Category Archives: Discussion

How Do You Define Success?

Predictably, two weeks into the new year there seem to be a lot of articles about resolutions and how well (or not) people are doing at keeping them. My driving intention this year is to be more mindful in general, but especially in how I approach my work, which means I need to identify what is important to me rather than blindly going forward. Aside from whether you feel that outlining a new habit as you move from one year to the next is fruitful or a set-up for frustration, first think about the constructs we build within our own minds to define success. And in that light, how it might be a benefit to measure any knee-jerk aspirations (often a reiteration of someone else’s or society’s definition of success) against perhaps less glamorous but more personally satisfying markers of accomplishment.

I am in the midst of reading Eric Fischl’s 2013 memoir Bad Boy: My Life On and Off the Canvas, and have been struck by his openness in sharing the underbelly of his career, including his continual insecurities despite rising fame and fortune. He writes time and again that even though his work was being shown in major museums and galleries around the world, and being purchased by name collectors for incredible sums, he felt like an impostor, harboring an ongoing fear that he would be “found out”.

While Fischl’s paintings didn’t particularly resonate with me before beginning the book, I was interested in his backstory and an insider’s interpretation of the shifting art world during the 80’s. As I continue to read, I’m struck that beyond giving me a new appreciation for his painting and the genesis of his subject matter, his memoir underlines the reality that it really doesn’t matter what rung of the ladder you’re standing on, outward achievement doesn’t necessarily equate with an inner sense of satisfaction. (This may seem obvious, but it’s good to be reminded from time to time). In fact, as I delve into the final third of the book (as the the art economy is taking a downturn and his work is selling less spectacularly and at significantly lower prices) he took what amounted to a time-out and ended up, seemingly for the first time, experiencing a real sense of joy and accomplishment while making small sculptural pieces that he didn’t intend to sell or show (other than as an example of process).

Thread for new piece

What we think we want is of course different for each of us, but this year I’m going to try to consider my goals objectively while fine-tuning any changes in my work habits. What could be more valuable than to honestly and directly identify what represents our own unique sense of triumph?

If you’re interested in pursuing this idea further, take a look at Jason Horejs’ Red Dog Blog Post 5 Strategies Successful Artists Follow to Thrive in Their Art Careers. In strategy #1, Horejs confronts this issue head-on, breaking success down into a framework of three categories: artistic excellence, recognition, and financial stability/monetary gain, acknowledging that their importance will be held in different proportions for each of us. Take a quick look at his diagram to assess how these elements fit into your vision for accomplishment. It’s a pretty quick and easy way to help you pinpoint the adjustments that make the most sense for getting you where you want to be in 2016.

Good luck!

A Salute to November

There are many reasons I’m happy we live in Vermont, but a big one is that I’m grateful to have landed where each month is distinct from all the others. Asserted through our weather, the colors that surround us, and the resulting way we move through our days, this reliable sense of change within each year makes me feel grounded.

In a nod to yesterday’s celebration, I think the monthly diversity that makes up a calendar year could be likened to the mixed bag of personalities that surround any family’s Thanksgiving table. Each 30-day period possesses its own strengths and weaknesses but, due to its individuality, occupies a place that no other could fill and would be sorely missed if absent.

Bittersweet ©2015 Elizabeth Fram Bittersweet from my brother and sister-in-law’s garden is a fall treat. It adds a welcome visual spark via color, shape, and shadows — both inside and outside of the house.

That said, I have become very fond of the month of November. Pared down to essentials, it provides a crisp beauty and a sense of quiet following the exuberance of October’s visual fire and summer’s lushness. With the leaves now down, one can fully appreciate the beautiful structure of the trees and shrubs, which remains hidden for so much of the year and is now highlighted by the dramatic light and stark shadows cast by a sun sitting lower in the sky. Looking up through a screen of silhouetted tree branches to see twilight’s Prussian blue sky with a blush of rose, often accented with an evening star, takes my breath away.

Although literature tends to paint it as bleak, I think November has a lot to offer us visually and internally as we bundle up in preparation for winter. I find this time of year particularly inspiring artistically. Influenced by what I see outside, my brain feels less cluttered and more open. The garden has finally been put to bed and inclement weather makes being in the studio a welcome refuge.

I hope, now that the Thanksgiving cooking is behind you, you can put your feet up and relax this weekend. If possible, treat yourself to the visual inspiration of Geninne Zlatkis’ Instagram site. The farther you scroll, the more caught up you will become. A new Mexico painter, she takes stunning photographs of her surroundings, elevating the everyday to a new level of color, arrangement & detail — elements near and dear to my own heart. Enjoy!

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This week marks the 52nd post to this blog; a full year of weekly ideas and conversation. I’ve learned more from this endeavor than I ever would have guessed, and am grateful to you for your comments, encouragement, insight and most of all for continuing to read. Here’s to moving forward…

Dancing on the Edge

“Good composition is like a suspension bridge; each line adds strength and takes none away… Making lines run into each other is not composition. There must be motive for the connection. Get the art of controlling the observer – that is composition.”
— Robert Henri

I have been pulling back to basics this fall by concentrating on composition in my sketches. The more I experiment, the more I learn, and I’ve become intrigued by the idea of composing an image where the subject hugs the perimeter of the frame. In doing this, I am discovering that a tension occurs between the concentration of elements at the edges and any expanse of relatively unoccupied space (or large area that relies on an overall pattern). A heightened sense of abstraction seems to occur as a result, adding another layer to consider — which is a by-product I quite like.

I spent some time hunting for examples of this in the work of several of my favorite artists. Here are a few pieces that caught my attention.

Richard Diebenkorn Still Life with Letter, 1961 Oil on Canvas

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec Equestrienne (At the Cirque Fernando), 1887-88 Oil on Canvas I spent a fair amount of time studying this piece at the Art Institute of Chicago last week. If they had offered, I would have gladly brought it home.

Susan Hertel http://www.susanhertel.com Susan Hertel, 1930-1993, was a New Mexico artist whose art “embodies what is marvelous in the mundane experiences of life”, a sentiment that resonates strongly with me. She had a menagerie of animals who were frequently the subject of her paintings. In my dog-less state these days, I find particular comfort in her work.

Dorothy Caldwell Alone with the Tinkling of Bells, 1991 Wax resist and discharged cotton with stitching, applique, gold leaf

Wayne Thiebaud Delicatessen Counter, 1963

I’m sure the reason I’ve found this way of organizing a picture so exciting is due to several things: my natural inclination toward asymmetry, an affinity for Japanese art — where this strategy is common, and the fact that I subscribe to the theory that a piece of art should be acknowledged as a 2-D interpretation, not an attempt to reproduce reality.

I’m including below a couple of examples of my own exploration of this idea.

An additional reward is that by incorporating the edges, subject matter that goes beyond the picture plane leaves the viewer with an opportunity to imagine “more”, rather than being presented with a neat package that has nothing further to say. I love the idea of building in another level of significance to a drawing by editing-out rather than adding-on.

How important is composition in the art that grabs your attention? Because I am so interested in design, it has significant power for me. Do you find that to be true as well — or is it the subject of a piece that first sways you?

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See this post for the simple tool I use to hone in on this discipline.

Perched on a Cusp

One of the most challenging aspects of having an art blog is figuring out how much to share. It’s one thing to give readers a peek into the creative process after-the-fact, or while everything is going smoothly. But there are plenty of (if not more) failed ideas and experiments that one doesn’t necessarily want to make public.

My progress is rarely linear. I find myself regularly weighing whether what I’m doing in a given week is taking me in a concrete direction, or is merely a detour leading to a dead-end. And while I think it’s important to follow most ideas to see where they may go, doing so publicly can be pretty scary.

But I’m finding there are also advantages to this cyber-space version of opening the studio door before I feel confident about what I’m working on — or where it may be headed. Not only have I found it tremendously worthwhile to be compelled to collect my thoughts in a coherent, readable form as a means of articulating to myself where I’m going, but I truly value the insights that some of you have chosen to share with me.

The most fruitful project I’ve taken on this year has been my commitment to draw every day. After 9-1/2 months, I’m beginning to see an ever-so-slight crack of light that is pointing me in what I hope will be a productive new direction that will spill over into my textile work. The challenge is in figuring out exactly how to bring these two diverse (one relatively spontaneous, the other decidedly more methodical) disciplines together into something new that doesn’t compromise the unique qualities of each. With color and composition as guideposts, I want to find a way to capture the feeling/immediacy of a drawing while capitalizing on the textural qualities of fabric and thread. Another goal is to strive toward an abstraction of the subject so that it becomes more than a mere translation of what is in front of me.

Saucer & Spoon ©2015 Elizabeth Fram Step 3 There is a lot to be learned through the distance of a photograph; lessons that are harder to see up-close and in-person. This “sketch” is too literal and has lost the vitality of the preliminary drawing above. There are passages here that I find cringe-worthy, (but also passages I quite like). Most importantly, it was a worthwhile exercise of discovery through color and mark-making.

I feel like I’m on the cusp of something quite interesting (to me, anyway!) but the big picture is still pretty muddy. The only path toward figuring it out involves time and lots of practice. If you’ll bear with me, I’ll bring you along.

PS – I try to keep this in mind: Time is rarely wasted in the studio. Although the “positive and negative” pieces from this past summer are leaning squarely toward the dead-end pile, who knows when whatever I learned from them may resurface and provide some nugget of info that is exactly what I need for a future piece. It pays to take a long-term view.

Summer’s End

As we move closer and closer to the official beginning of fall, I am inwardly celebrating the ‘flip of the page’ that comes with September. I’m sure there are many of you who might be mildly horrified at the fact that I am grateful to see the leaves beginning to change, and that I am eagerly anticipating the impending shorter days and cooler temps. But there you have it; that’s just the way my genes fell in place.

Boer War Memorial, Dorchester Square, Montreal I wouldn’t ordinarily choose a horse’s back end as a sketching subject, but it was so hot in Montreal a couple of weekends ago, that I was grateful for an empty spot on a park bench in the shade…despite the view. It seems a suitable illustration for a discussion surrounding the end of summer, don’t you think?

Perhaps partly due to following school’s schedule for so long, September better represents the launch of a new year to me than January (which, nestled securely within winter’s blanket, seems more of a continuum than a starting point). And as such, this time of year holds a sense of excitement that is associated with new beginnings including, of course, plans for future work. Is the same true for you?

That said, I have been feeling the need for a boost lately: a re-shifting of perspective and a bit of a pep talk as I gear up for Fall and reevaluate where I’ve been and where I’m heading in my work. Getting There: A Book of Mentors by Gillian Zoe Segal is proving to be just the ticket. With wisdom and straight talk from 30 luminaries, including Warren Buffett, Frank Gehry, Marina Abramovic, and Jeff Koons among others, it drills home the fact that commitment, resilience and kindness are just a few of the qualities that serve us all well in pursuit of our goals. That, and clearly a willingness to work hard.

I’m rolling up my sleeves and am ready to get started.

Diebenkorn’s Treasure

Reading about the life and work of an artist is informative to be sure, but whatever you read can’t help but be flavored by the opinions and impressions of the book’s author. While that expert’s perspective may be enlightening, if given a choice I would prefer the advantage of tagging along with an artist in the studio — of being the proverbial fly on the wall — in order to begin to grasp the lessons to be learned by watching his or her process unfold.

Richard Diebenkorn, “Untitled” from Sketchbook #2, page 37 (1943–93), felt-tip marker ink on paper (gift of Phyllis Diebenkorn, © The Richard Diebenkorn Foundation) (click to enlarge)

With that in mind, I was very excited to read on Hyperallergic a couple of weeks ago that 29 of Richard Diebenkorn’s sketchbooks would be on view at Stanford University this fall in the exhibition Richard Diebenkorn: The Sketchbooks Revealed.

Richard Diebenkorn, “Untitled” from Sketchbook #10, page 13 (1943–93), gouache and watercolor on paper (gift of Phyllis Diebenkorn, © The Richard Diebenkorn Foundation)

Even more exciting, Stanford’s Cantor Arts Center has digitized these sketchbooks so they are now available online to anyone. Diebenkorn is one of my artistic heroes, so I can’t believe the good fortune of being able to page through this treasure trove of visual information at my own pace… and without having to travel across the country!

Richard Diebenkorn, “Untitled” from Sketchbook #20, page 45 (1943–93), crayon on paper (gift of Phyllis Diebenkorn, © The Richard Diebenkorn Foundation)

Needless to say, I think having a sketchbook is one of the most valuable assets in any artist’s practice. I can’t think of a better way to keep track of and clarify ideas. The privilege of being able to leaf through the drawings and design ideas of a master is a true gift.

Richard Diebenkorn, Cover of Sketchbook #8 (1943–93), printing ink on laminated board (gift of Phyllis Diebenkorn, © The Richard Diebenkorn Foundation)

Finally, if you have any doubts about the measurable benefits a sketchbook can offer you personally, check out this blog post by Nela Dunato. It may just spur you on to get started.

Linking Memory with Creativity

I am feeling the growing pains of exploration in the studio lately, which has led me to wonder: what steers the work we make in specific directions, and in turn puts our individual stamp on it?

Last week I read Moonwalking With Einstein ~ The Art and Science of Remembering Everything by Joshua Foer. I picked it up off the library shelf because I was curious about how the author trained his mind to ultimately win the US Memory Championship, developing the ability to accomplish such feats as memorizing the order of an entire deck of cards in a record 1 minute and forty seconds. I figured I ought to be able to pick up at least a few helpful tips to get me through the day more efficiently.

But, beyond disclosing the intricate techniques of the world’s top “mental athletes”, the meat of this fascinating book is Foer’s narrative regarding memory itself, including both cutting-edge research and, as stated on the book flap, “a surprising cultural history of memory”.

Concerning creativity, he drills home the point that everything we see and do is viewed through the lens of memory, which ultimately shapes our perspective of the world around us. Of course that means it also flavors the art that we make. We may believe that a wonderful new line of thinking in approaching our work just “popped into our heads”, but it isn’t truly materializing from thin air. We have a lifetime of experiences to thank for any new path.

Think about what Foer writes: “The Latin root inventio is the basis of two words in our modern English vocabulary: inventory and invention. And to a mind trained in the art of memory, those two ideas were closely linked. Invention was a product of inventorying. Where do new ideas come from if not some alchemical blending of old ideas? In order to invent, one first needed a proper inventory, a bank of existing ideas to draw on”. In other words, consciously or unconsciously, we pull from our memories in order to fuse new connections between old ideas, solidifying those new concepts in the work we make.

Foer further states, “How we perceive the world and how we act in it are products of how and what we remember. We’re all just a bundle of habits shaped by our memories. And to the extent that we control our lives, we do so by gradually altering those habits, which is to say the networks of our memory.”

It adds a whole new depth to any piece of art you make or view, don’t you think?

The Mighty Metaphor

In past artist statements, I have equated my work with an act of translation, attempting “to encapsulate a specific moment or emotion by rephrasing the visceral to the visual”. My goal is to skewer the essence of the original inspiration so that I can share it and connect with others via that idea, either directly or by prompting a feeling or memory so that the piece resonates with them on a personal level. It’s a humbling and often elusive challenge, which I suppose are exactly the qualities that motivate me to keep trying.

In that same vein, I am a sucker for a great metaphor. One of the true joys of reading for me is coming across an analogy that is so precise, while also drawing an unexpected parallel, that it stays with me, creating an indelible link between the two elements from then on.

This past week I found such a simile in my favorite novel of the summer. Robin Sloan’s Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore is a fun read for anyone who might enjoy a whimsical bridge between the potential of technology and a reverence for ink on the page, with an added touch of mystery and a nod to the power of art.

Anyway, For those of you who understand and experience the reality of “flow” as you work, and I’m sure many of you do, I know you will also appreciate this gem from Sloan’s book:

“He works with crazy intensity, feeding hours like dry twigs into the fire, just absolutely consuming them, burning them up.”

The cherry on the cake is that this statement refers to an artist at work. I love it!

Please comment if you have a special metaphor you are willing to share. They are such a wonderful tool for offering insight and finely tuning our individual interpretations of the world around us.

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Lacking a good way to illustrate the idea of a metaphor, these detail images of the piece I’ve been working on the past couple of weeks will have to do.

The Fine Line

After last week’s post, my good friend and art buddy Dianne Shullenberger brought up a good question: “In digging deeper and deeper into work is it sometimes bordering on overworking?”

After thinking about it for a bit, this was my response: “I think there is a fine line between just right and overdone – & one that Gerald Auten recognized we were shying away from by perhaps under-evolving our drawings. My take on the subject is that we just have to be brave and forge ahead. I find when I push beyond my comfort zone exciting discoveries can be made. But as you suggest, sometimes one can overdo it – and then you have to chalk it up to experience.”

With time and practice I find I am becoming more competent at judging how far to push a piece, although the key qualifier in that statement is “more”. There is no substitution for doing the work, and as you make more work, these mysteries begin to clarify — don’t you think? This article from ARTNews illustrates that the answer to how far to push a piece is as individual as each artist.

Mining with a Needle

When I took a drawing course at North Country Studio Workshops several years ago the instructor, Gerald Auten, made a comment as he was pacing the room that has stayed with me since. I can’t quote him exactly, but the overall gist of what he said was to work deeper and deeper into a drawing, being careful not to call it “finished” too quickly. He was encouraging us to keep digging in order to see what discoveries would arise. It’s a point that has remained in the back of my mind, and it’s been with me all this week in my exploration of the ways that texture and color can work together to influence each other.

It’s wonderful how sometimes the simplest of remarks can make such a huge difference. I would love to hear about any shared insights that have had a strong impact on your practice. Or, to turn it around, is there something that you have discovered in your work which you’d be willing to pass on to the rest of us?