You Can't Do THAT!

What do people need so many rules? Especially artists? Are we supposed to be the ones who are allowed to think beyond convention?

Ok, sure. Don't poke your studio mate with an Exacto knife. That's a good one. Don't drink the glaze. Don't mess with any body's else's art... EVER. Good rules.

My daughter has an art teacher who is constantly telling her that she's doing something wrong. Don't use that color. This element belongs over here. If you shape the ears like this it'll look better. Apparently this teacher believes that every project in the class should look the same. Talk about sucking the life out of learning! How many kids in THAT class will need therapy during college?

Art should be about expressing and experimenting and creating. Rules? Bah!

My dear friend and amazing sculptor Ilene, an MFA candidate, is preparing five pieces for a crit. Working in concrete, she needs to make some plates as part of a much larger piece. She could use a mold, but she wants them to look thrown -- more organic, more natural. She asks: can I throw concrete on a wheel?

Why not?

I need a new plate rib though, so she heads to our friendly neighborhood clay retail studio. She tells them what we're planning. You can't do that!

Oh please. It's my favorite thing to hear. Tell me I can't do something and I'll find a way. It's not that I'm stubborn or obstinate (HEY! I saw those eyes roll!!!), but I love finding new ways to do things. Actually, I love working with new media, seeing what can be done.

We humans tend to put people in little boxes: he's a lawyer, she's a soccer mom, they're gay. The assumptions build from there. Most people are so much more. Can't we be more than one thing? Can't artists work in more than one medium?

So we threw the concrete. We took a more experienced potter's suggestion to throw a plate of clay first. After drying it in the sun for a couple of hours (it didn't even crack! How did that not happen!) we poured in the concrete and threw! She made me wear gloves and I HATED that sensation. I need to feel the texture of the medium on the wheel. I was pretty sure my skin would grow back.

Ilene emailed me this morning that one of the two we threw turned out beautiful! One was a little thin and cracked. We learn. We do it again.

See, you CAN do that!

Watching the Death of a Film

Palm, Variation #2, (c) 2008 Jeane Vogel

I spent the weekend in the studio, working on new images. I have exactly 32 fresh pieces of Polaroid film left. 32. From that I might get 10 new images to add to my body of work. Maybe.

I used up 15 pieces this weekend.

The film I use for hand-altered Polaroids, my medium of choice, is SX-70. They stopped making it in December 2005. Like lots of other artists, I started stock-piling. The price soared but I bought as much as I could afford.

Sure some is still available on EBay, but film is finicky. Treat it wrong and it turns on you. The good film I have has been handled right, kept in the fridge until needed. It'll last forever there. I have some other film that has heat damage. I might never be able to use it professionally. I don't trust EBay film at all.

I used to go throught 10-12 pieces to get an image I was happy with and with worth adding to the body of work. Like most artists, I'm very picky and harder on myself than any critic or juror. I see every flaw. I want it to be perfect. Let's shoot it again! It's easy to make a mistake when working in this technique. I'm working directly on the emulsion of the film -- that very thin, delicate, light sensitive layer that makes photography possible. Get distracted for a minute and your image is torn and ruined.

I don't mind when someone looks at the work and casually suggests that I just "smear" and "smoosch" the emulsion to get the look I want, like some kind of primitive finger painting. Many people seem to think that I just spread the emulsion around and see what I get. Instead I try to explain that I use different tools for different effects, and some effects have to be obtained at specific times of the developing process. The process is very controlled and deliberate. I know exactly what effect I will get.

It doesn't matter. Either you like the impact of the image or you don't.

I love it. Sure you can try to get this effect in PhotoShop, but you won't. The film is too organic and subtle. PhotoShop will not get these results.

Besides, the result is only as good as the process. In this case, the process for me is transformative.

Polaroid announced a couple of weeks ago that all of it's film will be discontinued. All the Polaroid alternate process art forms are going away.

I get asked what I will do next? Develop another body of work, of course. The tool might be going away but the vision is still there. Fortunately, that can't be discontinued just yet.

PS. The Palms, Variation #2 is in honor of dear friends Renata and Jerome. These are date palms, and I shot them outside their front door. I've been working on the image for a while now, and finally finished it this weekend. Instead of being in the studio, I was supposed to be at their house in Palm Springs, but ice and snow canceled all flights and made the trip impossible. I also missed seeing equally dear friends Hildy and Dimitri, who were driving up from Tucson just to see me. I miss them all. Next time.

Your Artist Statement is WRONG!

Sand Castle, (c) 2007 by Jeane Vogel, Infrared Photograph

Excuse me?

He repeated it: Your artist statement is wrong!

Wrong? It's an artist statement! It's my interpretation of my own work. It's my opinion! The only way it could be wrong is if I were lying!

No, he said. I disagree with it.

How can you disagree with an artist's statement? But he did. He took issue with my premise: Photography does not capture a moment. Photography captures the essence of the moment.

I have to explain this a lot. Of COURSE it captures the moment, I'm told, with a look that continues: Are you an idiot? Perhaps. But I stick with my statement. A snapshot might capture a moment. A photograph captures far more -- more than we can see, sometimes more than we can feel.

Neil Young is Feeling Bad

Neil Young is in a funk. Last week he announced that music can't change the world and we were silly to think it could.

Here's what he said:

"I think that the time when music could change the world is past," he told reporters. "I think it would be very naive to think that in this day and age." Young added: "I think the world today is a different place, and that it's time for science and physics and spirituality to make a difference in this world and to try to save the planet." (from Huffington Post)

Neil, Neil, Neil.

You must be feeling so despondent lately, to abandon all hope of making a difference. OF COURSE music can change the world. It already has. Music is art. Art saves lives.

Where you do think inspiration for advances in science and physics and spirituality comes from? Artists, silly.

Art-- the ability to create -- is the one thing, the ONLY thing that truly separates humans from every other being on this planet. We use tools, other animals use tools. We communicate, other animals communicate. We rear families and build communities and homes, other animals do the same. Sadly, we murder in anger or punishment or fear. Animal behaviorists surprised us with evidence that other animals are just like us. Or we're like them.

Art is the difference between us and the rest of creation. Birds sing, but they can't compose. An elephant with a brush in her truck can smear paint on a canvas, but it's not a deliberate communication.

Art inspires change. Art encourages growth. Art offers a way of communicating when -- or because-- words cannot express our grief or joy or hope or despair.

Sure, the inspiration might be just one person at a time. It might take years. Music and art are not shields to protect us from the horrors of this world, but a way to celebrate the beauty and inspire action to fix what's wrong.

If we give up on the idea that that music or art will not repair what's wrong in this world, then we have lost our world.

It's not naive to think that art will change the world, Neil. It's naive to think we CAN'T.

Best of Missouri Hands

I got the phone call last Friday, but the official letter came yesterday: I'm now a juried member of Best of Missouri Hands! It's the art group that sets the standard for excellence among Missouri's artists and craftspeople.

When I applied a few years ago, I thought it would be a slam dunk! I had a nice body of work, thought I was well respected among other artists, I had won a few awards, my craftsmanship was above average, even my mother starting liking my work!

Rejected! I was shocked. Dismayed. Deflated.

Ok. Really I was just a little annoyed and embarrassed. I thought my work was good enough. I think it didn't help that one juror didn't understand that my work was an alternate process photographic art form. Oh well. I blew if off.

All right. I didn't blow it off. It bothered me. And I wanted to improve the body of work enough to be juried in. And I started getting questions over the last few years from other artists: why aren't you juried into Best of Missouri Hands? The jury should love your work. Apply again!

I hesitated because I didn't want to repeat the rejection. Best of Missouri Hands IS the best. There are only 23 photographers in the state who have met the criteria. It's a lot tougher than I thought to get in. The artist ego is fragile. Rejection is not something that is missing in my life.

The jurors were tough. The scoring sheets showed that one juror had lots of questions about the originality and pizazz of my subject matter. Something else to work on! Fortunately, the other two jurors found enough merit, though all three voted my acceptance. The jurors are anonymous -- at least to me -- so I can only thank them publicly. Thank you!

Exposure

People die from that, don't they?

That's the joke in the art world. A well meaning charity worker approaches an artist. We're raising money, she says, and we'd like you donate some of your wonderful artwork to the auction. It will be great exposure!

I'm a photographer. I know quite a lot about exposure. Too little, and nothing can be seen. Too much, and you're ruined -- overblown, blinded.

Exposure must be dead on. Composition and subject matter are nothing if the exposure is wrong.

The same goes for artists: too little exposure and only your mom thinks you're good (even if she doesn't quite understand it.) Too much exposure and you're not special anymore.

It's become very popular for nonprofit organizations to ask artists to donate work. The attitude seems to be that the group is doing us a favor! All these people will see our work! Baloney! The fact is, all this donated work doesn't bring the promised exposure -- it just devalues the work of the art.

With few exceptions, I prefer not to donate art to auctions because I'm not interested in giving my work away. I respect my work and I truly respect my collectors. Art is valuable and should be treated with respect. So should the artists.

We could debate for hours why art and artists aren't respected in this country. Really? You thought we were? Ask an artist for a honest opinion. Chances are more people think he or she falls into one of three categories: a trust-funder of independent means, a part-timer who married to someone with a good job, or a hobbyist. Art is still thought of as frivolous or inaccessible or unimportant. If it's not a "pretty picture," is it still art?

Art saves lives. Art makes us think. Art moves us beyond ourselves. Art changes the world.

As my dear friend, sculptor Ilene Berman often notes: If it doesn't, what's the point?

What's the point, indeed.

So what are the exceptions for donating art? Lots of art fairs ask for a donation to put in the children's tent, where children can buy fine art for $5 or $10. I think that's a great idea. Their parents aren't allowed in the children's art tent so the kids get to chose a piece for themselves. To empower a child and educate him or her about art is the best idea to come out of art fairs in long time. Kids often come back to my booth with the piece they chose, so proud and happy. They have learned the excitement of beginning an art collection of their own.

Also, I will donate to a group that I have a strong connection to. Or I might donate a gift certificate. If I don't know the organization or don't care about the issue, why should I donate? I won't. Make your case and change my mind, but don't expect me to give you work for the "exposure."

If I don't value my work, no one else will either. I won't just give it away.

(Image posted is Icy, (C) 2007 Jeane Vogel Photography)

Two New Exhibits

It's great to start off January with two new exhibits, including some brand new work!

Let's Skip the Chrysalis has been accepted into the most recent Art St. Louis exhibition, which opens with an artist reception on Jan. 20. ASL shows are getting more competitive all the time and I am so pleased to included again. For this show there were 147 artworks submitted by 86 artists. Only 55 works by 53 artists were selected for exhibition.

The exhibit runs January 21-February 28, 2008 in the Art Saint Louis Main Gallery.

If Wishes Were Horses... appears in Magic Silver, a nationally juried photography exhibition at Eagle Art Gallery on the campus of Murray State University in Murray, KY. The exhibition also opens with an artist reception Jan 20 and runs through Feb. 22.

Happy New Year!

I spent New Year's Day in the studio. What better way to anticipate a great year of making art than to work in the studio?

I never forget what a luxury it is to have separate studio space. Some of my work is done in a home studio, but it's not the same as having a studio in a separate location. Mine is especially nice because it's in Ilene and Scott's backyard -- where there seems to be an endless supply of beer in the fridge, coffee in the pot and friendship all around -- not necessarily in that order.

So I spent the day throwing pots. Sometimes I get surprised looks: you're a potter too? I'm a firm believer that an artist should have more than one medium, but I do not claim to be a clay artist. Sure, I can throw a passable pot. You can drink from my cups, serve from my bowls and even pour tea from my teapots (OK -- those ARE hard to do!) But I throw more to stretch my ideas beyond the flat two- dimensions I normally work in. Since I do this for a living, I don't want my work to get stale or my art to become drudgery. It still has to mean something! And it has to evolve.

Besides, I love playing in the dirt!

It was after one of my recent throwing sessions I thought about some images I made last summer -- those I had rejected. After looking at them from a perspective of a different medium, Hidden emerged. It's the first new work for 2008. This image is all about perspective. The rocks loom larger than expected. Are those boulders or pebbles in the foreground? Where did that mountainous rock come from? Where is the sun that the sky could be lit from such an angle? Or is the rock just a stepping stone?

Hidden projects my primary resolution for the new year: to challenge the expected perspective and look from different angles.

Winter Light

The Hanukkah candles burned bright at our house this week, with as many as four menorahs at time. The neighborhood is alight with festive bulbs. And last night -- for the first time after nearly 10 days of ice and rain and fog and gloom -- I saw the moon.

All of this got me thinking about winter light. The sun is not up when we put kids on the buses in the morning, and I exercise in the cold at dawn. The first few minutes are brutal, but the light is extraordinary -- pink and yellow, deep shadows, reflections off tiny ice crystals of frost.

The night winter light simply doesn't exist. Street lights barely make a dent in the shadows. The small crescent moon was bright in comparison to the deep winter dark.

The ice storms in Oklahoma -- just a few hundred miles southeast of us in St. Louis -- reminded me of the devastating ice storms here last year. Actually there were two, about five weeks apart, that knocked out our electricity for seven days each. One was in December, the next in January. The darkest times of the year.
The times of Winter Light.

I was in the midst of working on the White Series when we lost electric the second time. Alone in the 36-degree house at midnight, the kids were farmed out to warmer places and I was trying to keep the dogs and cat and fish and tortoise warm and the water pipes from freezing. I was also bored. I used the last of the D batteries in the portable radio-TV to watch Boston Legal and some moronic reports on the local late news about what I was supposed to do if I didn't have electricity! I tried reading by candle light, but the dark was so deep the light didn't extend very far. And candles flicker -- duh! -- which changes the light and makes it hard for me to read.

I watched the candles instead. The quality of the light and the blackness of the dark were stunning. There was no ambient light. No moon. No streetlights. No TV glow. No stove pilot light. Most of the houses in the neighborhood were empty so there weren't even flashlights beaming about.

Just the small glow of two candles on my kitchen table producing a flicker of winter light. It was too much to resist. That I found my equipment amazed me. I kept fogging up the viewfinder with my breath, but the results were good: White, Variation #11.

Picking Up a Pencil

Do photographers need to know how to draw?

Well, yeah! If they want to be artists they do.

That was just part of the conversation last night among a few Women's Caucus for Art board members. A watercolorist and a fiber artist were bemoaning the lack of art education among art students, who seem to be told it's ok to use computer graphics instead of picking up a pencil.

OK, I know it sounds a like a bunch of old women complaining about the kids. (Yes, that's true, but we are really COOL old women!) Don't jump to any conclusions! Each of us at the table uses all the tools at her disposal, including computers. I have some Photoshop actions that I consider family!

No, the real issue, it seems, is that students aren't being taught to truly look at an object. Older artists learned to "see" by drawing the object. Over and over and over. Some of us are gifted. Some (hand raised) struggled through it. But we learned. We learned composition, then dynamics of light, then color theory. THEN we were able to use our skills to communicate our vision and craft an unique style. We old women could be wrong, but we just don't think we would approach our art the same way without that background in drawing.

Which brings me back to photography. Since it's my primary medium, I'm a little sensitive about it.

I've had other artists say to my face that photographers aren't "real" artists because all we do is press a button. I know photographers who diminish themselves with the same description. Maybe they are right. Maybe they aren't artists.

Some photographers are. What's the difference?

It's like the difference between a snapshot and a photograph. There are lots of people with cameras. Some are very expensive and some are cheap. Doesn't matter. Point the lens and open the shutter, take what you get, move on to the next activity. That's a snapshot. Doesn't matter if you're shooting the kid's birthday party or set up an 8x10 view camera to capture the sunset. It's still a snapshot. A pretty picture.

A photograph is a piece of art that is well thought out and communicates. It's not random, it's not happenstance, it's not Lucky. It was created.

Artists who use cameras know what they are going to shoot before they do it. Some of us make sketches or word maps of the image before we shoot. I don't share my sketchbook with other people, but it's invaluable to me to get work that's in my head onto the photographic paper. An added benefit of sketching the subject before I shoot it is the abiltiy to slow down the creation process. What are other people missing because they shoot and go? What else is there. What isn't there? What is hidden in plain sight?

Sure, I spend lots of time shooting subjects I didn't envision first. That's part of the joy of this medium. An artist photographer can go anywhere and produce work that is fresh. One of the reasons artist-photographers can always find interesting subjects to shoot is that they have learned to see differently -- and most of the time it's because they first learned to draw.