February 12, 2012
In the past, I’ve taken all sorts of adult evening classes and belonged
to groups outside the realm of art. They ranged anywhere from astrology
to Basic Cantonese or swimming lessons. A few were also spiritual
practices. At the beginning of each venture, facilitators would ask
participants their reasons for enrollment– “Why are you here?” When that
happened, I often panicked. Outside of a vague, general interest, I
found it awkward to articulate a comprehensive reason. My statements
usually began with an I-don’t-know, before mumbling something remotely
plausible. What I eventually said wasn’t necessarily accurate so much as
an impulse to hurry the question along to the next person so we could
get going already with the business or activity at hand. Once in a
while, I knew my purpose. “I’m here to learn tai chi because every time I
bend down, my knees sound like twigs just snapped.”
Even original goals change or evolve with time. If they are unclear at first, sometimes the doing of a thing is what reveals intention or allows it to form. As an artist, the question that arises periodically is: “Why choose art?” Variations include: “How come you paint? What’s the point?” “Why are you an artist?” The questions don’t/have never stopped me from working. Nor have I been so obsessed with the lack of a good answer that I sank to the floor in tears believing that without one, I was a less than genuine artist. But visitors to a gallery and others have posed versions of this same question. It’s always a surprise to hear. Normally, I’d rather just concentrate on doing work.
It is worthwhile though, to at least have some response readily available– if only to hasten along the unwanted attentions of those who ask rhetorical questions. There is a difference when inquiries are made in connection to the art. An initial attraction to a body of work often piques a natural curiosity about the artist. When viewers want to know more about the incentive behind a work– what a practitioner is willing to share about their own unique process, often generates greater appreciation for their efforts. This may or may not include details regarding the current, primary motive for producing art. I do find it prudent however, to assess the quality or degree of engagement when such potent questions are asked by others. In my experience, even respectful, valid interest tends to be relatively brief compared to the times when an artist truly needs to examine for themselves, why they want(ed) to be painters, writers, dancers, or musicians etc. People ask: “Why are you an artist; why do you paint?” for reasons that vary from casual conversation, fascination, boredom, distraction, incredulity or concern for health and welfare. They ask out of politeness when they don’t know what else to say and have never interacted with an art species before. They quiz out of impatience for what they perceive as a difficult, fiscally challenged career. They ask because they want to know what it’s like to sustain a dream or because you both met in the laundry room. I’d rather not spill my guts out in most of these situations. Not every encounter with important questions warrants intimate disclosure. For some scenarios, it’d be wiser to just survive the exchange and protect one’s privacy by ensuring all viscera remain intact. When that’s the case, any answer–including a fake or outdated one– will do. It’s actually quite fun to try out or invent all kinds of possible response. The novelty and guilty pleasure of lying reduces the pressure of having to come up with a definitive answer, especially for artists who ultimately, don’t really care why they make art as long as they keep doing it. Surprisingly, I find that legitimate replies emerge of their own accord when I play around like this.
“I paint to continue a family tradition passed down through generations.”(I’m the only visual artist in my family)
“I’m an artist because I had so many dreams about swimming in David Hockney pools, the bed started to smell like chlorine.” (never happened)
“Making art is one way of being in the world.”(sounds familiar)
The truth is, artists have several reasons for choosing their profession, many of them deeply personal, complicated and sometimes painful. Perhaps that’s why part of me thinks few people have any real business asking such loaded questions– even when no harm or discourtesy was intended. There’s no doubt an unexpected query from a stranger or otherwise can challenge us to an honest, deeper exploration. Not all artists are shy about divulgence either; some engage comfortably in dialogue, regardless of content. But when artists need to investigate their own motives for creating art, usually it involves some form of soul-searching. The answers to “Why am I doing this?” provoke more questions for those who finally have to admit they make art for false reasons instead of their own, such as living out the agenda of a dead parent. This is not to say that heart-breaking or truthful answers should cease all production. Artists willing to consider Big Questions during crucial stages, give themselves a chance to accept, repair, adjust or celebrate where they are in their lives, and where they need or want to go next. Indeed, after discoveries are made, the question that frequently appears after ‘why do I make art?’ is ‘do I still want to continue?’
For the record, I make art because I can’t think of anything better I want to do with the time I have left on earth. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. For now.
Even original goals change or evolve with time. If they are unclear at first, sometimes the doing of a thing is what reveals intention or allows it to form. As an artist, the question that arises periodically is: “Why choose art?” Variations include: “How come you paint? What’s the point?” “Why are you an artist?” The questions don’t/have never stopped me from working. Nor have I been so obsessed with the lack of a good answer that I sank to the floor in tears believing that without one, I was a less than genuine artist. But visitors to a gallery and others have posed versions of this same question. It’s always a surprise to hear. Normally, I’d rather just concentrate on doing work.
It is worthwhile though, to at least have some response readily available– if only to hasten along the unwanted attentions of those who ask rhetorical questions. There is a difference when inquiries are made in connection to the art. An initial attraction to a body of work often piques a natural curiosity about the artist. When viewers want to know more about the incentive behind a work– what a practitioner is willing to share about their own unique process, often generates greater appreciation for their efforts. This may or may not include details regarding the current, primary motive for producing art. I do find it prudent however, to assess the quality or degree of engagement when such potent questions are asked by others. In my experience, even respectful, valid interest tends to be relatively brief compared to the times when an artist truly needs to examine for themselves, why they want(ed) to be painters, writers, dancers, or musicians etc. People ask: “Why are you an artist; why do you paint?” for reasons that vary from casual conversation, fascination, boredom, distraction, incredulity or concern for health and welfare. They ask out of politeness when they don’t know what else to say and have never interacted with an art species before. They quiz out of impatience for what they perceive as a difficult, fiscally challenged career. They ask because they want to know what it’s like to sustain a dream or because you both met in the laundry room. I’d rather not spill my guts out in most of these situations. Not every encounter with important questions warrants intimate disclosure. For some scenarios, it’d be wiser to just survive the exchange and protect one’s privacy by ensuring all viscera remain intact. When that’s the case, any answer–including a fake or outdated one– will do. It’s actually quite fun to try out or invent all kinds of possible response. The novelty and guilty pleasure of lying reduces the pressure of having to come up with a definitive answer, especially for artists who ultimately, don’t really care why they make art as long as they keep doing it. Surprisingly, I find that legitimate replies emerge of their own accord when I play around like this.
“I paint to continue a family tradition passed down through generations.”(I’m the only visual artist in my family)
“I’m an artist because I had so many dreams about swimming in David Hockney pools, the bed started to smell like chlorine.” (never happened)
“Making art is one way of being in the world.”(sounds familiar)
The truth is, artists have several reasons for choosing their profession, many of them deeply personal, complicated and sometimes painful. Perhaps that’s why part of me thinks few people have any real business asking such loaded questions– even when no harm or discourtesy was intended. There’s no doubt an unexpected query from a stranger or otherwise can challenge us to an honest, deeper exploration. Not all artists are shy about divulgence either; some engage comfortably in dialogue, regardless of content. But when artists need to investigate their own motives for creating art, usually it involves some form of soul-searching. The answers to “Why am I doing this?” provoke more questions for those who finally have to admit they make art for false reasons instead of their own, such as living out the agenda of a dead parent. This is not to say that heart-breaking or truthful answers should cease all production. Artists willing to consider Big Questions during crucial stages, give themselves a chance to accept, repair, adjust or celebrate where they are in their lives, and where they need or want to go next. Indeed, after discoveries are made, the question that frequently appears after ‘why do I make art?’ is ‘do I still want to continue?’
For the record, I make art because I can’t think of anything better I want to do with the time I have left on earth. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. For now.
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