Busy With the Gallery

The next big art project starts on Tuesday, and in anticipation of that I've spent some time streamlining gallery operations, which is a fancy way of saying I've updated the mailing list, paid the quarterly taxes, and finally (FINALLY) created an email list. We had an Open House scheduled for this afternoon, so I tried out the email list a few days ago. There was some positive response to it, and I had a feeling that we would get more people than usual for this Open House. We got nearly three times as many, and actually sold several things, plus connected one of our featured artists with a local newspaper columnist. So I am very happy about this and it gives me the satisfaction of having an easy and efficient method of publicizing gallery doings without having to rely on posters or newspapers.

The prep work for the open house involved some cooking and a lot of cleaning, and I could not have done it without a lot of help from Steve. Despite my best efforts, this house gets so grotty so quickly, even with just two people and one sociable cat. In the midst of the cleaning fury we agreed to sit down soon and create a maintenance plan and/or schedule, so things do not ever get quite so out of hand. I have been handling all of the shopping, cooking, laundry, errands, yard work, car care, bookkeeping for both ourselves and the business, the home maintenance & repairs, and the bulk of the housework, and it's more than I can handle on my own and still handle the gallery and do my art full-time. So the re-allocation of domestic jobs is both necessary and welcome. When I was younger I did all of the above and more, as a divorced custodial parent plus full-time landscape designer, but those days are long gone.

A Project Takes Shape

I majored in both English and Art, and in fact was a writer for 10 years and taught at the university level for two or three years. I did three drafts of a novel and then lost it in a flood. During one of the resulting home repair projects I took a break and drew the hammer I had been using. I still have that drawing--it was the moment I realized that I needed art more than writing, and was in fact a better artist than writer (could be the deaf thing at work again). Never did try to rewrite that novel, and cannot for the life of me remember what it was about.

Flash forward about 20 years to the present, where the focus is art, and a large chunk of the art so far involves words, writing, fonts--the presence of language is one of my trademarks, so to speak. I'm always considering ways to take that element to another level.

I was going through our local email network and came across a link to some silly thing or other that involved 50,000 words in a month, and clicked on it because it sounded like some sort of online game. It turned out to be something called the National Novel Writing Month, an actually international yearly event where participants start writing on November 1st with the goal of writing 50,000 words by November 30th. This would be the equivalent of 175 pages, or a short novel. The event grabbed my interest because it is very process-oriented, in spite of the stated 50,000-word goal, very un-precious in attitude. In fact, it felt very much like what I'd like to achieve as a newly full-time artist--regular output without getting hung up on preciousness or quality or saleability. The fact that it involves language in a sort of free-wheeling way appeals to the artist in me as opposed to the former academic.

So I signed up and that is what I'm going to do for the month of November: write a short novel as part of an international marathon, and both the process of writing it and the content are part of the artwork I will do that month. I'd like to see if I can do a sort of interchangeable work. I'm not too worried about whether it is original or even any good. The doing itself seems like an exciting and worthwhile project for me, and I'm curious to see what does come out of the experience.

The NaNoWriMo organizers say that 50,000 words in a month is challenging, but still doable, by someone with a full-time job. They also have regional networks and support groups that look like fun. The founder has a handbook that many recommended to read before and during the event, a sort of how-to-be-a-novelist book, but I have a particular sort of approach in mind and I think I will work intuitively and in the moment. Needless to say, I have no intent of rewriting that long-ago lost novel! How boring!

Examining the Urge

Got the Angel Bunny done, sealed, and delivered. Have no idea if it brought any money to the orphanage, but it looked nice in its display setting. Steve also donated one of his medium-sized pieces, the one I think looks like our friend Paul. He had to teach last night, so we did not go to the gala. Maybe next year.

The entire day was about running errands in opposite directions, so I had a lot of time to think about art and its place in my life, which is really what this blog is about. I have a very keen sense of the brevity of life. I also have a very keen sense of one's essential solitude. So out of a sense of needing to make the most out of my existence, yet somewhat disconnected from the outside world (deafness will do that), creating and expressing is a powerful drive. It's almost as if I don't sufficiently exist unless I'm impacting my will or self upon my surroundings or an object or a painting.

Some people I've known wish to leave their mark on the world, to leave behind proof of their existence (or their greatness, deserved or not). That isn't what drives me. If my body of work is suddenly valuable after my death--or not--it doesn't matter to me one way or another. What matters is the process, the doing of it, the living of it. I'd rather be fully alive while I am alive and not worry about afterwards.

So I may not be any good as an artist, but I have to be an artist.

On Space

The biggest difference between the studio now and the way it was a year and a half ago is that it is now set up primarily for my work, rather than shared regularly with Steve. He tends to paint in bursts, and is almost exclusively a painter. He is also much less particular about his painting environment, and often just paints giant canvases right on the floor. I paint and do sculptural assemblages, and will no doubt be continuing with mixed media. I need a lot of light to see, and tables and other furnishings for physical comfort. It's just plain easier to get lost in the process if I'm not struggling to move around. That's the first element.

The second element is the psychological space. We shared studio space our first two years together, and it generally wasn't too bad. His style was so strong and assertive, however, that it had a great influence on my own style. I learned a lot from the proximity, and perhaps the greatest benefit was shaking off the academic approach which was strangling me. I learned to paint on demand and sold quite a few paintings. I am ready to see what develops from that experience now that I am down here on my own.

Thinking About It

Not too bad for the first day. Found parts for the assemblage, did a lot of sanding and put the basic figure together. The one thing I've noted is the fatigue--my assemblages tend to be heavy and between that and the oomph needed to cut and drive long screws (even with power tools), the physical impact is considerable. I move so slowly compared to the speed at which my mind works. Even with breaks I find myself quite tired out, and unlikely to work in here tonight.

In time I will likely be getting away from processes which are too physically demanding on my joints so that I don't get worn out in the middle of working. I don't see well enough to do small things, nor are my hands facile enough for working small. But I've had this assemblage in my head all summer and knew I had useful components on the premises, so it made sense to make it given the short time frame in which it needs to be completed.

It should also be easier, in time, to stay on top of domestic and gallery chores, now that there is more room in my office and in the basement and cellar areas. No more acrobatic stretches to reach things or having to move great heavy boxes and furniture in order to get at something that was supposed to be in a box behind a box (and of course turned out to be in a different place altogether). It won't be such hard work to do everyday things, and the prospect of being able to find most of my supplies is such a luxury after the past year and a half.

Commencement

Most things are now moved in and I'm sitting at the workbench for the first time, having just finished scrubbing it with a bleach solution. A large mug of cinnamon tea gives off a curl of steam in the sunshine. It is the second half of October, but everything in the garden is still green and the trees have not yet dropped leaves.

Steve has posed the question of whether I am even capable of being a professional artist, although I have certainly been a good amateur one. Says it's a mindset--the professional artist really doesn't think about much else, and is not likely to let other things distract from working on the art.

I started my day about three hours ago, after breakfast and the newspaper, getting laundry started, emailing my mother, paying bills, bringing in the trash and recycling cans, and general cleaning here in the studio. A tea break was needed. I am still learning to pace myself in a manner appropriate to my age and health.

The first art project isn't seriously art, but is something fun and for a good cause. I make garden pieces out of wood, metal, and sundry found objects and bits leftover from home repair projects. I don't change the nature of the bits, but assemble them in ways that seem fun. I've sold a few and am making one for a charity auction. Now that the studio is on the same ground level as the shed, it is so much easier to work. The saws and heavy bits are in the shed, the paints and detail bits are here in the studio. In between is a pleasant garden. No hills or stairs to climb. My creaky legs are grateful.

Some Background on This Challenge

The place: an overgrown 1930's dunetop cottage about two blocks back from Lake Michigan. It's been remodeled and remuddled into apartments, then gradually back into a single-family home with an art gallery and a studio. The studio is a former apartment on the lowest level and walks out into a sculpture garden with a meditative labyrinth and a large, slowly decaying shed.

The people: me, deaf since childhood, somewhat arthritic, easily distracted by a never-ending cycle of chores, and Steve, my husband of 3 1/2 years, an artist and website developer from England. I have one son, Nick, who is a musician and law student; he lives about a half an hour away.

The challenge: now that I have retired from my "day" job as a landscape designer, I have the opportunity to work at my art full time. The decision was both liberating and scary. I've sold quite a bit of my work in the past three years, but now I want to push the envelope and do the best work I can. Will I be able to resist the old habit of treating my art as a hobby, and put it first the way I've put jobs and housework first all these years?

All Moved In

Started off the day by moving in the easel, then the boxes of supplies that had been in my office. Set up lamps and a small Sony t.v. that I once used in my dorm room in college. Went out to the shed and brought out an old oak drafting table and tall stool, cleaned off the cobwebs and dust, got them set up next to the work bench. The sun came out in the afternoon.

Tested the wireless networking connection--low, but found a spot where it at least stays on. Steve and I use IM to communicate, as we are three floors apart.

Called a charity to which we were asked to donate art. Their auction is this coming Thursday and I still haven't made anything! But I came across a lot of things with potential and I think tomorrow I'll attempt an assemblage.

Slow But Sure

So far Steve & I have set up shelving and the big workbench and moved all the tools and paints onto the shelves. The shelving unit is one of those big steel wire restaurant-type units on big casters, so the supplies can be wheeled out of the way depending on the project at hand. Starting to find things that we haven't seen in the past couple of years, including paintings that were stored in the cellar. It's somewhat jarring to suddenly see work from your past after it's been out of sight for a while.

Thought I'd Give This a Try

It's the day I'm cleaning out our rental apartment and taking it over for a studio again. Earlier this year I retired from my day job and decided that it was time to do what I've been trying to do for 30 years, be an artist full-time.