Do I Really Like This, or Do I Just Want To?

Painting is as lonely a business as writing can be, so Scott has developed friendships with other artists over the years and alternates his studio time with group outings to paint en plein air, visits to other artist’s studios and vice versa. Today, Bob MacPherson came to spend some time with Scott.

Bob and Scott have different styles, both somewhat impressionistic with a bit of the abstract here and there. We started to talk about abstract art. Bob recalled being in a museum and looking at a collection that was primarily different colored squares, juxtaposed on each canvas in various combinations. The paintings weren’t speaking to him and he was about to write them off when he overheard a docent explaining that the artist was exploring the concept of psychology and art and how different color combinations can evoke emotion. That made the paintings a bit more interesting.

When I first met Scott, I was a big fan of modern art. Six years living in Europe afforded me the chance to take several art history courses – you couldn’t beat the field trips. Learning about nineteenth and early twentieth century impressionists, fauves, cubists and expressionists within the context of history gave me a great academic appreciation for their work.

Living with art and among living artists, understanding what they are striving to achieve and how they can make a living doing it has given me an altogether different point of view. I still have an academic appreciation for modern art, but I’ve learned a whole new level of appreciation for representational art as well. I’ve learned that what I can appreciate in a museum is not necessarily what I want to see hanging in my living room.

Coincidentally, I was finally able to start reading Francine Prose’s Reading like a Writer and there are some similar parallels between the visual arts and literature. When I was in high school back in New England, reading the classics was still very much a part of the curriculum. I loved reading Shakespeare, as long as it was in the classroom where a teacher could guide me through it. When I tried reading it on my own, I was lost.

I’ve always loved art and literature pretty equally, so over the years, I’ve either read or attempted to read as many “great” books as I could. I’ve enjoyed most that I’ve read, but not all. I tried to read Faulkner several times before I finally picked up As I Lay Dying. I made it through, enjoyed it, was able to follow it reasonably well, but am certain there was a lot I missed. Tropic of Cancer is still sitting on the shelf, unread but someday I’ll try it again. I read William Gaddis’s last novel, Agapē Agape with its five page sentences and it took enough focused concentration to light the book ablaze. I needed a three hour nap to recover. I have another Gaddis novel also waiting patiently in the bookcase for me to crack it open, but it may be waiting a while.

Why would a rational person, with limited time to read for pleasure, put herself through this? It’s because I know how much I’ve loved other books that were tough to get through, once I was able to find their rhythm and get into them. Sometimes I couldn’t do it outside of a classroom.

It’s definitely a different kind of reading than I do when I need something to get me through a long flight, but as long as I’m not completely lost and I see the beauty of the author’s work, I enjoy it -- don’t I? Or is it that I just want to be able to say I read it?

An engineer friend of mine maintains that all abstract artwork is a case of “the emperor has no clothes”. Maybe sometimes this is true. When certain art and literature is so esoteric that it requires special education to appreciate, can we really love it?

What books have you struggled to read and then fallen in love with? Which ones have you tried to read and abandoned? Do we really read serious literature because we enjoy it, or because it’s a challenge and if it’s critically acclaimed, we want to see what the reviewer saw?

The Art or the Artist?

I’ve always thought it a funny cultural quirk that people seem to want to like an artist (writer, movie star, athlete, director, or politician) in order to appreciate their art. This is probably in large part because we live in an age where it’s so easy to find out everything there is to know about a person. Our 15 minutes of fame is now and the odds are you can Google just about anybody and find them.

It’s always been prevalent with movie and TV personalities. There’s probably no better current example of this than the plunge Tom Cruise’s career has taken based on his horse’s ass personality and loony tunes philosophies. I sort of feel sorry for him. I’ve always been a Brad Pitt kind of gal though, and despite the tabloid coverage of his silly global antics I’ll still watch just about anything he stars in because I think he’s a genuinely talented actor.

I started thinking about this yesterday when I talked about Woody Allen. My post didn’t include anything about the scandal with Soon Yi Previn, but I’m well aware that there are a lot of people who found his behavior so deplorable that they won’t watch his movies. Maybe to some of us, it’s a matter of principle. Maybe some of us believe supporting the industry of someone we find morally reprehensible to be socially irresponsible. I’m not sure I think that’s it though.

This trend seems to have bled over into the other arts where who the creator is should be irrelevant to how we feel about the work and how they look should matter even less. I’m not especially interested in writers’ or artists’ personal lives so I don’t associate their work with what they do. If Annie Proulx hated puppies and kittens or Dave Eggers was in love with an orangutan or Michael Chabon was a necrophiliac, I can honestly say I wouldn’t care and wouldn’t even want to know.

I care even less whether the author of my favorite book looks like George Cloony or the elephant man. I read a list of 13 writing tips yesterday on Chuck Palahniuk’s website. Number 11 was: “Get author book jacket photos taken now, while you're young. And get the negatives and copyright on those photos.” I read a post on another Blog – just yesterday -- about the impact to sales that a youthful, attractive photo on a book jacket has versus one that – well -- probably really looks like the author. If that’s not a lot of pressure, I don’t know what is. There was a time when the stereotype of either an artist or a writer was that of an eccentric who probably wasn’t overly attractive (think Gertrude Stein or Truman Capote) and was maybe anti-social or reclusive (think Thomas Pynchon or J.D. Salinger). Now writers are thinking about glamour shots and image; as if writing well wasn’t hard enough.

It’s hard enough for me to figure out what to write and how to do it, so I’m planning ahead to save time. I’ll be auditioning body doubles to appear on my book jackets and attend book signings in my place. Once I’ve written a new classic for the 21^st century and whatever pseudonym I've picked is a household name (obviously I can't use my own name and let the media find out all the dirt), you can be sure I’ll be hailed as the youngest, sexiest looking middle aged woman in America. Let me know if you have a candidate for my pseudo-face in mind.

Paralysis by Analysis

There is a term called Paralysis by Analysis that refers to the phenomenon of gathering so much data and looking at a problem for so long that the resulting lack of progress or lack of a decision outweighs the benefit of performing the analysis.

I am most familiar with the term within the context of business, but it’s a problem for athletes, musicians, artists, writers and I’d venture a guess to anyone about to embark on a big decision or project.

I am there with my writing. Between reading Blogs and books on craft, I have started to write and then rejected at least six stories over the last month. The additional information I’m absorbing is all extremely valuable, but it’s intimidating and impossible to absorb entirely. Ignorance was bliss 21,000 pages into the draft novel I started several months ago and I won’t say there isn’t some salvageable material in there, but now that I’m starting to know what I don’t know, it’s almost overwhelming.

I have no sense of place! The theme is unclear! The characters don’t have enough depth! The stakes aren’t high enough! The tension isn’t high enough! I’m not saying anything new! Yikes!

Alright, that’s enough of a meltdown. I know what I need to do. I have enough information to go back to the drawing board and frame my ideas with the new insights I’ve gained. Better now than into the third or fourth revision of my first manuscript.

For the rest of the week, I’ll plot and diagram out my story, get a new draft started and I will not read anything new except good fiction so I can remember what it looks like.

It’s all about balance. Did I mention last week that’s a challenge for me?

Navajo Rugs

Scott often hears from old friends, students, collectors and people who have seen his work through his web site. That’s how we met Wayne and Kerry. Wayne contacted Scott after seeing one of his paintings in a magazine and before long, they started a friendship. We lived in New Hampshire then and Scott and Wayne emailed pretty regularly. Last year after the western sunshine brought us back to Colorado, we had a chance to spend time with Wayne, Kerry and their daughter Katharine at their magical home and studio in Albuquerque.

Fifteen years ago Wayne and Kerry transformed their lives and established a business cleaning, restoring, appraising and buying Navajo Rugs. The restoration work is painstaking and involves intricate weaving to match pieces that are often more than a century old. The dyes must be reproduced and matched using a variety of natural substances. There are very few people in the country who do what Wayne and Kerry do and fewer still who do it as well.

They were relative newlyweds and Wayne was already about 45 when they began their adventure. They were in Indiana with traditional jobs but soon decided to pack their bags and head west where they’d both spent most of their lives. There were a few challenges. Kerry was pregnant, neither of them knew anyone in their destination city of Albuquerque and they had no money.

In Wayne’s words, “Not a whole lot can hold you back when you’re in love and ready to throw yourself to the mercy of fate. Passion, persistence, trust in ourselves and love is all we needed.”

They made the move on a credit card, paid twice the rent they planned to for a place with studio space and hit the road with Kerry pregnant and two dogs in tow. Three days later they arrived to find their new home not quite ready, so they slept on a damp carpet, unloaded the U-Haul and hit the town with their meager portfolio. They picked up a couple of jobs, but they laugh and say they’re sure it was because people took pity on them when they saw Kerry’s growing belly.

They brought their daughter Katharine into the world at home with a midwife a few months later. In those days they didn’t have insurance.

They put a down payment on the house across the street, began renovations and put in a studio. They juggled three mortgages and a handful of credit cards and paid the credit cards off with other credit cards.

Fifteen years later, they’ve got a wonderfully warm home and studio, clients in all fifty states and abroad and a backlog of more than a year’s work. Their clients don’t mind the wait. When Scott and I met Wayne and Kerry it was like spending time with friends we’d known for years. They are artists with generous, creative and loving souls. Their southwest home, originally part of a land grant generations ago, opens to a patio and garden with the scent of flowers in the air, twinkling lights and the occasional roadrunner overhead. They’ve provided safe haven to a miniature donkey, a goat, dogs, a cat and a couple of lop-eared rabbits. Katharine is a beautiful, intelligent and compassionate child and her parents are always there for her.

Was it a lot of risk and work to pursue the dream they created? I’d give that a resounding yes. Was it worth it?

Wayne explains it best. “I have a wife that is even more beautiful than when we met, and most importantly so very, very supportive and loving. We have a beautiful daughter who is compassionate, loving and opening her world as to what can be explored with fun. We still have a mortgage, but only a modest one. We’ve got health insurance, life insurance and have met so many wonderful and interesting people that have made our decision to do what we do the most rewarding choice. Kerry and I have often reflected on that aspect. Sure, what we do and where we do it with regard to our careers is definitely rewarding but the true wealth has been in the meeting of like minds and interests and talent. It has been amazing!! We look back in amazement at how, over the past fifteen years, our lives have been continually enriched by the choices we made. We would like to keep exploring without doubts or the fear of change. Age factors in, as does responsibility for others. But it works when you can put all of that aside. We did it then, we can do it now. Change and new quests are always good for the soul. There is nothing to lose except the hum drum of being in a rut. Dogs are good receptors to let you know if you’re making the right decision.”

I love a story with a happy ending, especially the ones that hint at a sequel.

How Green is That Grass?

The other day a friend asked me if Scott would continue to paint if he won the lotto tomorrow. Scott was having a particularly challenging week painting so the answer this week was a most definite, “I’d never touch a paintbrush again! The first couple of thousand paintings were pretty fun, but after that, not so much.”

Since Scott has been making a living as an artist for well over 20 years, his perspective about painting is quite a bit different than mine is about writing at the moment. While attending to the demands of the job that generates a paycheck, I squeeze in an hour or two here and there to write, and I imagine my fabulous future writing life. I sit down with my morning coffee and blissfully hammer away at my latest masterpiece, full of inspiration and incredible ideas. This vision, I realize is probably about as accurate as the fantasy I had about artists before I knew any personally. The artist of my imagination worked in a big loft, wore a French beret, held a palette in one hand, a brush in the other and had a long cigarette holder clenched in his creative teeth. He worked his emotional furor out on the blank canvas before him and was allowed fits of temper. How this turned into a paycheck never entered my mind.

While Scott has periods where he’s truly inspired, energized and doing the best work of his career, he also has periods where he’s painting commissions that don’t rock his boat or he’s painting a subject he’s no longer passionate about, but is selling and in demand by his galleries. He’s got packing and crating, ordering supplies, website changes, negotiations with galleries, advertising, cleaning brushes and a laundry list of the less glamorous tasks that are all part of making a living as an artist.

During the “up” periods, I’ve asked Scott the same question. Would he still have a desire to paint if he didn’t have to? Then his answer takes on a different slant. “If I didn’t have to depend on painting for my income, I’d probably like to set up an easel in my garden and paint what I see just for my personal enjoyment. I'd paint what I want to paint.”

What’s the difference between the fantasy and the reality? It’s pursuing your passion as a hobby versus having to pay the bills. With creative vocations, people frequently don’t understand the difference. Many times I’ve seen Scott smile and grit his teeth when someone says to him, “gosh I wish I could have your job”, and I imagine working writers might feel the same way.

Maybe that’s one of the benefits of making a career change at the ripe old age of 45 and understanding that it’s all hard work, but working at something you love beats the heck out of working at something you don’t.

From the Alpha...

I always believed we have some notion of who or what we're meant to be from the time we're eight or nine. A few people stay the course and they become that person. Most of us stray from the path, sometimes due to bad choices but most often because of fear and the need for security. Every once in a great while, we find the path again.

My husband, the person I admire more than anyone I know is a fine artist, but he didn't start painting until he was 29. He struggled for many years while he learned his craft, worked more jobs than I could ever imagine possible and did without for many years until he could support himself with his art. He never gave up.

We have some friends who are artists and until a few years ago had "normal" jobs, but gave the steady income up to live the modest life they now have. She told me recently they are the proverbial starving artists, but she wouldn't give up the life she has now for anything in the world.

Another friend works with a rescue organization that catches, spays and releases feral cats in Denver. They find homes for the domestic cats they find abandoned and abused and she goes out and feeds and cares for these animals. She told me it's what she was meant to do.

Another couple we know had day jobs, but she's a painter and a writer so they started a fine art framing business on the side. After more than a year of hard work, he left his job to frame full time and she's cut back her hours and will soon be able to quit and do the things she's passionate about.

People do it and they do it all the time. I wanted to write and did, for as long as I can remember; me and a million other people. It wasn't until a few months ago that I thought maybe I could get back on my path. I started stealing time here and there to supplement my journaling with short stories and story ideas. I have a good job and make a good living, but I've watched Scott paint and create day after day, and he works very hard at it. I want what he has and what all of the people I've mentioned have. The yearning to do something I feel passionate about has overcome my fear of failure and financial insecurity (OK that's a lie. I'll never get over my fear of living in poverty again). We talk often now about my transition from the corporate life to that of a writer. How much should we have saved? How far can we pay the mortgage down? Should we get rid of HBO? I'll still have to work, but maybe part-time doing something that doesn't follow me home. I'm a realist and I know it's a longshot I'll be successful and we'll have to "downsize" and make sacrifices, but it's worth it. It's what I love and giving it my best shot and failing is preferable to never trying at all. I've made commitments to get our lives in order and to allow more time to write and this blog is part of that.

I'm hoping to connect with others who are daring to dream of pursuing whatever it is they are meant to be. I'd like to share thoughts and ideas with people who want to make a major life change and to find inspiration from people who've done it. I have a lot of challenges ahead of me, but I have a whole new level of energy and optimism now that I've gone from "I wish" to "I will".