(Place whatever value you wish on this realization.)
This page will not be filled with images. It will be filled with text. Therefore, it might take up more of my four readers' time, and be less entertaining. However, I wanted a place to blab, while not mucking up Parabolic Muse for those who don't care what I think about anything.
Yay!
As you are aware, I've entered the Pulse Project exhibition in Connecticut. I have never had a public showing of my work (other than on my blog or on Instagram). I, frankly, felt my work was not up to the par of artists who exhibit their work in galleries.
I struggled with this a lot. Would I embarrass myself? Would I disgruntle the other artists, who were clearly more worthy than I, more experienced, more refined in their professional personas, with better websites, more followers, and more expensive art materials? These questions occupied my thoughts for days, as they had when I first began to post my work online. That was a decade ago, but I thought I'd become settled on those issues. However, I was not settled.
I was asked to price the work that had been accepted. That was another conundrum. I have been an art swapper, and an art gift-er. Until recently, I had worked for a decade in art without charging for anything. Then, I was able to sell a few pieces only by virtue of the asker's insistence. That was wonderful, but I still felt a little bit like a poser.
Oh, you know what I mean.
Don't get me wrong: I have a pretty big ego. I have a strong personality and I almost always know why I create the way I do, and what attracts me to others' works. When I work, I am most often pushed forward by a vision. In fact, I am often at sea when I am in a workshop and the instructor tells us to just play. Just go with the flow. Don't worry about where you're going.
As in writing, I know where I plan to go when I begin an art piece.
In any case, I'm not a shrinking violet. But, there is this very strong, pervasive, and crippling thing which hovers over and whisks around every human creative endeavor.
Judgment. Or, if you will, elitist 'sorting'.
Part of my compulsion when it comes to art, is an insistence on trying to get better. Evolving. Seeking perfection. I don't understand why anyone would just goof around without trying to refine. This is why I'm harder on myself than on anyone. It's not necessarily a good thing, it just is. And many of you share this compulsion, so I'm sure you know what I mean.
This is the seed from which elitism can sprout. We feel that we know what is the right way. We know what 'should' be done.
(There's another kind of elitism that has to do with being thought of as one of the smart/cool/good ones. That's not what I'm talking about this time.)
So when we were first invited by Seth (the most inclusive guy I know) to submit work, I just knew that I should not be judged against artists I and others admire greatly. That I should not be among those who make their profession in art, who have studios, travel to shows, were educated in art institutions, and know what a cradled panel is without asking.
So. How could I even hope to price my work? I have pieces in the upcoming exhibition which took me up to 20 hours to finish. Was I to price by hour? I have pieces in the show that represent very little in monetary outlay for materials. Should I price according to my cost? Clearly, these two considerations were not realistic. So, should I concern myself more with not under-pricing my work so others would not be pissed off?
The only realistic way I could price my items, to my mind, was: artistic value.
How can we value a piece of art? Art is subjective.
For example: Mark Rothko leaves me feeling so-so:
However, I love Louise Treadwell:
What's that about?!
For me, an acceptable price for each of these artists' works would range widely. And I am not sure I could tell you exactly why.
I understand that there are historic and societal considerations in placing a value on someone's work. But just for me, in this time and place, I was putting a lot of pressure on myself, and almost pulled out of the exhibit.
Then I took hold of myself. For a moment I complained the I was holding my own wrist a bit too tightly, but then, once I'd relaxed my hold a bit, I got down to the essence of what I am about and why I do what I do. I considered whether I wanted to be in the show for myself or for other people. And I realized two things I knew all along:
1. I am a creative being. I will create whether anyone else does or whether anyone sees my art or my writing. Being creative enriches my life. It keeps my eyes and mind open, and 'clears out the pipes'.
2. This experience will continue my evolution. I will learn a lot about exhibits, about other artists, and about myself. Being a part of this event can only make me a better craftswoman and artist.
And if I judge myself unworthy, that's my own damn problem, not mine.
Okay, you know what I mean.
