Am I an Impressionist? A Realist? A Contemporary Classicist?
Cascade Head -- Original Oil on Canvas by Steve Henderson of Steve Henderson Fine Art
To a certain extent, I don't mind labels. One of our cannisters of bulk tea is missing a label, and I notice that, as the weeks go by, we scrupulously avoid using it.
What we are collectively worried about, I'm not sure, since it's probably some black tea similar to the Assams and Ceylons and Java blends in the other cannisters, but, because it is not specifically identified as Bond Street Blend or First Flush Darjeeling, we pass it by.
So labels aren't such bad things, used appropriately.
As artists, we are familiar with labels, identifying ourselves as impressionists or abstract expressionists, representational classicists, or, (my favorite, actually, and what I loosely consider myself) contemporary realists, with the idea of letting potential clients know what to expect when they see our work, and this in itself isn't such a bad thing.
It is when we agonize over classifying ourselves and our works that we run into problems. I think of the Salons of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, getting into serious discussions and actual quarrels over whether an artist's work was "truly" , say, impressionist or not.
"I'd say that it's 60 percent impressionist, no more," I can imagine one member arguing.
"And is that percentage sufficient to admit the artist into the Salon?" another member shoots back.
Obviously, establishments must have membership rules and regulations -- and therein lie potential problems -- but individual artists have a right to be wary about concerning themselves too much about fitting themselves into these dictates -- some of which are necessarily arbritrary as the piece of cheese gets diced smaller and smaller.
In striving to align ourselves with a particular Salon or movement's idea of what constitutes membership, we may find ourselves subtly alterning what we do and how we do it -- and not because it produces a better finished work or drives us to a higher level of skill, but because we want to be accepted into the show, or the Salon, or the group.
A little of this shifting, consciously done, is simply a matter of adjusting for marketing purposes. But a lot of this shifting, done at a subconscious level, is an adult version of junior high demographics -- the desperate ploy to fit in at all costs, one of the greatest cost being our sense of individuality and our unique perspective on things.
And, as in junior high, if we do not resist the temptation to fit in, we will find ourselves all subtly looking alike, and yet simultaneously insisting that we are uniquely different.
As artists, we should be used to not flowing in the middle of the stream. We are alike in that we look at the world differently than most people; we are different in how we choose to express what it is that we see.
I enjoy looking at the work of other artists' -- be they alive or dead -- and I learn what I can from what I see. Ultimately, however, I strive each day to move forward on my own two feet, painting what I see the way I see it, and the way I feel it should be painted.
To a certain extent, I don't mind labels. One of our cannisters of bulk tea is missing a label, and I notice that, as the weeks go by, we scrupulously avoid using it.
What we are collectively worried about, I'm not sure, since it's probably some black tea similar to the Assams and Ceylons and Java blends in the other cannisters, but, because it is not specifically identified as Bond Street Blend or First Flush Darjeeling, we pass it by.
So labels aren't such bad things, used appropriately.
As artists, we are familiar with labels, identifying ourselves as impressionists or abstract expressionists, representational classicists, or, (my favorite, actually, and what I loosely consider myself) contemporary realists, with the idea of letting potential clients know what to expect when they see our work, and this in itself isn't such a bad thing.
It is when we agonize over classifying ourselves and our works that we run into problems. I think of the Salons of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, getting into serious discussions and actual quarrels over whether an artist's work was "truly" , say, impressionist or not.
"I'd say that it's 60 percent impressionist, no more," I can imagine one member arguing.
"And is that percentage sufficient to admit the artist into the Salon?" another member shoots back.
Obviously, establishments must have membership rules and regulations -- and therein lie potential problems -- but individual artists have a right to be wary about concerning themselves too much about fitting themselves into these dictates -- some of which are necessarily arbritrary as the piece of cheese gets diced smaller and smaller.
In striving to align ourselves with a particular Salon or movement's idea of what constitutes membership, we may find ourselves subtly alterning what we do and how we do it -- and not because it produces a better finished work or drives us to a higher level of skill, but because we want to be accepted into the show, or the Salon, or the group.
A little of this shifting, consciously done, is simply a matter of adjusting for marketing purposes. But a lot of this shifting, done at a subconscious level, is an adult version of junior high demographics -- the desperate ploy to fit in at all costs, one of the greatest cost being our sense of individuality and our unique perspective on things.
And, as in junior high, if we do not resist the temptation to fit in, we will find ourselves all subtly looking alike, and yet simultaneously insisting that we are uniquely different.
As artists, we should be used to not flowing in the middle of the stream. We are alike in that we look at the world differently than most people; we are different in how we choose to express what it is that we see.
I enjoy looking at the work of other artists' -- be they alive or dead -- and I learn what I can from what I see. Ultimately, however, I strive each day to move forward on my own two feet, painting what I see the way I see it, and the way I feel it should be painted.
