointing realization for another. I think its important to focus on the good ("The art looked good and people liked it") but it's also essential to realize things that disappoint you, if only so you can work on addressing them, work toward achieving them, or form more realistic expectations and goals in the future. It's easy to get down when you work on art for months at a time, spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars and hours working on a project, only to have low turnout and minimal sales, but it's important not to ignore those feelings as well. I leave almost every show I have with mixed feelings to some degree and it's been a life-long challenge to address those in a productive way, but finding "success" in art is about understanding your goals and working to find a happy medium between "the measurables", such as sales, and "the intangibles", like a worthwhile conversation. |
Daniel
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