Abstract Art

Making a Video Clip

Bernardo Uzuda, a composer in Brazil, is putting together a video of images from ten artists accompanied by music he is composing specifically for the art.  I am fortunate to be one of the ten artists he is including, and have been sending him high resolution images of my work.  Recently he said he plans to add interviews with an art historian and two other composers, and would like to include interviews with the artists as well.

Uh oh, that means he wants me to make a few minutes of video explaining my work.  You’d think it wouldn’t be that difficult for me, since I write about my work all the time in this blog and on my art website.  Yet, I find myself intimidated. 

I’m not good at talking off the cuff.  I like to write everything first, where I can review it and edit it, and then read what I’ve written.  But this video wouldn’t work like that, I don’t think.  Reading from a script would sound too canned.

I guess the next best thing is to plan it like a speech.  Take notes, make an outline, and then practice.  I’ve done speeches before, and when I plan and rehearse properly, they come out well.  I could try that.

I could also try writing up some questions that Adrian could ask me in the video.  This would then come across as an interview, which could be a workable format.  I guess there are many ways to go with this, and I could actually try them all and see which works best.

First, though, I’ve got to learn how the video feature of my digital camera works.  I’m not a natural at technology.  I only learn the bare minimum I need to accomplish a specific task.  Then, if I don’t use it regularly, I forget it, of course. 

All of the above sounds like a lot of work.  But it will be worth it if Bernardo is able to include my section in the video.  And maybe I could even add the video clip to my website.  Not that I have any idea how to do that.  But I guess I could learn.

Defining Abstract Art

The term “abstract art” is like the term “modern music” in the sense that it is a very broad umbrella sheltering a wide variety of art.  But like “abstract math,” the general sense of the term is that it is the opposite of the concrete, or “realism.”  At one end of the continuum is a painting of a violin so perfectly rendered that we feel we could reach into the frame, pick up the instrument, and play it.  At the other end is a canvas painted pure white or black all over.  There is nothing in it to reach in and touch.

A simple, common definition of “abstract art” is “not realistic.”  Yet many artists who call their work abstract, actually do have a subject in mind when they paint.  They take a figure or landscape and simplify it, exaggerate it, or stylize it in some way.  They are not trying to imitate nature, but to use nature as a starting off point.  Color, line, and form are more important to them than the details of the actual subject matter.  They want to give a sense or feel for the subject rather than an exact replication.

Historically, the term “abstract” has been associated with a variety of art movements.  The cubism of Picasso, Braque and Cezanne was a geometrical abstraction.  In the United States, a group also known as the New York school of action painters was defined by critics as “abstract expressionists.”  Yet the individuals in this group varied greatly in their approaches.  Jackson Pollock did overall drip paintings.  Mark Rothko painted shimmering color field canvases based on a simple square pattern.  Willem de Kooning did not abandon subject matter like the others, but abstracted the female figure in much of his work. 

Art that has no intentional beginnings in any subject matter is sometimes referred to as “non-objective,” or “non-representational.”  A related term is “minimalism,” or the tendency to take as much away from the painterly surface of the canvas as possible.  A white square painted on a white background is an example of minimalism.  The end result is not so much the point as the daring it took to get there.

“Modern art” is another term commonly used to refer to abstract art, though originally this term was used to differentiate the experimenters of the twentieth century from the traditional European painters and sculptors.  Thus, “modern art” began over seventy years ago, and is no longer new.  Many movements in art have come and gone since then.  For example, “pop art” incorporates popular culture such as comics and movie stars.  Well-known artists of this genre include Andy Warhol, who painted Cambell’s soup cans and portraits of Marilyn Monroe; and Jasper Johns, who did a series of flag paintings.

“Contemporary art” is another one of those terms that covers a wide variety of art.  The best definition of “contemporary” is the work of any living artist, though the term has also been used to mean art that you would hang in a contemporary home.  This sense of contemporary is more like the term “modern,” in that it means the opposite of “traditional.”  Thus, “contemporary art” is also sometimes used to mean “abstract art.”

Another way to define the term “abstract art” is to enter it as a search term on Google or Yahoo and look at the results.  There will be millions of them, proving that the term is used today to cover a vast amount of art.  I use the term “abstract art” to define my own painting because I know that people who love my art tend to define it this way.  They often find me by entering the term on Google.  Others use the term “modern art” or “contemporary art” to find me.

So where does that leave us in our definition of abstract art?  Like most definitions of art movements, the answer is complex.  We can look at it historically from an art critic’s perspective, or use it as the general public would, to mean something other than traditional realistic representation. 

Ambition, Paranoia and Jealousy

There are many, many artists and not enough galleries and art buyers to support us all.  Most of us begin part time, keeping our day jobs.  Others get MFAs at universities and teach to support themselves. 

There is a myth that "the cream will rise to the top," meaning if you're really good, you'll make it in the art world.  But there is so much more involved than talent, hard work, and quality.  That's why artists read books on marketing, hire publicists and agents, and gnash their teeth at the amount of time and energy it takes to get their careers on track. 

Then, even if you begin to sell your work, there are other pitfalls.  Patrix Otis Cox tells his story compellingly in his newsletter at Chapter Zero.  Early in his painting life, he saw that if he copied work that sold, he could sell more of it, and the next thing he knew, his life as an artist had become a "factory job."  He says he lost his soul, and so he quit and returned to his day job, engineering.

Fortunately Patrick returned to his art and found a way to  be successful while being true to his vision. As he points out, it wasn't always easy and sometimes he found it difficult to support himself through his art.  I think most of us in the arts can relate to that.  Except for a few of the superstars, even those of us who are "successful" find that there are no guarantees we will be able to continue to make a living doing what we love. 

Because of the lonely nature of making art, and the uncertainty of acceptance by the art market, I think we sometimes are susceptible to paranoia and jealousy.  We think somehow the other guy is doing better than we are, or wonder why an artist whose work we feel is inferior to ours is being given critical acclaim when we are not.  I know that I am prone to these feelings at times, and yet they do me no good. 

All of us, as artists, are struggling, and the best thing we can do for each other is to have compassion for that struggle.  An even better thing is to help each other when we can.  I have been amazed at how many other artists I meet are willing to share their knowledge and experience.  I try to do the same.  We need to see each other as fellow travellers offering tips and sharing maps, rather than competitors we fight for a piece of the action.

The Traveling Artist

A traveling chef will be tuned into the tastes and smells of food in new places, or especially observant of cooking tools and equipment in restaurants and homes.  A traveling musician will be especially aware of sounds and their combinations.  As an artist, my visual sense is the most acute, and as I travel, the changes in color, light and patterns are what attract my attention.

When I left Ithaca, New York, this past Friday the temperature was 16 degrees and there was ten inches of snow on the ground.  The landscape I saw around me was toned down to simple stark contrasts, presenting a spare “black and white” tonality that influenced my painting this winter.  It’s an inspiring view, actually, and interesting in its own way.

But this week in Los Gatos, California, my eye is feasting on lush spring greens with sprinkles of bright colors.  It’s been raining a lot here, and everything is growing.  The brown hills to the east, normally fascinating to me in their golden dryness, are emerald green and sparkling fresh after a downpour.  The air is wet and fecund, and when the sun shines through the clouds, I feel birth and rejuvenation all around me.

In the summer I enjoy leaving the east coast, crowded with grass and leaf greens, for the dry desert sand and rocky coast of California.  I love the freedom and sparseness of it, the sense of wide open space. I love the dramatic palette change.  Now that I’ve spent the winter with Ithaca’s sparseness, however, I welcome the lusciousness and bright colors of spring in Los Gatos. We have a way to go before it comes to Ithaca.

Seeing Things in Abstract Art

The other night we had friends over for dinner and got into a discussion about "seeing things" in abstract art.  The wife thought it was perfectly natural to look for recognizable objects in the painting, and that this was the way people related to abstract art.  The husband, on the other hand, disagreed.  He is an artist himself, and looked at my paintings by noting the movement of line and form, the way the color worked, and so forth.

I used to think that the best way to view abstract art was NOT to look for recognizable objects, but to attempt to find what the artist had put there--the color, line, forms, etc.  Let the art create a mood, a feeling, a visual pleasure feast, but don't immediately try to identify a subject matter you can name.  If the first thing you see is a bird in a nest, you'll miss so much more the artist was trying to say.

However, I am beginning to revise my beliefs about this manner of looking.  My husband, Adrian, for example, is someone who always sees recognizable objects in my paintings.  When he can't, he has trouble appreciating that piece.  And I don't think he can help himself.  His mind automatically identifies objects in the shapes and lines the minute he looks at a canvas.

Perhaps some minds simply work that way.  It doesn't mean such viewers get any less out of a work of art, does it?  I'll try to keep my mind open on this question.