Essays by a Veteran Artist about Loving, Living and Creativity
I’ve never considered myself a master at my trade. I think I’ve produced a few masterful pieces, but I’ve never been real consistent in the production of high quality work. But I now have the advantage of looking back on 40+ years of hiking and biking in some beautiful places and stopping to make some art and playing with cameras and computers and interacting with fellow artists and art lovers and so I may have a little wisdom to share with all of you. So here are a few ramblings by an old artist.

Mark Rothko, Jackson Pollack, Piet Mondrian, Joan Mitchell, Helen Frankenthaler — all commonly described as abstract artists.  I would add to this list the great American Artist — Andrew Wyeth. I am by no means the first person to connect Wyeth to abstract art, but many will wonder how someone like Wyeth could be included in this list since he is also known for his highly detailed realistic landscapes and portraits inspired by his life at Chad’s Ford and summers spent on the coast of Maine. The answer lies on which definition of abstract art you choose.
If you use this definition: Abstract art uses visual language of shape, form, color and line to create a composition which may exist with a degree of independence from visual references in the world. — I would easily include Wyeth in that category — but if you tack on the following clarification, my comparison may be in trouble — Abstract art doesn’t contain recognizable objects, so there is nothing to grasp or hold onto.
Obviously Wyeth’s work has recognizable objects to hold on to, but if you look at his work strictly from a design/composition standpoint you will find many of the same devices that the great abstractionists employed. If you look at the visual journey; the way your eye travels in Wyeth’s work, and how the elements (size/shape/line/visual strength) play with one another it is pure abstraction. Look at his work and let your eyes go out of focus and you will see the same building blocks that the abstract artists used.
When I spend time on the shores of Lake Michigan, the homesteads of Port Oneida, and on the banks of the Crystal River, I am aware of sometimes, and subconsciously processing and employing most of the time, the use of design devices I’ve absorbed from artists who have populated the history of art — including the abstractionists. I don’t even come close to masterful work of Andrew Wyeth but I hope that when you squint your eyes and let the details of my images go soft, you will see journeyman examples of the abstract. 
I often hear the argument that if God was all powerful and a loving being why does he/she allow for so much pain in the world. I’ll be honest, I have struggled with that question. I have listened to theologians try to answer that question and I can’t say that I’ve heard many satisfying responses. My guess is that there are a few good responses out there — I just haven’t found them. 
My Resolution
My resolution to the issue — at least in this point in my life, is that the answer centers on the definition of love. Love can be expressed with many beautiful adjectives, but underpinning all those adjectives is that love is a choice — a choice to care for others, to include others, to cherish others, to encourage others  — love is directed toward your neighbors, your community, your family and even your enemies (as Jesus said). And the love you show is not profound unless it is a choice — that means the opposite of love needs to exist. I’ll say it in a little different way. Love is powerful and it’s power comes from the fact that it’s a choice. I imagine (pretty arrogant of me) that God when she/he was creating the universe said to herself/himself that I want some special beings to inhabit this pin prick of a place in the universe called earth. And what will make them special is that they will experience this most beautiful and powerful thing called love. They won’t just be robots that will strictly adhere to a script. They will have to make a conscious decision to love. But along with love comes the opposite — the bad news of pain, hatred, cruelty, and more. Part of the “love package” is the bad stuff.
The good news is three-fold. Even though you might not believe it (based on the news you see and hear every day) there is much more love going around than the bad stuff. I’d say at least ten thousand-fold more love than hate. And as primarily a landscape artist, I include the glimpses of love that the Creator provides in the form of natural world wonders. I don’t mean to minimize the bad stuff — holocosts, genecides, slavery, abuse, and much more, but there are people that are daily choosing to love and a vast majority of those choices go unreported and unseen by the masses. 
Second, the bad stuff can have some positive effects. Just a couple examples from a myriad of possible examples —  people who are on a downward spiral can have a crisis (a life altering, painful event) — forcing them to assess their situation and make the necessary changes.  Or people that are witnesses to a catastrophe are given opportunity to respond with love (charity and generosity). 
Third, the bad stuff that is around will eventually go away, permanently. And that brings us to the necessity of a Saviour. This way of love was expressed most profoundly by a creator who came to live with us and teach us and show us a perfect way of love — even to the point of dying for us so that we could shed our guilt for having participated in the evil of this world. There was a price had to be paid for being a “not loving” person and a Saviour came to pay the price so we wouldn’t have to — a most powerful, beautiful, sacrifice. That’s why I like to quote Dostoevsky — “beauty will save the world.”
I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos lately — many of the great scientific minds that tackle the subject of the existence of God. Is there a Creator, Intelligent Designer, or whatever you want to call a being that may or may not have had a part in constructing our world, our universe, and especially us as humans? I’m the first to admit that I’m not a great intellect. I can’t match arguments with Astro Physicists or PhD’s in philosophy. All I can go on is this thing in my gut that says there is something out there that speaks to my heart/imagination that tells me there is a reality beyond just scientific data that explains our existence. 
Yes, I grew up part of a church going family — so I’m steeped in the Biblical answers to who God is. Am I “brain-washed” into belief in God? I suppose you could make that argument. But I like to think that I was also taught to never simply accept what parents and peers believe. I need to discover for myself. 
I am a visual person. A visual artist’s life was a natural course for me. The simple act of creating art is very satisfying to me but the creative spirit also makes me a very curious person — I love to explore. So I’m curious about why I am curious. What’s inside of me that pushes me to look for the roots of creativity?  Is it the fact that my human ancestors existence pushed them to be more cunning and creative than their neighboring species? Is that why my brain is wired to exploit my creativity? Could be.  That would be the scientific, Darwinian explanation. Or is my curiousity a result of being designed by the ultimate Creator?
My reality: When I stand on the bluff at Sleeping Bear Point before sunrise and a rose colored alpen-glow creates a halo above the Manitous, I experience the two beauties.  First, an infinite harmonic beauty that is incongruous with the chaos of a big bang and second, an intimate beauty that convicts me of my brokenness and makes the love (empathy, forgiveness, and compassion) of a Creator essential for inner freedom and peace. The alternative is going down the rabbit hole of “self expression” which requires an ever expanding ego that implodes. I have a Creator that is large enough to build a universe and close enough to wipe away my tears and say that all will be OK. I cannot see a way forward in this world without those realities — period — amen!  
When I create art I  try to express both the beauty that is a window to the universe and a discovery of the empathy of my Creator. 
These thoughts are inspired by the writings and YouTube postings of Makoto Fujimura. Please read his work for more eloquent ideas on Art + Faith. Please listen to his story of how and where he found beauty. Like Mako, I choose Rembrandt not Picasso.
Late Bloomers
Our society/culture likes to recognize and glorify the child prodigy and anyone who seems to have abilities “beyond their years” or young people that have an “old soul.” I enjoy seeing young people excel and certainly want to encourage their gifts, but what about the old souls who have an old soul? 
Some people just didn’t get the opportunities when they were younger, and some people just didn’t find their niche when they were young, and others just have a very slow, methodical process that doesn’t bloom until later years. 
I’ve had the privilege of participating in several artist-in-residencies over the years. During the application process I often come across statements like these in the application requirements: This residency is for “emerging artists” or we encourage “student applications.” Emerging and student are code for we expect young people to apply. Again, I’m all for giving a leg up to young people, but just once I would love to see the criteria for a residency state that we encourage mature artists to apply. 
I think we need to give more recognition to individuals that didn’t reach their stride until later in life. There may be a lot of not-so-good artwork in the past but as we all know, people (not all but most) learn from their experiments and trials. And there is something to be said for perseverance — sticking with skill building and developing your style over a lifetime that is very admirable and should be rewarded. 
So all you curators out there, and all you gallery owners, and all you committees that create the requirements for a residency — think about having an emerging mature artist exhibit as well as a youth exhibit, think about creating a mature artists corner in your gallery, and think about encouraging mature artists to apply for your residency.
“I don’t have a creative bone in my body” — I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that line or something similar. I don’t believe that statement is true of anyone. Yes, I think there are personality/character traits that lend themselves more to creative pursuits, but I believe anyone can conjure up artistic expressions if they just allow themselves the space to do so, and if they learn to turn off those voices from their past that have told them that their creations are not worthy.
I don’t know if you’ve ever encountered the Enneagram  personality test. I think it can be a valuable tool to help you understand yourself, and it helps you understand how you interact with others, BUT I believe there is also a danger in labeling someone with this tool. The Enneagram, as good as it is, cannot tell the whole story of who a person is. 
I happen to be a believer in a divine power that created the universe. The Bible states — God breathed into humankind the breath of life and God created humankind in His/Her own image. I believe God is purposefully stating that He/She is giving every human a part of that creative energy that created the Universe.  Think of it. The being that thought up the process of how an egg becomes a larva; becomes a pupa; becomes a chrysalis; becomes a glorious butterfly has breathed into humans some of that energy. I think this is amazing. ALL of us have that creative energy inside of us. And even if you don’t believe in a divine power, I think you can feel the power of the universe inside you.
Don’t let your personal history or a personality test tell you whether you can be creative or not, I think you can form/develop the habits of a creative person and find a means of expressing your inner energy. 
In essays to come I will talk about being curious, being an explorer, being a good observer, being patient, taking risks, building fertile soil, and when to listen to or ignore the critics. When you are conscious of these artistic traits and nurture them you can make great art. 
If you are a believer in the Divine, the evidence of this ability to do things that seem outside of your giftedness is revealed time and time again through stories in the Bible (read the story of Gideon, Judges 6 and 7). God says I know you don’t think you can do this, but if you listen to Me, My power will make it happen. 
If you don’t believe in a higher power I think you will find that there is always a hidden inner strength that you didn’t realize was there — something you can tap into that will surprise you.   
Be courageous. Shed your label and do art!
There are times when I’m on a hike that I just feel like staying in motion — just making it to my goal, but most times I stop along the way; sit down for a few minutes; take in smells, noises, light, etc. If I’m in my native Michigan I can name most birds I see or hear; give a name to most plants and trees, tell what flowers are in bloom by the fragrance in the air; and speak out loud the name of the butterfly that just landed on my elbow. I’m not try to be a show-off. I know these parts of the natural world because I want to know their story. I like to know where birds migrate to and from, what time of the year the flowers bloom, do the plants have a symbiotic relationship with other species. 
What is all the information good for? Does it make you a better artist? I think it can — knowing when, where, or how something might fly through or bloom in your neck-of-the-woods can be helpful.
But I think, more importantly, wanting to know these things says something about you. It means that you want a “relationship” with the subjects of your art. It means that you are trying to say more with your art than look at my pretty picture, It means that you are trying to capture the essence of your subjects, their stories, the hidden meanings and use them to paint a bigger picture. Could these subjects be used as a symbol of a life lesson or a metaphor for a life lesson because of how they behave or present themselves? If I present a subject in a place or time where it normally would not be, can that make a special statement? If I capture the subject at a certain time in it’s lifespan or certain time of the day will I create a sense of fear, hope, sadness, love, challenges, or empathy? If I juxtapose this flower in the foreground with this skyscape in the background will it create tension?
Being curious helps you to put together the puzzle of good art. The information helps you make the connections between all the elements of emotion, thought, and mystery, that make good art. Being curious helps you to find that one element that will make he artwork complete. Be curious! 
A Good Observer
Cell phone off! Find a log in the woods; find a grassy ledge on a dune; find a clear bit of sandy beach just out-of-reach of the surf; find a that spot that’s at a meadow’s dead center; then pick up a stick or leaf; sift sand through your hands; run your fingers along a blade of grass; and smell the leaf, the sand, the grass, and listen — really listen. I know it’s hard to find a place with an absence of traffic noise or airplane noise or the voices of other people talking to each other while they hike — but you can let that become just white noise that fades to the background. Give yourself at least ten minutes to look slowly in all directions (including up and down) and blur and refocus your vision. I find that at about the five to six minute mark I start to see things that are new or interesting. 
It is real easy, especially if you are a camera person like me, to hike at a good clip out to that spot you had in mind for some images and simply start pushing the shutter button. I’ve learned from experience that I build my best images when I slow myself down and begin by simply observing. There are even times when I go out to collect images and I end up never pushing the shutter button once. But what I am collecting is possibilities for future images. I may see a grouping of trees that I really like but after looking at it for a while I imagine those trees on a windy day or with morning light rather than evening light, or in late autumn when they’ve lost most of their leaves. I make a mental note to revisit that spot at other times or in other conditions. Or maybe I see a possibility in a subject that I really can’t capture at that spot so I begin looking for that subject at other locations. Maybe I begin to see how a certain subject in combination with another subjects has real possibilities. 
I see myself as a collector and builder. It’s like cooking. I take a teaspoon from this observation, and combine it with a cup of visual thoughts I had from a month ago, and maybe a pinch of the right sunlight, add a dusting of snow or dewdrops in the morning, and frost it with the clouds I have in my image archive from a year ago. If I stir it in just the right way and let it rest for a bit (in the oven) and come back to it I’ll have a good piece of art. But the basic ingredients often come from good observation time — deliberately not jumping right into the act of creating a final piece.
Observation is something I’ve learned. It took many years to see that slowing myself down and releasing stress an anxiety are very helpful part of the creative process. Yes, I know that even in the natural world things can happen very fast and sometimes you have to get right to the business of making images, but when you can, stop and observe.
Truth and Consequences
My approach to doing art is one of following a “calling” — which means that I see my talent as God-given. I believe God has given me some talent and more importantly, the heart to make art. So when I go about my avocation of making art, I let my head and heart guide me — that’s my truth. The consequences are that this truth that I follow doesn’t always result in a profitable enterprise or images that tons of folks are interested in. 
Aside: I’m not saying that you can’t have a profitable business doing art that comes from your heart  — it just might make it a little more difficult — at least at first. Once you find the right folks that love what you do and they get to know you, the work of selling becomes easier.
In my case — example: I’ve been told that winter images, particularly winter landscapes, do not sell. I’m sure that’s generally true. But I love winter. I love what the extremes of cold, wind, and snow can do to a landscape, and I guess I love the challenge of shooting in harsh conditions, and it helps that there are not many people around — don’t have to use Photoshop to erase them. Example two: if there is a rush of artists heading toward a particular event, at a particular place, or at a particular time, to capture with paints, camera or sketches, a particular subject, you will often see me walking the other direction. I relish capturing the overlooked and underrepresented. It’s just what I do — can’t necessarily explain it.
And my truth often causes me to experiment with new techniques, new styles, or new subjects (I get bored easily). The consequence is time. Learning new skills, developing new processes, or figuring out how best to capture a new subject takes time. People may wonder why you haven’t posted or shown any new work in a while or why you don’t seem real productive. Truth is  there is a lot of work going on — it’s just not ready for prime time.
I believe my best work comes from my truth, and I know when I’m in that mode because the act of creating art is fun and joyful for me. My advice is look for your truth and stick with it. 
Note: I’m going to talk about my faith — my belief in God. I know that this topic sends up a lot of red flags for people because they don’t want to be “preached at” or feel like someone is turning this discussion on creativity into a missionary quest. My reason for including this is simple: It would be dishonest of me not to include it. A belief system is vital to nurturing creativity. Your system may not be mine, but I believe you can draw comparisons from my experience (the only experience I can share with any authenticity) to build your life as a strong creative.
Micah 6:8 — from the Hebrew Bible: He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? NRSV
What does that have to do with creativity? Everything. My life, my attitude, my purpose, my creativity are built on this foundational “requirement” — this directive from the prophet Micah. In a world that is often confusing and frustrating, I have the advantage of clarity. Creativity thrives where there is clarity — fewer distractions or confusion. Clarity is as beautiful as the light that touches the Manitou Islands just before sunrise.  The word “require” has, for many, a legalistic/harsh vibe to it. So let me briefly explain how I see it. I view my life as centered on one idea — gratitude. I am eternally grateful for the gift of life that my God has made possible for me through the sacrifice of His son. So it is gratitude that compels (a better translation than “requires”) me to walk humbly. So I seek justice for others, I am kind to others, I do not seek first for the good of myself, but my priority is the good of all others. Gratitude compels me to serve others by creating the best art I can and sharing the love and joy of art whenever and wherever I can.
The Critics
I’ve entered my work in many juried exhibits over the years. Most exhibits have a single judge, and most of these judges provide a statement that accompanies their selection list for the exhibit.  If they are real honest about their work as a judge they admit that the selection process is a very subjective one. Biases and whimsy abound. All judges have baggage — a history of things that have inspired or uninspired them and then they are moody — what looks good one day may strike the wrong vibe the next. I’m not faulting them for that, I just like to hear the judges admit to it. I have had a piece win awards in one show and that same piece not even get accepted in the next show. Go figure.
What makes good creative work is the ability to be vulnerable — letting your emotions and thoughts rise to the surface so that you can draw on their energy. But it is hard to make that vulnerability work along side the harsh realities of reviews and selections by judges and patrons. On one hand you need some critiques and reviews of your work to grow as an artist, and on the other hand you have to discern which critiques/reviews are valuable and which ones are you can just let vaporize so they don’t damage your ability to be vulnerable. The only way I have learned to exist in both worlds is to simply be honest with myself and say, yes, not being selected for a show or overlooked by a patron does sting, but the salve is to develop your own sense of what’s good and not so good. Be involved in arts groups. Attend performances. Visit galleries. Read books on creativity. Take design classes. Then, when your work is critiqued or reviewed you can discern the value of the review based on what you’ve learned. When a judge or peer looks at your work and has a comment about the composition, your informed self will let certain statements ring true and you can use them to grow and certain statements will fall flat and you can ignore them. It’s finding a balance of building a good self worth/confidence but not be too full of yourself that you aren’t willing to listen to a judge or peer. This may sound pretty simple on paper but it takes a lot of practice.
Imperfect Art
I was struck recently when reading about several noted art makers — most of them practicing the photographic arts — how important “control” was in their whole process. By control I mean they totally embraced the science of digital imaging and were keenly aware of the best techniques that technically gave them great images. From purchasing the right camera equipment to running multiple tests on a high end printer, they reached for perfection — achieving extraordinary gallery prints. I certainly embrace their desire to be the best at what they do, but I wonder if something isn’t lost in the striving for perfection.
As a craftsman I want my work to show that I love and care about my craft — not because I want others to see how great I am at my craft, but because I want the craft to be so good that it disappears and the focus becomes the concept and gives voice to the subject.  Maybe that idea is best described inversely — that if I’m not doing my craft well, the mis-cues and mistakes become distractions — taking away from what I want to express.
But then along comes reality — humans aren’t perfect, and what they create isn’t perfect, so maybe it’s okay to reveal some brokenness — maybe it is more honest and natural to create imperfect art — admit that you don’t have complete control.
When I was an art student there were times when I and my fellow students would talk about “happy accidents” — those times when you realized your skills were severely lacking  — when the vase crumpled on the pottery wheel and you over-mixed your paints to create mud rather than spots of intense primary colors. Maybe the crumpled vase is more interesting than a perfectly symmetrical one? Maybe mud brown is more moody and intense than primary colors? Can brokenness be beautiful? Can revealing that you are always learning (in process) despite decades of training be part of your message as an artist? Maybe the happy accidents aren’t distractions but help tell the story.
I have to admit that there are times I want to be the Jackson Pollock of camera arts. It would feel good to just let go and have a more visceral experience with the process.
Not sure I want to throw my expensive equipment at a canvas that’s laying on a floor, but maybe the Pollock effect could be achieved in other ways. Back in the day of film I played around with multiple exposures, camera motion, and various printing processes — with lots of images hung on the wall that were not entirely successful. In the digital age, computer processing makes “cleaning up” images easy. Maybe too easy? Maybe we need to show some imperfection — show our humanity.
I’m ready to explore imperfection — how about you?
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