When I first started working with polymer clay back several decades ago, I got a lot of flack for my choice of materials.
“It’s just plastic!” was the most common comment.
A lot of art media gets the same push-back. Acrylic paint is not as “professional” as oils. Stone sculptures are “real art”, clay pots are not.
I’ve encountered people who don’t think women are real artists. (!!!! I know, right?) People who think the ONLY art is painting. The list, it is long….
Okay, most people today now welcome music, theater, etc. as art forms.
But a lot of creative work is still left behind the door.
My go-to speech is, what is the work that you do that makes you happy? That gets you to your best place? And when you share it with others, it makes other people happy, too. And the world is a better place for everyone.
It took me years to figure out how to talk about my preferred medium in a way that drew people IN instead of pushing them OUT.
I think the definition of “real art” for many people is dead white European male oil painters from the 19th century. (Sorry guys!)
But people have been doing creative work for thousands of years. New discoveries of cave art over 40,000 years old in Indonesia shows us that art has been around a looooooong time. And also all around the world. Not just in Europe and Asia.
Many people still believe there’s “real art”, and then there’s “craft”. A dear friend who was a potter cleared that up for me, too. “If I make a sculpture out of clay, it’s called ‘craft'”, she said. “But if I ship it to a foundry to have it cast in bronze, it’s now called ‘art’.” Life-changing insight for me!
A few years ago, I asked to mentor a new member of one of our county-wide open studio tours. The person was a hairdresser who also paints abstract art. Several people in our group focused on their occupation, not their art.
I shared a small version of this with her, because I wanted them to know I have a broader view, not just of their artwork, but of their profession. They agreed, and said, “Cutting hair is like sculpting! You have to know exactly where you’re going and exactly where to stop!”
Which the heart of what I want to share with you today:
We choose the kind of work that works for US!
When studio visitors are ready to engage with me, the most frequent question I get is, “Are your artifacts made of wood? Or bone?” (I don’t get offended! This means they’re ready for me to talk with them.)
I say, “My hands don’t want to carve. I tried with a piece of bone when I first started this work. It didn’t go well.”
I share the quote from my mentee/hairdresser, and add, “And as you can see, I can’t even cut my bangs evenly!” (Usually gets a giggle, especially if I really did screw it up recently….)
I tell them I realized my hands want to shape things. Clay allows me to add to the mass I’m using, or reduce it. Clay allows me to shape a figure until I get it just right. I can adding markings, or remove them.
And polymer clay techniques allow me to create a surface that looks like bone or ivory. Or soapstone, or pipestone, or serpentine.
It’s about what works for ME.
And your choice of medium should be about what works for YOU.
People who paint in oils can work and rework a section of their paintings, because it takes awhile for the oils to ‘set’. Acrylics dry faster, so you have to work faster, too. I could go on forever, but I won’t. (Please, no cheering in the background!) 😀
Every art medium has its advantages and disadvantages, its unique challenges, and its unique power of expression. Some processes need precision, others encourage exploration and random outcomes.
It goes on….but….
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to dig deep into the “why” of your choices.
Why you choose the materials you do. Why it matters to you.
Whether it’s painting the Mona Lisa or building houses for others, turning a rock into a sculpture or turning a bowl on a pottery wheel, whether you make something we can hang on a wall or whether you make people feel better, do better, feel safer, feel happier. It can be healing, teaching, cooking, restoring/repairing, repurposing, gardening, writing poetry or writing advice columns for people who are struggling. Whether you make a living with it, or whether you just do it because it helps you deal with what you do for a living.
If it’s done with integrity, with your heart…
It’s. All. Good.
(Still don’t believe me? Watch this video on Pinterest of a guy making huge portraits of animals with…..staples!
I’d love to hear why you chose the media/materials you’ve chosen! Feel free to share in the comments!
I used to get flack about my fiber work, too. Because “quilting isn’t real art…”
What did I do before polymer clay work? I knit sweaters for my kids! (Cuz kid sweaters were smaller, quicker and easier than knitting for grown-ups!)
We have to do the creative work WE love, not what we think “everybody” will love.
When I first started working with polymer clay, there were plenty of people who did not think it was “real art”, nor even “real craft”. And they felt free to tell me so, too.
“It’s just plastic.” That was first and foremost. Didn’t help that when this art material, created in Europe, was then marketed in the United States as a “children’s clay” (Sculpy). It was extremely soft, and brittle. The first artifacts I made were little animal tokens for a board game (my daughter remembers it: MAX! my kiddos were into. I made a black cat and a goldfinch. And when I pulled them out of the oven, they fell over and broke. Never used that clay again.
It took an old friend in a knitting guild to bring me back to polymer clay. Connie Gray, a weaver/knitter/quilter/teacher shared how we could make our own buttons with polymer clay. (I can’t find Connie now, but this video shows how much she cared for/supported creative work for all of us.)
The buttons I made changed into animal artifact buttons, and then into small figurines that I used in jewelry, small sculptures, and shrines. And years later, when Connie mentioned that she never got “that good” as I did with my polymer work, I reminded her that her generosity with teaching others–including me!–is what set me on my artistic journey. And that exploring new media, and teaching, are also creative work.
Also my many, many articles and stories about how putting our creative work into sturdy boxes (art vs. craft, hobbies vs. professional work, etc.) can be reframed as “creative work” on every level.
Where am I going with this?
It doesn’t matter what material you work with.
It doesn’t matter how much money you make with your craft.
It doesn’t matter how good you are at it. (Though if you keep at it long enough, you’ll get better. Or at least broaden your horizons!)
It doesn’t matter what other people think of your work.
Let me repeat that last bit…
IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF YOUR WORK.
What matters is doing the work that makes YOU happy.
There’s a lot of creative work out there that I don’t collect/buy/enjoy. There’s a lot of creative work that isn’t “good enough”. There’s a lot of creative work that, frankly, makes me cringe.
So what?
I’m not on this planet to judge that.
I’m here because doing the work of my heart makes ME happy.
And when visitors come to my studio, love what they see, and then tell me they aren’t creative, I make sure to walk them gently through this.
Winchell’s early blog posts actually directed people to those awful craft items, and the sellers’s sales would rise exponentially. So much so, that Winchell realized new sellers would deliberately create wacko work, hoping she would point to them, too.
But she realized she could tell the difference, very subtle but clear, when people were really making something they loved, and when they were just hoping to ride on that train with random rotten work.
Yeah, I may not like your work. Hey, maybe I HATE it.
But I will never ever tell you that.
Because I know that everyone has a story. A history, a journey, a destination, with the work of their heart.
They are doing the work that means everything….to THEM.
And that’s all I care about.
In fact, as my own journey continues, if something is really weird? I now want to know what the story is behind it. Chances are, it’s a chance to see deeper into someone else’s goals, experience, insights that I can’t see right now.
So please please please don’t ever let someone else’s judgment take you down.
Remember that somewhere in the world, there are people who will be deeply drawn to your work, who will appreciate your journey, who will exclaim, “Me, too!” They will truly see you.
Remember that if someone more famous/wealthier-from-sales/respected insults your work, they have actually just raised you to their level. (Thanks again, Melinda LaBarge!)
Remember that there is only ONE “you” in the world.
We don’t have to be “good enough”. We are enough.
Carry Mary Oliver’s beautiful poem in your heart, always:
Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
(Side note: Yes, art critiques can be helpful. But critiques are what YOU ask for, not what somebody else thinks you should do. And almost all the “critiques” I’ve had over the past 35 years, even the ones I’ve been open to, have had little-to-no-value to me. In fact, what’s lifted my heart are the people in my life who have supported me walking away from unwanted, unnecessary criticism. So Go Big or Go Home!)
Luann Udell shares how society defines art vs craft have changed through the years.
THE AGE-OLD (war) STORY: Art vs. Craft
by Luann Udell Originally published on Fine Art Views, with permission to republish it on my own blog.
This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….” For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.
Times have changed. Have we?
(7 minute read)
If you want to start a flame war/troll fest on the internet, just ask the difference between art and craft. (PLEASE don’t do it here, though.) This is a collection of thoughts about why that line is so hard to define.
A reader recently sent me a story. On the urging of their collectors, they approached a local art organization in their area to see if it would be interested in displaying their work.
But the person who viewed their work said it was craft, not art. They implied the work would probably not be accepted for the more-prestigious art-and-sculpture section of the gallery.
Before we go into strategies about how to move forward with this, let me share my own experiences.
When I first took up my creative work, I thought for sure I knew the difference between art and craft. Pottery was obviously a craft, for example, while oil painting was true art.
Until a potter friend of mine, who made each pot they made by hand (not even a wheel), one at a time, fired in pit rather than a kiln, and each one was distinctive, shared this little insight with me:
If they make a beautiful clay piece, it’s craft.
If they take that same piece and have it cast in bronze, it’s art.
So that next step which is a commercial, industrial process outside the parameter of almost any artist, determines that category. (I am not saying it’s a simple process, or doesn’t involve creativity in its own right. I’m saying casting is beyond the purview of many folks such as silversmiths, or those who work with metal in any form. And for those who do, it’s a case where….um….size does matter. Casting a ring is vastly different from casting a large bronze sculpture.)
Another definition often depends on whether the product performs a function (say, bowls which hold food) or is strictly decorative (art!)
So what would you call a clay sculpture? Can’t be used to serve food, unless you can balance a dish on it. So can we really say that everything made with clay is craft?
A third definition is whether the work is one-of-a-kind, or done in a series. Prints are done in series, for example, while most 2-D work is a one-off. (A series might contain the same subject, or a related theme, but each one is different.)
I submitted prints made with my own hand-carved stamps to the print-making jury at a prestigious fine craft organization. I brought samples of different series I’d made.
But after I described my process, I was deferred. Because I used multiple stamps to create the piece. Three. Because I wasn’t carving “one plate”, and so capable of making multiples, it was determined my work was art, not craft. It was technically a “monoprint”, which is not “craft”. (A pretty nice rejection, but still.)
And yet many of the printmakers in this organization create multiple plates for multiple colors, one for each. One could argue that, if each color used in the series (which could be made in several print runs on different dates) were not exactly the same, would those not be monoprints, too? (I started to look up prints vs. monoprints, and monoprints vs. monotypes, but I got lost in the rabbit hole….) So the intent is craft, but the reality is, you can often tell the prints are dissimilar.
How about digital art? When digital art first appeared in the creative world, almost everyone (including me) did not consider it “real art”. It was made with the aid of a computer, which could, supposedly, be recreated easily by anyone else. Therefore, it was more like calling a coloring book “art”. Nope.
Until I talked with one of these early adaptor artists about their work. Turns out there was a huge amount of uncertainty, and serendipity, random factors involved but not controlled, even in this art medium. They would try for a certain effect, which could result in something unpredictably amazing, and difficult, if not impossible, to reproduce exactly.
And of course, computers are now used for many commercial, and artistic purposes. I’ve met a lot of graphic designers along the way, and despite the common knowledge and tools needed to do their work, each one has their own unique and distinctive style.
Sorta starting to look like art, doesn’t it?
Fiber arts is a whole nother ballgame, too. Yes, anyone can knit a sweater pattern, or make a quilt using templates. But then we come across this designer (following her own original sweater patterns) and find this.
Art? Fine craft?? If my artifacts are in jewelry, probably fine craft. In a fiber collage? Anybody’s guess! Small sculpture? Maybe art. Oh, wait. It’s not cast in bronze!
If we consider that these fiber media have been labeled “women’s art” for years, not measuring up to “real art”, what can we say about “urinal art”? The only component showing a contribution by the actual artist is the signature. And it’s in a museum. In fact, the first sentence of this article is, “Fountain is one of Duchamp’s most famous works and is widely seen as an icon of twentieth-century art…..” It’s an unmodified urinal with a fake name on it.
My point here is not to define these two categories, and I refuse to argue about what is art and what isn’t. I am simply pointing out that the lines are wavering, the boundaries are fuzzy, and it’s simplistic to define “art” strictly by the gender of the artist, the medium they choose, nor even the subject matter. (Mary Cassatt’s work was dismissed as “domestic art” for years, because she painted actual mothers and their children. Now if only she’d painted Mary-and-baby Jesus…..)
Back to my friend’s setback. I went to the organization’s website. Yep, they’ve acknowledged that they accept fiber art. Good for them! I checked out the work my friend submitted, and compared it to the gallery images shown. Their work was comparable/compatible to several paintings in their collection: Color palette, check. Subject matter, check. Quality of design and composition, check. There was a colorful hand-dyed, handmade dress featured. So, functional work. Art? Craft? It’s in the art section. (My friend’s is purely decorative, not functional.)
In this case, I believe the person working that day simply had their own ideas about what is art, and what is craft. The actual work is supposed to be submitted and judged by a jury. (In some galleries, yeah, that could be one juror, usually, the owner. But an art organization? Usually a committee.)
I suggested they fill out the submission forms, following the rules and guidelines exactly. Then wait to see what happens.
If they are accepted, yippee!
If not, they can inquire about the reasons for the rejection, respectfully, to find out how they can “improve” their work to meet the standards. (It’s important to keep your cool here! Being angry or difficult will just strengthen their resolve to keep you out.)
I applied to three different media jury processes with that fine craft organization. If work was rejected or deferred, it was part of the jurying process to advise the artist exactly what they had to do to meet the standards.*
If the reasons are, as above, vague, inappropriate, or seem personal, then it’s time to request a presentation to the board of directors. Not as a fist fight, but to politely, calmly share some of the thoughts in this article. Where…and why…are they drawing that line? (Especially when it’s obvious this artist’s work is just as good, and unique, as their own current gallery artists.)
In a professional manner, they can cite the org’s mission statement, and inquire (again, calmly and politely, out of real curiosity) how they decided this artist’s work does not meet those standards.
If that doesn’t work, at least it will be clear that their actions do not really support their mission statement. And I hope there are other galleries and venues where this person can apply to with their work.
I hope when their passionate collectors take their business to that other venue, it might encourage that org to reconsider.
Again, please, no definitions, no troll wars or flaming swords. As I said, we are all entitled to our own opinions.
Just consider the many, many ways creativity can manifest itself in our modern world. You are entitled to your own opinions, and I truly respect that.
My intention was to share how I’ve changed my own opinionabout this. To suggest how to influence the attitude that the lines between art and craft are written in stone, and will never change.
And consider how many times the creative, innovative, beautiful, powerful work, the work of the heart by others, has been relegated to a back seat on the bus, instead given the chance to stand in the sun, too.
If you know someone who needs to read this, someone whose beautiful work has been rejected for shaky reasons, send this on to them.
And if you’d like to read more articles like this, sign up at Fine Art Views, or subscribe to my blog at https://luannudell.wordpress.com/
*And when at some point, that part of the process ‘disappeared’, too many jurors took advantage of the situation to willy-nilly reject anyone’s work with no reason besides “just because.” They are in the process of correcting that, after they found out many very talented people had been rejected for vague, inappropriate, or even personal reasons. They may also be considering ways to broaden their own definitions of what is “good enough” work. Yay!
If you found this article helpful, feel free to send the link to someone else who might, too. (Thank you!!)
And if you received this from someone else, and liked it, you can sign up for more of my scribbling here.
This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….” For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines, and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.
Luann Udell shared how to be focused and diverse in your art career
You get to choose what you do, how you do it, how many things you do, and you can change it whenever you’re ready.
When the young art students came to my studio, most of them were still in the exploring stage of art-making. Some already felt “more comfortable” with a specific media, but most were trying this and that, and some hadn’t found what really felt right.
That’s normal! I encouraged them to keep exploring. This stage could take a few years, it could take a decade, it might take more than that. Maybe…..for the rest of their lives!
I think some of them were a little surprised by that. It seemed that some were already feeling the pressure to pick “just one thing” or “just one process” (painting, for example, or drawing, etc.) (It may have been more societal pressure than pressure from their teachers.)
I told them, “If you’ve already figured that out, good on you! But if you haven’t, that’s normal, too. These are the perfect years to explore and experiment. In fact, you might incorporate “new and different” for the rest of your life! And that’s okay.”
Focus is a good thing, of course. When we push all our efforts in one direction, into one medium or process, we can make enormous strides in our skill set.
But that’s not the only way to be a “real artist”. And when people tell us it IS the only way, and we don’t want to do it that “one right way”, it can feel soul-crushing.
Years ago, I attended a seminar with a well-known speaker who created a series of workshops about all kinds of artist/maker issues: How to market our work, how to display it at shows and in galleries, how to talk with customers, etc. All excellent information, garnered not only from their own career as a maker, but from dozens of others who shared their insights with him.
When it was my turn to ask a question, I started to frame my body of work: “So I do jewelry, fiber work, and printing, and I’d like to know…..”
They interrupted me mid-sentence: “FOCUS!!!!”
The whole room erupted into laughter, and I was humiliated. The speaker went on to explain that “certain clueless craftspeople” get into doing everything: “I raise the sheep, I shear the sheep, I spin the wool, I dye the yarn, I make the pattern, I knit the sweater….” They end up with a product that can’t be reasonably priced, and then wonder why their work doesn’t sell. The speaker moved on to the next person.
That wasn’t my problem, and I was pretty peeved. Afterwards, I went up to ask for clarification, and they apologized. “I wanted to make an example of you, because that comes up all the time! But I see now that isn’t what you were sharing, and I’m sorry.”
There’s a lesson there: Don’t make assumptions about the “stupid questions” people ask us. (As in, “How long did it take you to make that?” “It took me thirty years to make!”) (Yes, there are a dozen better ways to answer that question without making a joke at that potential customer’s expense!)
“Lack of focus” was not an issue for me. I already knew I was “doing it right”, FOR ME. I was perfectly comfortable with my multi-media choices, because I had a powerful story that united them. From the very beginning of my art career, people could recognize my distinctive style, use of color, and use of artifacts, even in the different ways I staged them.)
I wanted to know how to approach the top retail shows in the country that, typically, demanded I pick ONE medium to apply in. And usually my jewelry wouldn’t be accepted, because it’s a dense medium at high-end fine craft shows. Often half the applicants are jewelers! I wanted help figuring out how to get out of the “box” most shows and exhibits want to put us creatives in.
(I never solved that, but finally figured out ways around it.)
Nowadays, whenever I ask people about their creative work, I get a wonderful variety of answers. But the ones where I sense folks feel the most embarrassment is when they haven’t focused completely on “just one thing”.
“Oh, I’m not a real artist! I love oil painting, but I’ve also enjoy watercolor and pastels, and I’ve taken clay workshops and loved it, and I want to….” And then they sort of trail off, waiting for me to tell them to “focus”.
I refuse.
I ask them what their goals are, and listen. Unless they feel “held back” by their free choices, I almost always tell them to embrace their path.
From their reaction, I’m guessing no one has ever told them that’s okay. Which is sad.
Some of us know the medium that speaks to us. We leap into with all our heart, and pursue it, perfecting our skills, finessing our techniques, perhaps (hopefully!) even receiving recognition and acclaim for our work.
Others, like me, take longer to figure it out. We try different things, or keep up with several things, until we find our way through.
For me, I did fiber work for years: Cross-stitching (easy!), then embroidery (harder!), then quilting (so much time!!), getting smaller and freer and focusing on making something that looked aged and worn. I got to the point where I rarely bought new fabrics, and instead scrounged yard sales, thrift stores, and antique shops for unusual, vintage, and antique fabrics, and well-worn clothing. Eventually, when I couldn’t find what I wanted, I began to over-dye my own fabrics, and even carved my own stamps to print fabric.
When my kids were born, I knit them sweaters. (Hey, it’s faster to knit for a little kid than an adult, and they’re a lot less fussy about how it fits!) (But you also have to work fast, or they’ll grow out of whatever you’re making for them….)
Eventually, I was frustrated trying to find the perfect buttons for those sweaters, and so I began to make my own.
I couldn’t afford expensive jewelry, didn’t like much of it anyway. I loved the look of old pieces. I started buying broken or out-of-date bits and pieces, restringing them or salvaging the beads for other projects. One year, I was accepted into an exhibit for art quilts, and forgot to read the fine print: Beadwork was required. So I “explained” that the beads I used were too tiny to be seen in the photograph, and frantically added seed beadwork to the finished pieces. (I won a Judges’ Choice Award!)
And I also began using those sweater buttons as embellishments on my art quilts.
Are you sensing an epiphany here? It’s coming!
Until the day came where I stepped up to the plate with my “mom crafts” and found my powerful story, where I found my place in the world as an artist.
All those “little crafty things” I’d been doing for years all came together to make something different. Something unique. Something that became my signature, so that now, people who are familiar with my work, can spot it in almost any form.
If I had “found my perfect medium” all those years ago, I would not be making the work I do today.
Would I be better off? How do I know? We choose a path, and our story is changed forever. I don’t regret my “aimless wanderings” that eventually brought me the work I love with all my heart. I choose to celebrate the skills and insights I gained along the way.
Some of us will “do it right”, focusing on a specific medium and style. Some of us will explore, constantly adding, tweaking, mixing it up. And some may never “settle” into one or two things. They will explore, and experiment, and dabble for the rest of their lives.
My question for them: Are you happy with that?
Because if you are, that’s all that matters.
What matters, first and foremost, is that our work brings us joy.
Oh, not 24/7. I get that. Sometimes things just don’t click, or we get tired of the same ol’ same ol’. (Usually we get our happy back, though!) And if we want to get really, really good at something, we have to put in the time and the work.
Some people pursue one style, or medium, and then walk away from it and pursue something else. That’s okay, too.
And some of us find total joy in the new, the experimenting. Some people only make art when they take classes. Which, I tell them, is really smart! If you can’t make time for your art, then taking a class is an excellent way to set aside the time (to go to class), to experiment (with all the tools and expertise provided by the teacher that you’ll need) and come home with something you love (because you had the chance to actually finish it!)
In our modern times, art is both a necessity (for our emotional/spiritual health) and a luxury (we can all choose what, when, how, and why we “make”). We get to choose how we fit it into our lives, we get to decide whether it’s our “one thing”, our “main thing”, or our “fun thing”.
Somewhere along the line, the word “amateur” (which means doing something because you love it, whether we make money at it or not) became a hugely judge-y thing: “Oh, you’re not a professional, you’re just an amateur!”
In reality, “amateur”, “vocational”, and “avocational” are all on the same spectrum. We do it because we love it, and it supports us, financially, and we do it as if it really were our profession- doing all the steps that a “true professional” artist would do, even if we don’t actually make a lot of money at it. And a few professionals actually step back from that stance, because they find the demands of catering to a market, and having to do the same thing, the same way, for the same people, actually saps some of the joy from our process. They find other ways to earn income, something they’re good at that pays well, and that they like or even love, yet keep their artwork in their life, on their own terms.
It’s all good.
Because when we accept all the reasons that show us we’re “doing it right”, the more art, the more beauty, the more joy there will be in the world.
So keep on keeping on, I told those kids. Do what you can. Do what you want. Do what you have to do. You get to choose.
Make it work for Y-O-U, finding your unique happy place in the world with your art.
The whole world is waiting to see “what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life…”*
This post is by Luann Udell, regular contributing author for FineArtViews. She’s blogged since 2002 about the business side–and the spiritual inside–of art. She says, “I share my experiences so you won’t have to make ALL the same mistakes I did….” For ten years, Luann also wrote a column (“Craft Matters”) for The Crafts Report magazine (a monthly business resource for the crafts professional) where she explored the funnier side of her life in craft. She’s a double-juried member of the prestigious League of New Hampshire Craftsmen (fiber & art jewelry). Her work has appeared in books, magazines and newspapers across the country and she is a published writer.
You don’t have to defend your choice of materials.
In fact, make it a selling point!
A quick return to my series on how to answer the innocent questions, the odd questions, even the hurtful questions our visitors ask.
During one of the discussions on a post in this series, a reader related that someone had dismissed her choice of medium with a disparaging remark”
“It’s just chalk!” Ow!
I remember the very first show I did, selling pens I’d covered with patterned polymer clay. I sold them for $5. Someone picked one up, sneered, “It’s just a cheesy pen covered with some kind of cheap plastic!”, tossed it back onto the table and walked away. (I remember thinking, “Was that absolutely necessary??”)
Sometimes a remark like this comes from another artist. One of the oddest things I’ve found among artists (of all kinds) is the hierarchy assigned to various media.
For example, oil paint is often considered a more “professional” medium than acrylic paints. It’s traditional, it’s harder to master, and it takes time to dry. Once cured, it’s extremely durable. It’s versatile, perfect for mixing and layering, because of that longer drying time. In the hands of a master, it creates spectacular results. Oil paints have been around for centuries, and became the “artistic medium of choice” in the 15th century. Art made with oils usually commands the highest prices in the art world.
More modern acrylic paint, created in the 1940’s, has a slightly less lofty reputation. It dries quickly, doesn’t have such a prestigious history. The very name “acrylic” suggests ‘plastic’, synthetic. Fake.
On the other hand, acrylics are valued more than watercolors, which are valued more than drawings, colored pencil, pastels. And don’t even open the door to photography, that’s not even art. It’s a craft! So are woodblock/linocut/etchings/etc., because you can make hundreds of copies. They aren’t considered “real” art forms.
When I entered the art world, my mind reeled trying to sort out the innuendos and rationale for these hierarchies. My own choice of materials are so non-traditional, my medium is greeted with some suspicion. I don’t get much respect as an artist, until people actually see my work. Even then, people used to pick up a piece and ask what it’s made of. “It’s polymer clay!” I’d beam, and they’d quickly put it down again.
What’s going on here???
Some of this bias is historical, based in tradition. Centuries ago, drawings were considered simply a draft for the “real” art—a painting. Colors were made with Newer art materials may contain more synthetic colors. Some media are easier to master. And some, I suspect, is turf-building: “You don’t use the medium I use, so my work is automatically better than yours!”
But there are plenty of counter-arguments, too. The first artifacts made by humans were shell beads. Yes. BEADS. Early cave art involved drawing, with charcoal or other pigments, i.e., CHALK. Yes, later on, these pigments were mixed with saliva, or oil. But their first application was probably to decorate and color bodies and hair, a practice that still continues in some cultures today.
So what do we say when someone denigrates our medium of choice?
My first response is this:
It’s not WHAT the material is, it’s what you DO with it.
The logic of this is irrefutable.
When precious metal clay, a metal powder in a clay base that can be modeled, formed, and fired with a micro torch, first appeared on the market, I saw this push-back immediately. Some traditional metal workers—sculptors, silversmiths, jewelers, etc.—protested that this was a ridiculous, amateur-targeting material, that cheapened their reputations. Gone were the traditional skills—soldering, casting, chasing, etc. It couldn’t possibly be considered a “real” metalworking medium….could it??
Google PMC artist “Celie Fago” and you tell me. (Spoiler alert: Whatever medium Celie works in, she creates incredibly beautiful work.)
Last week, I showed an artist friend portraits of my kids by a friend. He thought they were oils. Yeah. Colored pencil artist Nicole Caulfield hears that all the time. (See my favorites at http://www.nicolecaulfieldfineart.com/zen-series !)
Nicole Caulfield’s colored pencil work is often mistaken for oils
And my favorite story about art vs. craft came from a potter friend. “If I make a sculpture in clay, it’s considered ‘craft’ ”, she said. “If I send that model to a foundry to be cast in bronze, it’s ‘art’.”
And we have all seen atrociously bad art done with oils, and amazingly beautiful work done in….er, on….an Etch-a-Sketch.
“The Etch-a-Sketch work is by artist George Vlosich.”
A hundred hours and one unbroken line. That’s not easy.
And me? Fiber arts is often considered a craft, or a woman’s medium. Polymer clay is considered a kid’s play material. I had a lot of explaining to do when I first started displaying, exhibiting, and selling my work.
My second, even more powerful response:
I CHOSE this material, and here are the reasons why….
I use polymer because my hands want to SHAPE things, not carve them.
I love using it to create jewelry because even larger works are lightweight, and comfortable to wear.
I can make artifacts that look truly ancient. I have a story to tell, about the roots of our own humanity, inspired by cave art going back a hundred thousand years and more. I want that power and mystery to be an integral part of my work.
Also very important to me–No animals are harmed in the process.
I use polymer clay by CHOICE. It does exactly what I need it to do.
I could not have made this work 50 years ago. Thank heavens for modern materials!
When I began to share WHY I use the materials I use, it became a selling point.
Your homework today, should you choose to accept it, is to take a few minutes to think about WHY you work in your chosen medium. Share your thoughts, and feel free to ask for help, if you need it.
Most of all, embrace your choices. Never excuse or apologize again for your choice of materials, nor your techniques. Something spoke to you the first time you used a brush, or a palette knife, a pencil, or a fistful of clay. It agreed with your inner self, your preferences, your tendencies, the way you want to work, the way you want to create.
Their question—“What are these made out of?”—becomes a powerful point of connection with your potential audience.
Share this with your visitors, and watch your connections grow!
I’m feverishly working on a new presentation for my work. It involves boxes.
A lot of boxes.
I scoured junk yards and antique stores for months, compiling a collection of likely candidates. At first it was hard because I didn’t know what I was looking for. (Let me introduce you to my collection of cigar boxes….)
I had no idea how I would restore them, either. I mean, I had a vision of them in my head–worn, beaten, discolored and encrusted by age and dirt.. But how to get that look? Leave them “raw”? (A greasy, dirty box looks wonderful, but real grease and dirt are stinky and messy.) Paint them? (I’d lose a lot of the writing and markings that make the boxes interesting.) What kind of paint? Latex? Milk? Chalk?
I finally hired a friend, a furniture-maker, to let me work in a section of his woodworking shop. I get to use his tools and supplies, while he guides me through the basics of surface treatments and finishes.
It’s been a nice relationship. And most of all, I’m getting a lot of work done. Nobody can “find” me here, and I work for hours uninterrupted.
Soon I learn which boxes work, and which ones one won’t. Cigar box walls are too thin for my purposes, though maybe I’ll find another use for them. Some boxes were promising, but proved to take too much work to restore them. Others that looked grungy clean up surprisingly easily. Some have to be washed and scrubbed, then set out to dry. Others just need a little scrubbing with a brass brush and a couple blasts of compressed air. (Note to self: Compressed air would be AWESOME to clean house with!)
As we work on our respective projects, Gary and I have many discussions on design versus technique. Some boxes are extremely simple–not much fine woodworking technique involved. Sometimes just a few well-placed nails hold everything together. But their dimensions and proportions are beautiful, and the wood soaks up the glazes, paints and wax beautifully.
Some of my favorite small boxes are handmade sets, made for homemade storage chests. They are made from cut-down cheese boxes or slats from fruit crates, painted in gay colors that are now muted and worn. Odd specialty nails act as “pulls” on the fronts. They are simple, lovely and intriguing.
Other boxes look intricate and wonderful. But the quality of wood is poor. Or the box has been cut down badly. Or the finishing is bad, or the “faux aging” techniques are faulty (wear marks that are arbitrary, for example.) Or cheap backing materials are used instead of wood. Eventually, I learn which ones aren’t worth my time to refinish or restore.
A lot to think about from an artist’s point of view. Technique or design? Gary weighs in heavily on design, his forte. His techniques are solid, too, but he believes technique is nothing without exquisite design.
As a juried member of the League of NH Craftsmen and other fine craft venues, it’s tempting to go that route. Easy to judge and feel superior. Sometimes my lizard brain goes there.
But then I remember there’s a place in the world for all. I tell Gary about my dad, who took up woodworking after he retired. He claimed he couldn’t make anything unless someone drew a picture of it for him. He needed measurements and drawings to make his craft. Everything he made was well-made, from good wood. It won’t appear on the covers of any art magazines, though.
And yet, when I look around my home and see the pieces he made for me–a table for behind the sofa, lamp tables, a step stool, a coffee table (why do I always ask him to make tables for me??), I know they are as priceless to me as a Van Gogh.
Something made with love has its own inestimable value.
Unmatched shaman mask earrings, in faux ivory–polymer clay
My art’s bigger/better/purer than your art. So there!
Hierarchies come easily to many living creatures.
It can be a brutal process. For birds, hierarchy can mean life or death. That phrase ‘pecking order’? It’s real. I’ve lost chickens and cockatiels to the process. The bird on the lowest rung of the ladder may not get enough to eat. An even slightly injured chicken will be attacked, killed, even eaten by the rest of the flock.
We humans have hierarchies, too. Our fascination for English royalty, our obsession with celebrities, our own yearning for fame and fortune, all are social constructs based on hierarchy.
Artists and craftspeople are no exception.
People who make their own jewelry components sniff at ‘bead stringers’–people who use only purchased components in their designs. The people who do some wire work or only make their own beads, are sniffed at by silver- and goldsmiths.
Glass artists have been the top of the heap in the collecting world for several decades now. Before that, it was something else. Maybe clay. I dunno–I wasn’t in the biz then.
Fine artists look down on all crafts. Once I introduced myself to a small group as a fiber artist. “Hunh! That’s nice…” was the general response. Ten minutes later, a local oil painter’s name came up. “Now he’s a real artist!” someone in the group exclaimed.
But fine artists have their own internal order, too. Pastels are better than colored pencils, watercolors better than pastel work, acrylic paint is better than watercolor, and oils are better than acrylic.
And of course, across all media is the hierarchy of purity. Who makes money from their art, and who makes art purely for art’s sake? Who sullies their ethos for filthy lucre? Is teaching the purest form of sharing our art with the world?
It gets kinda confusing–and funny–after awhile.
If you are in a group of artists who sell their work, the mark of a ‘professional artist’ is your ability to make a living from your work. How much money you make is your achievement award. It’s proof that you are a serious, full-time artist.
Or people place you on the ladder by the prestige factor of the shows you do. Small local shows don’t count, of course. Why, they let just anybody in!
Being vetted by an organization helps, too. I’ve had people express polite interest in my work until I mention that I’m a doubly-juried member of the League of New Hampshire Craftsmen. Suddenly, I’m treated with respect and deference.
But there’s nothing like the disdain amateurs–those who can’t-won’t-don’t sell their work–hold for an artist who actually, actively seeks sale–those artists who want to make their work and get paid for making it. The disdain the amateur holds for ‘professionals’ is huge.
They have history behind them. The word ‘amateur’ originally meant someone who pursued an activity purely for the love it of it. Now it ranks right up there with ‘dilettante’–someone who pursues an activity superficially. (ouch!) Amateurs, by definition, make their art without the requirement of making money from it. Art for Art’s sake. The purest state of making art.
The reality? Not for me to judge. It’s all good.
I’ve been everywhere on the spectrum in my career.
I began by making jewelry entirely from purchased components, and making traditional quilts. I did a very few small local shows, but mostly I gave my work away.
Then I dedicated myself to finding my own personal vision. It was a powerful step. I was grateful to even be making my art. The thought of being accepted into a show, or of someone even buying a piece, seemed too much to ask for.
As my skills and self-confidence grew, the next step was entering exhibitions across the country. Someone had told me they thought the phrase ‘nationally-exhibited artist’ sounded so wonderful, they made that their goal. I made it my goal, too. And I achieved it within a few years by methodically applying to as many opportunities as I could.
When ‘nationally-exhibited artist’ lost its luster, I turned to money as a measure of my success. It was important to me to make sales. The more money I made, the more successful I felt.
After years of making money, I wanted to be in the ‘good’ shows, the prestigious shows that look on a resume. With time and effort, I managed that, too.
And then I went back to square one.
I transitioned from focusing on these external goals, to thinking about the place in the world I occupy. I’m still selling–better than ever, in fact. But that transition came from a powerful place in my heart, and that is more important to me than ever.
Now, according to many people, I can be placed at every step in the art hierarchy. I’ve been ‘pure’, I’ve been ‘mercenary’, I’ve been ‘published/exhibited’, I’ve been hunkered down.
And yet, it’s the same work. And I am the same person.
Hierarchies evolved as a way for a species to survive. The weak, the sickly, were left to die, so that the flock/herd/group could survive.
We humans can–and do–choose differently.
We try to heal our sick. We care for the weak. We are present with the dying, to comfort them.
We’ve learned that even someone who is sick, or weak, or slow, or awkward, or fearful, or (gasp!) untalented, still has a place in the world.
And given that chance, and that place in the world, the gifts they offer can be profound and huge. At the vary least, they are happier for doing what they do.
So make your art.
Sell it, if that’s important to you. Don’t resent others if they sell theirs, and you can’t seem to sell yours.
Don’t excuse yourself by judging others. They are either on a different path, or (like me) simply in a different part of the cycle.
Recognize the hierarchy of who’s making ‘real art’ for what it is–a way to hide our jealousy of people who seem to have something we want for ourselves. A survival strategy we can choose to ignore.
Decide what you want, right here, right now.
And know that you can change your mind, any time. And do something different.
Luann Udell 