Ancient Artist: Developing an art career after 50

Summer of Big Dreams

Summer is for dreamers.  Sitting in a hammock, or by the edge of a stream, your toes floating in the cool water, tilting your head back to watch the clouds float and change and open up the possibilities of the world...where does your mind wander?

Are you dreaming big dreams? 

Your creative life begins in dreams.  In the endless "what if?" questions that hover just beyond your reach.  What if I used that Opera Pink instead of the Permanent Rose?  What If I changed my brushwork from meticulous to broad, thick strokes?  What if I tried painting from life?  Changed my style? 

What if I approached that gallery, or submitted to that national show? 

Can you imagine your dreams like an ever expanding spiral, gently turning from the small, quiet, safe ideas into the grand, multi-colored Big Dreams? 

According to Martin S Lindauer, in Aging, Creativity, and Art, one of the benefits of Mature Age is the tendency to think more holistically, to view all experience as part of a greater whole.  Small dreams are just the lead-in for bigger dreams, bread crumbs pointing toward our unique destinies.  Of course, it will always be up to the individual to discover what that destiny might be, and to work through the challenges that come with increased risk-taking.  But if we will commit ourselves to nurturing our dreams, if we honor the internal drive that keeps us at the easel, or potter's wheel, or drawing pad, then we will manifest the lives that we dream about, recognizing...suddenly...that we've been living them all along and simply did not know it.

And if you think you're too old to dream...I would like to share a brief story about Isabel that I found in another wonderful book called Aging Artfully, 12 Profiles: Visual & Performing Women Artists Aged 85 - 105, by Amy Gorman.  Isabel was born in 1916 and has been an artist her entire life. 

            "Isabel pauses.  We share some ripe figs and cream cheese.  'Art is what interests me.'  She continues, thinking of food and art.  ' I'm the one who organizes picnics with my fine, talented friends.  Two years ago I organized one a la Manet's 'Dejeuner Sur L'Herbe,' in the Redwoods.  We made a tableau as in the painting.  Over lunch we wrote stream of consciousness poetry.  My idea was that the women wear clothes and the men not.  The men decided we were just too close to the public road - but they did take their shirts off'  (p 144)."

Life is what we make of it...the stuff dreams are made of.

                      "Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go."
                                                                                                           - T.S. Eliot

Going Back to the Well

The Accidental Creative had a recent pod cast on the importance of pacing yourself when working in the "create-on-demand" field.  It is equally important for artists to recognize the need to pace themselves, to allow time for artistic activity, and equal time for creative introspection.

Since many of us are experiencing a slowdown in our economy, this seems a perfect time to revisit the source of the inspiration that drives your artistic practice. 

In his book, Creative Authenticity, author and artist Ian Roberts discusses the necessity of returning to the"headwaters of our inspiration."  He believes that "the source of our own work is so close and we respond to it so often that we may grow to ignore it.  And each time we ignore it, we diminish it."

Taking the time to sit quietly with yourself and listen to that inner voice is just as important as working in a sketch book every day, or taking classes, or visiting museums.  We can certainly find inspiration in the work of the artists who have walked this path before us.  But unless we have a clear understanding of what is uniquely our own, our art making will only echo the marks and patterns that have crossed our path.  To achieve true authenticity, we must return to the well of our individual inspiration.

Sunday Salon: The Three Stages of Growth

    When I was a child, all I really wanted was to grow up.  To be In Charge of myself.  I thought growth was a destination, an obtainable benchmark with smooth sailing from then on.

    And it was for many years.  Life was good.  I understood the rules and functioned fairly successfully.  Until one day I realized I had a choice.  I could stay where I was, at that benchmark.  Or I could follow the calling of my heart into unknown territory.

    I think we all feel the tug at various times in our life, the question "Is this all there is?" Sometimes, circumstances gently tell us, "Yes, it is, for now."  And then one day the answer is different. And we realize we need to grow.

    Growth evolves gradually, and in stages. 

    There is the first stage, when we are filled with the rush of exhilaration, an explorer discovering new territory hidden within ourselves.  We decide to take out that journal and start the book we'd always said we'd write.  Or spill out the box of pencils and charcoal to find just the right piece.  It's a delight to rush to the store and select new paper or canvases, as the possibilities seem endless.

    The second stage begins to creep in when we measure our work against that of others: the rush of joy and relief when we think our work is "better," and the depths of depression in the next moment when we recognize that it's not.  This is when growth becomes an obsession.  When every new book or DVD or blog or workshop  promises to supply the answer, and we struggle over mastering a style that is not our own, or speak in a voice that feels foreign to us, using words we can't understand.  It is at this point that many artists feel like giving up, myself included.  When all the things that once delighted us have now become instruments of self-inflicted torture. 

    The third stage comes when we give up our expectations.  And for many, this becomes much easier to do the older we get.  Maybe it's the sense of time flowing by so quickly we know intuitively that we must let go of how it should be and just enjoy the way it is. 

    It is at this stage when real growth occurs.  When our own style emerges, our own voice, our own success. When we finally embrace who we really are.

    If you are struggling with the second stage of growth -- and I've found that I tend to slip back and forth from the second to the third, and then back to the second -- here are some of the recent insights that have helped me.

    Close your eyes and think back to the reason you embarked on this journey.  Remember the feel of the passion your inner dream ignited.  Believe that you have within yourself the ability to live that dream.

    Then open your hands.  And let it go.

  " Rebirth is a gradual process of giving embrace and welcome to the person we really wish to be."  Marianne Williamson, The Age of Miracles: Embracing the New Midlife.

And the Question Is...

I spent the morning giving a phone interview to an author writing a book about people who change careers at mid-life. And I spent the last two days worrying about what I could say to her.

She wanted to know about my life as an artist. 

She wanted to know what the difficulties were.

What would I say to those who had been "down-sized" and were facing age discrimination, or fear, or lack of finances, who wanted to follow their life dream, or just find out what their dream was, or...

I asked myself,  when had she talked to me before?  Because her questions sounded just like myself in a past life.

I ended up telling her this:

Once I gave up my preconceived expectations, the world of opportunity opened up for me. 

Not necessarily profound.

I hope the book reads better.

As an aside, vacations are wonderful for recharging your enthusiasm and opening yourself to new experiences...like hiking in the rain.  Unfortunately, they have at least a 10 day hangover during which nothing much gets done, like checking stats on your websites, or thinking about posting to your blog, or doing anything else that's productive....sigh...my 10 days are almost up.  Thanks for being patient.  I'll be profound next week. 

Or...maybe not. 

Trends and the Changing Art Market

The May issue of Art Business News published an excerpt from the Gallery Roundtable held at Artexpo New York 2008, and I thought I would share with you some of the interesting points that jumped out at me.

• Small paintings are gaining popularity, as clients opt for filling large spaces with "a collection of small pieces by the same artist or by several artists."

• There is a return to Contemporary Realism, figurative work, still lifes and representational work in the style of the old Masters or traditional approaches.

• The internet is driving sales on reproductions, prints and giclees, so many galleries are countering the trend by focusing on originals or very limited editions.

• More young people are entering the market as collectors, generating a sense of energy,  "a new kind of celebrity" similar to that seen in fashion, music, and technology.

• Relationships - between galleries and their clients, and galleries and their artists - matter: "At the end of the day, it's about the relationships we create and how we build them."

You can read the Gallery Roundtable excerpt here, if you don't subscribe to the free magazine. 

Breaking the Glass, Continued

Last Friday I came across a thought provoking post on Seth Godin's Blog about a beautiful glass sculpture that contains a clock stopped at 0:00.  The clock is real, waiting to start ticking.  But in order to start the clock you must break the fragile glass sculpture.  That was your choice.  You have something beautifully constructed, a work of art, but time will not start unless you "break" your comfort zone and be willing to start new in the unknown. 

Seth has a way with words, and in his post he asked "analogy, anyone?"

We receive messages all the time.  Sometimes, the message is so familiar to the messages we've received in the past we "tune it out" the way our kids do when we tell them to clean their rooms. 

And sometimes a message comes through that rings such a bell of authenticity within your personal psyche that you suddenly "get it."

This is one of those messages for me.

Although it seems logical that life should proceed in a linear fashion, with one accomplishment leading naturally into the next, more often it becomes a spiral.  Each rotation of "learning" comes back to the starting point and we are faced with the choice of standing there admiring our beautiful glass sculpture or breaking the glass.

Starting that clock requires that we "break" with the past, or safety, or the comfort zone we've created.  Maybe, like me, there is fear beneath the hesitancy.  What do I risk if I do this?

But turn the question around and ask yourself, what have I compromised in order to keep this security?

If you have compromised your artistic dreams, then you have no other choice but to lift that hammer.

Along the Old Post Road Painting Process

I have chronicled the painting process for versions one and two of "Along the Old Post Road" in a separate page.  You will see the link at the top in the right side column. 

version one is on the left and

version two is on the right.

Along the Old Post Road 1 @ Sue Favinger Smith
Along the Old Post Road 2 @ Sue Favinger Smith

Sunday Salon: Sitting Down with the Atelier Approach

In my conversations with Slump, he suggested I was "stuck"  because I'd reached the edge of the cliff.  Metaphorically speaking, that is.

"And that cliff would be?" I asked, eyebrows raised for emphasis.

"The one where you're standing on the edge of solid ground -- the painting skills you have -- and you're afraid to step off the cliff -- gaining new painting skills -- because you think you'll crash and burn."

"Ah, the Wiley Coyote Observation," I responded snidely, since Slump had loved Roadrunner cartoons as a kid.

But Slump has thicker skin than I have.  He ignored my immaturity and reminded me I ought to read one of those books I buy instead of just looking at the pretty pictures. 

So I did. 

One of my painting aspirations is to become a fabulous landscape painter.  Well, at least a good one.  But  I've been producing work that's rather ... ho hum.  So, under Slump's continued nagging I pulled out Classical Painting Atelier: A Contemporary Guide to Traditional Studio Practice, by Juliette Aristides.

The Atelier Approach was once the gold standard for artist training.  It fell out of favor, but is regaining popularity.  The basic philosophy mentors an artist through lessons from a Master Artist, introducing foundational skills through a curriculum that "naturally builds upon itself during the course of a developing artist's period of study (p. 1)."

I began with the first exercise, studying tonal arrangements.

I know this is a big risk, telling you how I took short cuts, labored over a painting when I knew better, ended up overworking it, making it ugly and just waiting for my husband to pass by and point out these details the way someone points out the obvious to a four year old.  But in the spirit of sharing, I hope my experience will be helpful.

I've had more time recently to devote to painting, and I started working on some new, smaller landscapes.

Painting One @ Sue Favinger Smith

So here is the first version.  I thought it looked interesting from 20 feet back, lost it's power at 3 feet.  I wasn't sure exactly what was wrong.

I liked the light and place.  I liked the personality of the trees.  My original inspiration had dramatic light to dark contrast, but was a photo and photos aren't very good at revealing what's in the shadows.  I didn't want to just copy.  I also liked the color scheme.  The sky was a mixture of violets and blues, making the yellows glow.

But something just wasn't quite right.

I needed to study the composition through tonal values, and compare it to the tonal values of a "Master Artist."

I use Photoshop Elements, and have recently incorporated it into my painting routine.  I have a folder marked "Works in Progress" where I save digitals of my painting process.  This is useful as I now have a record of how seemingly small changes effect the overall design. 

I also Photoshop for tonal value analysis.   I convert my painting image to grayscale ( Image > mode > grayscale), where I can actually see the value pattern I've created, without the distraction of color. 

And what I'd created was a very active abstract composition with diagonals converging into the center and vague major masses.  I liked the way the strong verticals added stability and contrast, but I realized my values were closer together than I'd imagined. I also saw several large X's in the composition which I did not like. And it did not have the elegance of design I was after. 

Wash at Hudson's @ Don Stone
Here is the grayscale version of a painting I have long admired, by Master Artist Don Stone.  I noticed that he uses his values differently than I do.  I decided to use him as my Master Artist and analyze exactly what his thought processes might be.

I converted Stone's image to grayscale, and then printed both his painting and my own so that I could tape them side by side on my studio wall.  Next, I began to analyze and compare.

Well, it didn't take very long before I just "knew" what to do...

I admit, I like to think I can paint on the fly.  I mean, inspiration has a direct conduit to my fingers, moving my hand way before the old brain catches up. 

So I fiddled... just a little darker here... I dabbed paint rather than putting it on with thought and deliberation...maybe some yellow here...I experimented. (Saying I felt my way would be more accurate). And I became more frustrated as my painting became more of a mess.  Finally, after trying "just one more bit," I had to go to work and leave it for an entire day.

When I came home that night I took one look and realized what I had done. 

You're thinking, "She's going back to Slump, isn't she?"  But you'd be wrong.

What I had done was push past "safety in what I know" into "willing to sacrifice a perfectly mediocre painting to learn something."

This is a very good place to be.

Painting One (left) and Painting Two (right)

In painting one, you can see how I had attempted to unify my darkest value and ended up with a black hole pretty much in the center of the painting.
Oops!
I lost much of my color by over painting and blending too much.
I studied my Master Artist and then wrote down in my notebook what I liked about his work and what I needed to do in my own work.

Like: 

• Strong value design
• 3 values

Work on:

• design first
• greater value separation
• more paint on the brush
• cleaner color
• mix larger puddles on palette

Then I wrote out my analysis and solutions:

What am I doing wrong?  I'm not completely sure ahead of time about major decisions, so I feel my way, try out things, change and overwork.

My solutions:  I need to spend more time planning the idea, then painting thinly to be sure it works.  I need to plan and mix colors and values, using a limited palette.  I need to apply the paint with as little "fussiness" as possible...put it down in one stroke.  I also did a value sketch from memory, unifying the major masses, and clarifying the 3 value areas.

I painted the second version last night in one go, about 3 hours.  I knew ahead of time how I intended to apply the paint and I had mixed up my colors in large puddles so I would not get caught short and have to mix something up in the middle of things.  The scary part was wondering if I could recreate the freshness in the original composition or if it was gone forever.

Here are the value comparisons.  I am very happy with the unity in the second version, and the defined value pattern. I lost some of the personality in the first set of trees, and I will go back in and strengthen the lighter values in the foreground to capture the sense of light hitting the rolling pathway. But overall I think that the second version has a more cohesive design and the color is clean.

But more importantly, this exercise reminded me that an artist recognizes when her work isn't up to par and then does something about it.  And I discovered that I can "do it again" and actually "do it better."

Yes, I will study the two new side by side value images, and determine what works in the first and try to apply it in the second.  And yes, I really do wish I hadn't overworked the first painting and destroyed the elegance in the paint application.  But the realization that gives me the most joy is that I've now reached the artistic level where I realize where my work is weak, and I'm developing the skills to make it stronger.

And that's a better place to be than satisfied but unable to see.

The Indisputable Creative Advantage of Older Artists

When I owned my business, there was a rule everyone accepted: If you survived five years, you were successful.  Try to get credit, or open an account , and you could hear the tension:  how long have you  been in business?  Always followed by relief when told five, ten, or eighteen years.  Time, it seemed, was the primary predictor of success.

According to AGING, CREATIVITY, AND ART, A Positive Perspective on Late-Life Development, by Martin S. Lindauer,  this rule holds true for artists, too.

I discussed Lindauer's findings in an earlier post titled The Seven Characteristics that Distinguish Older Artists over their Younger Peers, and I wanted to follow up with more encouraging conclusions.

The statistics Lindauer used were gathered by art historians looking at artists from the past who had created masterpieces.  The data included working lifespan, when masterpieces were created in relation to death, and reflected activity from the past few centuries.  A second data set included women,  and finding artists working closer to the modern age, the last 100 years or so. Earlier assumptions about creativity being a "young man's game" had been based on research flawed in Lindauer's opinion, because it revealed that artists "peaked" in their late 20's or 30's, without considering lifespan (most of the artists died in their late 40's or very early 50's).  When research expanded to include artists with longer lifespans, something interesting emerged.

"Bursts of creative activity varied for 45 well-known artists; peaks were found in nearly every decade of their lives: in youth, middle-age, and old age.  Despite differences between individual artists, creative output generally occurred relatively later in life than earlier; and creative productivity continued into old age in nearly all cases.  Youth is therefore not the only or even the predominant period in which creative productivity was maximized (pp 123)."

I like that: "Youth is therefore not the only or even predominant period in which creative productivity is maximized."

So youth is not a pre-condition to becoming a successful artist.

But the amount of time spent creating art is.

And what does this mean for the Ancient Artist?

The older you are, the longer you've been painting.

And the longer you paint, the better you get.

Indisputable.

Imagine.  What could you do if you knew that you had at least one "peak" ahead of you, and if you exercise and eat right, there's the possibility of two?

I'm heading to the kitchen right now for some  broccoli to eat with my coffee.

Here are some interesting sites mined from my bookmarks. 

Creative Aging's Blog

edward_ winkleman

New York Art News

My Conversations with Slump

I have not been writing much this week.  In fact, I have been torturing myself with thoughts that I must be blocked, or perhaps the "slump" subject that has been moving around from blog to blog has settled down in mine and set up housekeeping for the duration. 

"Why are you here?" I've been asking Slump. "Aren't you really depression in disguise?"

I mean, depression is a great excuse.  I could whine (or whatever.)  I could open that new bottle of wine and drink it by myself, waving my glass to the beat of the jazz CD I always listen to when I'm in that mood.  I could stare at some of my recent paintings and wonder aloud why no one is interested in buying them when they really are damn good.  I could remember that I've been reading Eckhart Tolle, and when he talks about shedding the egoic nature and returning to the nothingness my head starts to ache, and then my neck. 

I guess that's what happens when you get a little information.

And I've been thinking a lot about how a little information can actually send you off on the wrong track.  Or around the bend.  Off the deep end.  Into the...you get my drift.  Questions like the reason we're here are too deep for this blog.  What I do know, or think I know, is that my internal experience, when I am painting, comes the closest to what I imagine Eckhart Tolle might be talking about when he speaks of the awareness of Being, outside of the ego.  I have no idea whether what I experience even comes close to what the spiritual teachers believe.  Might I be reckless enough to ask, "Should it matter?" 

Artists are very familiar with the experience of being "in the zone." Of finding yourself in a place where there is a connection between canvas, brush, hand, mind, heart, and perhaps something else.  Ego is not present in those moments.  Ego only comes into the room when the moment is past, when the painting is drying, or the words written in last week's post have been passed around from blog to blog.  When the action has been taken and cannot be recalled, and Ego is ready to inject emotion, insecurity, defensiveness, and self-inflicted pain along with his best pals Slump and Depression.

Should it matter that I struggle with ego, when -- in the moment that I complete a painting -- there is great inner peace? 

I'm going to need a lot more information. 

"So why are you still here?"  I ask, watching as Slump hands the bowl of chips over to Depression, who passes because he hasn't been able to eat for days.

I see their mouths moving.  Slump can't seem to get comfortable.  Ego has launched into what could be a tirade as his face is turning red. But I can't hear them. 

I don't know.  Maybe I've made a little progress toward Enlightenment. 

Maybe I'm going deaf.

Like I said, a little information can really be a dangerous thing.