I found a very relevant blog entry by Ross Evertson about artist statements: apparently he’s
going to start posting statements as I find them. Out of respect and fear I will not comment on them. I will not point out which one made me pee my pants, or the one that originally inspired me to continually write about my work.
It’s been wetter than usual hereabouts, and getting anywhere is a little soggy. This is Tessa’s version of getting soggy.
Um… excuse me, but there’s a little Thunderstandable in your mustache…
The last time I talked to Brendan McG, he said that he was almost finished with the as of yet unreleased recordings, so hopefully there will be some new music up soon. And, while Brendan McC was here in Brooklyn, we recorded a couple of strange songs that will also be posted in the near future. Keep your eyes on keys tend to fall out of ignition!
This is poorly mixed and fairly quiet version of a newish song I’m still kind of working on: God Damn It
I found this in my inbox yesterday. It amazing!
There were so many insightful, helpful, intelligent comments about artist statements (specific to mine and applicable to the general) that I felt like I should respond. Unfortunately, I’ve not had the time this week to post a second draft (and I’m sure you’re all like “Oh no! We don’t get to read another brilliant statement?!”) but I have been thinking a lot about the conversation. I will attempt to synthesize all this later this weekend.
There is always an amount of selfishness or self-centeredness in one’s art. And yes, we do it for ourselves; we are compelled to do it. However, that doesn’t mean that we don’t need to show it to other people. In fact, I would argue that if it weren’t for other people, the art that one makes would be really, really different. I’m not saying that one wouldn’t make art if totally alone - but that the art would be different from the art that one makes in a cultural/social context.
What do you think? How would your art/art-making change if you were totally alone? Would you even make work?
For me, I suspect that I would cease making 2-D art altogether. I would certainly still make work (for, at the very least, art-making is a way to pass the time - though this becomes more a craft issue as the object becomes more and more useful), but the work would probably be sculptural, installation, performance or aural. And probably all four. So why am I making the kind of work I’m making now? Because I’m not alone. Art is very much about the transfer of information from one source to another. That could be the way a tree looks in sunlight transfered to my brain, or my brain’s idea of what a tree looks in sunlight to another person.
We write statements about work because written/spoken language is usually more objective (and therefore, more universally applicable) than visual language. Mark wrote asking “What’s the purpose of an artist’s statement except to put into words what is already more clearly expressed in the photographs? Isn’t an artist the worst person to ask for an interpretation of their work? Why bother with a statement at all?” and noted that no one is talking about the photographs anymore; the conversation has turned to the conversation.
Good questions. The pupose of an artist’s statement is to put into words what is already “more clearly expressed” in the art. The statement should be a helpful supplement (like an annotated book, or like when you’re reading in a foreign language and have to read with a dictionary open) aiding the understanding of the work. I suppose that whether or not the “point” of the work is “more clearly expressed” in the work is debatable - sometimes, the point of the work isn’t discernable from the work itself at all. How about Sugimoto’s architecture photographs? How understandable are they with the statement? Without? (Personally, I didn’t feel comfortable with them until I did a bit of research - in this case, the statement wasn’t actually enough of a supplement.)
The second question Mark poses (”Isn’t an artist the worst person to ask for an interpretation of their work?”) is a great one. The first answer is: Yes! Of course! Artists are the least objective people in the world, and therefore have no real conception of how their work is perceived and understood by other people. The second answer is: No! Of course! Who knows the work intimately, and is as close as possible to each nuance of the content? The artist!
The last question (”Why bother with a statement at all?”) is the hardest to answer (not that the above really count as answers - I’m just offering more questions, really). However, as I grow as an artist (that phrase is gross, but bear with me), I find that I care more and more about the content of the work - that it must have meaning in order to justify its displacement of space in the material and conceptual world. We have a finite amount of space around us and in our minds - we can only process so much information at once. Therefore, the art I want to look at should be well supported. And sometimes, the work manifests itself in strange ways - ways I can’t possibly interpret without some help. There are a billion examples of work that don’t make sense until you read the statement. (I do realize that I’m actually talking about criticism, and not necessarily “artist statements” per se, but I think the two can be somewhat interchangable.)
Okay. I’ve said too much, and in a rambled fashion. Someone: tell me off!
I’ve heard (from like a thousand sources now) that the only real reason an artist goes to graduate school is to learn how to write their artist statement. There is so much truth to that it hurts all over (like in my head, my heart and my wallet).
It’s really good to know how to talk about your work, even if just a little, in a way that isn’t your work. The subjective qualities of visual language might not be as immediately understood as the words “my work is…” and so on.
So. Over the last three weeks, I have been taking notes and writing about my work, and why I do it, and what it’s about.
My photography professor asked an artist, Bill Jacobson, to come and critique our work after hearing a little from each of us. I’m pretty sure I led him down the wrong path by trying to come up with some brilliant explanation of my work. Unfortunately, I used the word “narrative” twice, and he caught both of them.
Howver, he was incredibly helpful in identifying some themes in my work after only looking at 8 photographs and hearing me stumble through a weak version of my statement. He also told me my work was like a “bumpy plane ride.” Then my professor told me that it was also like a minor car accident. I realized that my work isn’t really “narrative” at all; I think I’ve just been absorbing that word while in school.
And so. I’ve pared down all of my notes down to several sentences. It’s still pretty vague, but probably as close as I can get right now to identifying some characteristics of my work to help a viewer hopefully understand how to look at it.
Tell me what you think - I need the advice and/or criticism.
Statement and photographs up at http://justinkohmetscher.com.
