What is special?

I’ve been in a struggle recently about my thoughts towards Mark Duplass.  My introduction to him were through his written and directed movies that Netflix thought I would like but upon seeing them I found them pretentious and irritating.  For a long time it was the quintessential type of indie movie that give indie movies a bad name and I swore him as my enemy.  But now that I’ve recently started watching and loving The League, I’m beginning to be torn apart about my hate for him.  As I learned in my high school government class, there’s a personal struggle and frustration when one finds themselves agreeing with their enemies.  He’s by no means my favorite character on the show but you can’t help but wonder after the humor on the show that maybe I actually like this guy…or more specifically would like this guy if I met him.  Which only adds to my disgust of him.  He seems like the type of guy I could get along with and joke with and by all means be friends with.

This thought peaked tonight as I’m watching Your Sister’s Sister.  Duplass plays a guy who seems like someone I’d be friends with and makes me think he and I actually would get along in person despite my hate for his more personal, creative endeavors.  And it pains me to think I would enjoy Safety Not Guaranteed if/when I see it.  The Duplass I like is him just acting as a pretty average, enlightened, modern person.  And yet the films I see when he writes or directs I loath the son of a bitch.  Which made me think of John Krasinski.

The Jim character on the Office was as charming and personable as they come and the story line of him longing for Pam was equally charming and personable and something I and I’m sure millions of fans could relate with on some level.  In short, he seems like an actor who, through his portrayal of everyday and modern characters, seems like someone I would be friends with under casual circumstances.  But then look at his personal creative endeavors.  This guy some how had the power and charisma, probably a lot of luck, and gall to make a movie based on a David Foster Wallace novel?  And what happened?  It was a huge flop and I don’t think any positive word was spoken of the project.  And now I’m seeing trailers for his new film which he co-wrote and stars with Matt Damon and is directed by Gus Van Sant.  The idea was intriguing to me until I found out it was written about a modern form of natural energy and the consequences of small farmers who make a living off the parts of America that gas companies are now suddenly interested in.  The trailer looks awful and I’m smugly proud to see that early reviews of the film are, for the most part, pretty mediocre.

Now to the point…Mark Duplas and John Krasinski are totally capable actors.  At least in the roles they play, which are pretty typical everyday people who are in situations where their human side are strongly appealing and relatable.  Yet when they try to take the initiative on projects under their own brainpower and heart and soul do I despise them?  And I think the thought that I could be friends with these people is exactly why I’m so quick to look for angst towards their works.

As I said before, Duplass and Krasinski seem like cool guys who I could be friends with or remind me enough of people who I would encounter in my own social life.  Their funny, charming and I’m sure I could get drunk with them with ease.  Just like the friends in my own life.  Yet these guys get to write and direct in movies despite their mediocrity and marry women like Emily Blunt and Katie Aselton.  So how are they so special?  Why do they get these privileges in life?

The truth is is that they aren’t.  I’ll admit my naivity in their own personal stories of how they came to where they are but I strongly doubt I’d find any surprise other than academic and network connections.  And in fact, I sort of doubt it matters.  Maybe the got lucky somewhere.  Maybe they were small time actors who got a few breaks and got their foot in the door in one place or another and went from there.  And they had their own projects they were interested in and with some initiative and tenacity they got them made.  But that doesn’t change the quality of these works.

The point I’m trying to make is these guys are great at playing average because they really are.  Their intelligent and enlightened for sure, but average (by today’s standards) nonetheless.  Writing and directing in movies that are based around character conversation or around a contemporary literary genius is a dream of millions of young creatives in this country.  But how many of those millions could make something truly special?  It’s literally the difference between Krasinski and David Foster Wallace.  One is a genius, a once in a lifetime persona and the other just loves his work and wants to be a part of someone else’s integrity and wish it were his own.  One killed himself because he wasn’t made for this world despite his vision and integrity and hunger and the other will most likely be forgotten within the next decade.

But maybe the question is, which is preferable?  David Foster Wallace is dead after a short and tortured life despite critical acclaim and a since grown huge fan following.  And yet it wasn’t enough.  Krasinski and Duplass could have promising careers as actors and filmmakers (though hopefully not the latter) make comfortable amounts of money, have kids with their beautiful celebrity wives and be content.  And yet I don’t think that’s how they want to be remembered.  The reason they take on the projects they do as creative leads is because they wish they could be the intellectual, artistic types that don’t fit in to this world.  And yet, they’re the guys on the sitcoms that people love playing characters that I want to get drunk with.  Do they want to be special?  Yes.  Are they special?  No.  They’re people in a world where every self-proclaiming creative type has a medium (if you’re reading this, I have a blog).

In the past when being an artist was something special, to be known was just that.  Special.  It took integrity, guts, sacrifice, probably some lucky circumstances, talent and maybe a million other things.  But that’s what it takes to be special, really.  A million unseen and unknown things.  Now everybody has a friend online with followers and working for online companies trying to be taste makers for upcoming trends and they all feel self-congratulatory for it as if they themselves made them possible.  Maybe the popularized it.  But they didn’t make it.

I’m digressing a tad but no one will read this so I could use the exercise in theoretical thought.  The point back to myself and painting (as this is a painting blog, no?) is that…am I special?  Duplass and Krasinski are good at some things within their career but not what they wish they were better at.  My favorite painting of mine is a character under an overpass.  It’s expressive, it’s loose and it’s gestural.  Three things I wish all my paintings can be.  And yet I want to paint humans in situations like Renoir or Erik Fischl.  Can I do it?  Not at the moment.  As Duplass and Krasinski are to playing relatable characters I can paint questions…thoughts and ideas that are broad and universal.  But as soon as I try to get closer to facing those devils…I find I’m sub-par.  They scare me the closer I get.  And yet I want to conquer those details in my subjects and within myself despite my amateur brush.  Like Duplass and Krasinski despite their everyday schtick.  Will they do it?  As a critic of my own taste, I say God I hope not.  But yet they may try because what else is there?  Am I special?  Probably not.  I’m no Wallace or Renoir or Fischl.  But do we go on pounding against that wall with bloody fists?  I suppose so.  Godspeed you shitty filmmakers.

A cripple walks amongst you all…

I recently finished my first commissioned painting.  The subject matter was rather simply, a girl reading a book in a quiet setting.  A nice piece for a home for an avid reader; not commercial and one of a kind.  For the price I received, I feel like it’s a quality product.  And yet the price the I received and agreed upon is much less than the work I want to pride myself and be known for.  I’ve been skimming through a book recently, just artists talking about their space and their work and one of the standard questions is “when did you consider yourself an artist?”  All the artists in this book are asked (for the most part) the same questions and after reading a few interviews, I know what’s coming and I can’t help but put myself in this interview chair.  When did I consider myself an artist?

My answer at this point, had I been prolific enough to be asked, is something I keep tripping on.  When did I consider myself an artist?  Well…how am I to say?  My answer now is more complicated.  No date.  No work I’ve done has brought me to that level.  The answer I keep saying in my head, had I been asked, is I don’t consider myself an artist, rather, I’m an artist by default.  I have questions in life.  Avenues of the soul I want to explore, my soul to be more specific.  My work deals greatly with people wanting to break out of themselves and the situations, maybe even opportunities, they take in an attempt.  My inside joke, or maybe my thesis is that it’s all fruitless in the end.  Even if this moment works out in their favor, they still have themselves to live with.  Their unhappy, unfulfilled and still starving for meaning selves.  I paint because it’s an outlet for exploring that nature.  I paint these people because I’m one of them.  Their escape is my escape.  If they make it, I want to know how.  But because I create them, they’ll find their way the same time I do, god willing.

So back to the intro.  I made something recently and was paid for it.  The sum I was paid was modest, but fair given my stature as a painter.  Yet the price I ask for “my” paintings, the paintings of the figures looking for more in life is much greater.  And yet, the images are nothing more than own my exploration.  I’m asking people to pay more for images that involve my judgement of my worth and doubt to be greater than that of something they actually want to see on a daily basis.  The girl reading on a cough is a simple image, but it’s an image that makes the commissioner interested enough to pay me for my skill.  And here I am asking the world for a greater monetary value for my own self exploration.  My own doubt and my own insecurities made public for a hefty price for anyone willing.  Is that what art is?  Millions of songs written about any given situation of self pity and doubt; put it to a guitar and drums and all of a sudden it’s a pop song tearing up the charts.  Where does that put me?  A lonely songsmith with my brushes hoping the next one will make the country mad for more?  Or just a uncertain soul trying to figure himself out?

Prints available and new showing!!!

I finally got some prints made of a few paintings that are available on my new Etsy page.  $10 each and they’re on 12″x18″ high stock paper.

 

 

Also I’ll have two new paintings and one old but updated painting up at BookPeople at 603 N Lamar in Austin, TX for the month of June.  Check them out if you’re in the area.  You should be able to see the new ones below.

 

What can we learn?

I’m proud to say I’m old enough that my heroes can’t teach me anything I don’t already know.  They can only reaffirm what I already know to be true in my heart.  No retreat.  No regret.  No surrender.

 

Keep me alive, Bruce.

Here’s a quick book review I did for BookPeople’s blog and great, quick read for aspiring artists.

I hate to say it, but I’m skeptical about the ‘creativity’ section at our store.  When I think of the books in there what comes to mind are books full of exercises, which are great for getting the juices flowing, but I see them represented as “These are the steps to take to be an artist.”  Do the exercises and, WALLA, you’re an artist.  Now go hang your afternoon exercise masterpiece up in a bar on the east side and ask for $400 for your undeniable talent that you learned in a book and sit back as the praise comes flowing from the heavens about the unicorn on a bicycle that shows what a unique visionary you are. But I digress.

Art is hard.  Really really hard.  And what makes it worth while as a form of expression is in fact how hard it is.  Austin Kleon, author of the new book Steal Like an Artist, understands this.  In it, Kleon talks about the pressures that creatives face day in and day out.  He understands and preaches what every creative type dreads to hear when it comes to the question of “how does one make it in the art world?”  You have to actually work.  His actually-doing instead of talking-about-doing approach to working towards creative endeavors is a beacon of light to the color by numbers art guides that are out there.  Don’t believe him?  Just ask the legendary creatives he quotes throughout the book: Jay-Z, Jim Jarmusch, Brian Eno, Kurt Vonnegut, Steve Jobs, and Mark Twain.  They all have their unique insights, but they all go back to one central theme: you gotta work hard.

The title stems from Kleon’s and his quoted resources belief that there is no such thing as being original and that originality probably hasn’t happened in centuries.  What he does argue, however, is a breath of fresh air.  Be influenced by your heroes.  Do what they do and slowly but surely you’re do it with your own unique voice, just like your art heroes tried to become their art heroes.  Steal Like an Artist is a quick read, chalk full of daily reminders that what you are doing is a long hard journey but that long hard journey is what makes it worth taking and how you become yourself and your art your own.  It also allows you to be human in the modern age, telling you take to take breaks, do nothing, and network online because we need our down time if we want our active time to be any good.

This book is great.  For yourself if you just need a little boost of encouragement or a perfect gift for a friend or family member who is fighting the creative fight.  It’s great to just read and pass along.  Steal Like an Artist is not telling you to reinvent the wheel, but to keep building your wheel and one day it will look like something beautiful and new.

http://www.austinkleon.com/

Will a painting save my life?

 

I often daydream about what I want to accomplish as a painter.  Partially as in the paintings I hope to create one day and also the potential life style it could bring.  I’d be lying if I said a part of me doesn’t want to be involved with some sort of in crowd of people who take themselves seriously as artists, or be recognized amongst peers as a brilliant figure or, hell, even receive the attention of numerous attractive, intelligent, stylish women simply because I can make something with paint and tools.

But it’s all a fantasy.  The truth, I know, is that painting is something that will take a lifetime of discipline with only a few minor scattered personal accomplishments.  If I ever get the sort of recognition as stated above, I’ll probably be on my death bed by the time they come to fruition.  And then what?  Maybe a history book will speak well of me.  And that’s not unwanted by any means.

The characters in my paintings are also searching for that fantasy.  That one job or action or sacrifice or love of a woman that will make all their problems go away; that will save their oily lives.  The tongue in cheek joke though, as their creator, is that even if they do do this one thing right, it’ll won’t last.  Life will never end.  The good will fade and other problems will ooze in like tinctures of poison.  But I have to ask, am I any different?  Aren’t I just doing the same thing, searching for some lost cause, just as these characters are?

I’ve sometimes thought about the one painting that will save my life.  The one painting that will launch me to the status I fantasized about above.  That will make me rich financially and socially in an art world that I’m not sure I even want to be a part of.  The one painting that will make all my dreams come true.  But of course it’s unlikely.  And even if it happens, I’m most likely just to end up like some 80′s one-hit-wonder band or child movie star, seen like a homeless vet begging for money; the butt of jokes and regular ridicule, or at best sympathy for being chewed up and spit out by a machine too big to have seen it coming.

But it’s still fun to think about.  To think I can do it differently, just like everyone else naively thought.  And if it never happens, I like to think a lifetime of failures can add up to something beautiful to be proud of.

 

(the above is an almost finished painting made January 2012…we’ll call it Untitled (The Overpass)

For Our Esme B

I had the honor of participating in this.  Big thank you to JennMo for putting it on for Esme’s memory.

 

http://www.myfoxaustin.com/dpp/news/local/Artists-Pay-Respects-to-Murder-Victim-20121014-ktbcw#axzz1jf9wxsb6