February 18, 2011
Papua New Guinea is home to the extraordinary Birds of Paradise. They
are endowed with some of the most breath-taking plumage in the world–
this, when being a bird is already highly ranked on the beauty scale.
All this pulchritude adds to the courtship dance performed by the males.
The routines themselves are a wonderful sight. Sometimes they attract
an audience of one or more females, but there’s no guarantee any will
accept a mate, despite his choreography. Girls often arrive, enjoy the
show, then leave. Also, many graceful moves executed by Birds of
Paradise go unnoticed on the ground of a forest floor every day. The
intrepid bird rarely gives up. No one today; he tries again tomorrow.
What strikes me about these dedicated rituals is not just the lovely
display, but the care taken to “put it out there,” regardless of
outcome.
There are more artists than galleries, or exhibition opportunities to accommodate everyone ready to share their work. The same is true for other art disciplines as well. An intimate, private showing for family and friends is sufficient for some artists. This kind of legacy enriches loved ones by the influence of creative energy in different aspects of their lives– from innovative problem-solving, to an appreciation of aesthetics that will determine choices in areas such as environment, relationships, and values. It may even inspire children to pursue further in a field where a parent or family member was content to remain with little or no professional ambition.
Most artists want their work accessible to the public as well. Being seen is a natural objective for the visual artist. Without it, there’s unfinished business, especially where a project, or art completed within a series is concerned. Exhibitions formally launch work past our own sole knowledge of its existence, by offering to others what we have to give. There’s also a fundamental need to initiate the next round of endeavor by opening room and space (sometimes literally), for the creative process to resume. I paint in theme cycles; feel restless until previous work has had decent exposure. This includes at least one solo show. Often though, my gallery submissions and funding applications return declined. When that happens, goals change. I forget about galleries, juries and other peoples’ validation. Sales, recognition, approbation, grants, awards and prizes, although nice– become irrelevant. Even my career as an artist, thins next to a stark fact: if I don’t get the work up, I’ll go nuts.
No one is obliged to remain loyal to their failures. It’s great when others free up our time by taking care of art business, especially if they’re reliable and trustworthy. But if that’s not available, artists need to explore other options with the same imagination and resourcefulness normally applied to their craft. This means considering among other things, non-traditional, alternative exhibition venues. Affordable rental space, storefront windows, garage tours, laundromats, projection sites– basically anywhere with walls in a good location. The organization of one’s own show can be a time-consuming, labour intensive expense. The benefit though, is autonomy, the self-reliance induced from experience should the need arise again. I’d rather not have to do it, but I can provide for myself when no offers are forthcoming.
Whether it’s a conventional gallery or I mount the show myself, nothing prevents a post-exhibition melancholy after that first solo show ends. Partly, it’s the discrepancy between the years spent towards building a show– compared to the meager 2-3 weeks run of display. Mostly, it’s the sense of having officially released the work, even if it doesn’t sell. Rejection is a given in any artist’s life. But what’s worse is indifference. A devil whispers that no one cared whether the show was up or not; all this trouble generated little interest one way or another. When these thoughts arise, I’m encouraged by the persistence and endurance demonstrated by the Bird of Paradise. I don’t do anything nearly as unselfconsciously exquisite as his avian ballet. But the quality of his commitment each day, in spite of lapses in attendance, inspires me by way of delight. When a Bird of Paradise dances, it’s as if he sends molecules of joy up into the atmosphere, which in turn, the plants and trees absorb– not to mention the soil those molecules fall back down upon. I like to think that healthy forest canopies are just as ecologically sustained by these artistic expressions, as much as civilizations thrive from the collective efforts of their cultural workers.
There are more artists than galleries, or exhibition opportunities to accommodate everyone ready to share their work. The same is true for other art disciplines as well. An intimate, private showing for family and friends is sufficient for some artists. This kind of legacy enriches loved ones by the influence of creative energy in different aspects of their lives– from innovative problem-solving, to an appreciation of aesthetics that will determine choices in areas such as environment, relationships, and values. It may even inspire children to pursue further in a field where a parent or family member was content to remain with little or no professional ambition.
Most artists want their work accessible to the public as well. Being seen is a natural objective for the visual artist. Without it, there’s unfinished business, especially where a project, or art completed within a series is concerned. Exhibitions formally launch work past our own sole knowledge of its existence, by offering to others what we have to give. There’s also a fundamental need to initiate the next round of endeavor by opening room and space (sometimes literally), for the creative process to resume. I paint in theme cycles; feel restless until previous work has had decent exposure. This includes at least one solo show. Often though, my gallery submissions and funding applications return declined. When that happens, goals change. I forget about galleries, juries and other peoples’ validation. Sales, recognition, approbation, grants, awards and prizes, although nice– become irrelevant. Even my career as an artist, thins next to a stark fact: if I don’t get the work up, I’ll go nuts.
No one is obliged to remain loyal to their failures. It’s great when others free up our time by taking care of art business, especially if they’re reliable and trustworthy. But if that’s not available, artists need to explore other options with the same imagination and resourcefulness normally applied to their craft. This means considering among other things, non-traditional, alternative exhibition venues. Affordable rental space, storefront windows, garage tours, laundromats, projection sites– basically anywhere with walls in a good location. The organization of one’s own show can be a time-consuming, labour intensive expense. The benefit though, is autonomy, the self-reliance induced from experience should the need arise again. I’d rather not have to do it, but I can provide for myself when no offers are forthcoming.
Whether it’s a conventional gallery or I mount the show myself, nothing prevents a post-exhibition melancholy after that first solo show ends. Partly, it’s the discrepancy between the years spent towards building a show– compared to the meager 2-3 weeks run of display. Mostly, it’s the sense of having officially released the work, even if it doesn’t sell. Rejection is a given in any artist’s life. But what’s worse is indifference. A devil whispers that no one cared whether the show was up or not; all this trouble generated little interest one way or another. When these thoughts arise, I’m encouraged by the persistence and endurance demonstrated by the Bird of Paradise. I don’t do anything nearly as unselfconsciously exquisite as his avian ballet. But the quality of his commitment each day, in spite of lapses in attendance, inspires me by way of delight. When a Bird of Paradise dances, it’s as if he sends molecules of joy up into the atmosphere, which in turn, the plants and trees absorb– not to mention the soil those molecules fall back down upon. I like to think that healthy forest canopies are just as ecologically sustained by these artistic expressions, as much as civilizations thrive from the collective efforts of their cultural workers.
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