December 15
Yesterday, after reviews were finished, most of my small class convened informally in our group studio to chill and discuss. We were joined by a second year student who, being experienced in the program, has been from day one, a great source of information and insight. When he asked me what I thought of the first semester, I responded that whatever I am going to get from this program will be something different than what I was expecting. He raised his brows and pointed a knowing finger in my direction, responding, "You are exactly right."
So the question remains: What will that be? When Archie asked me at the beginning of the semester what my expectations were, I responded that I want to be a better artist. What does that mean to me? Ultimately, it means joy, fraternity, and direction. Joy is flow. Joy is being lost in what you are doing where that moment is an end unto itself. Making art, drawing lines, setting goals and accomplishing them, learning techniques, playing....these have sustained me throughout my wildly challenging life. I wish to cultivate my practice so that it can grow with me as I become an older person with changing concerns and capabilities. I would like more people in my life with whom I share these. Historically, the presence of people to whom I can look up to who are willing to help me perceive my own strengths and weaknesses have been pivotal in my getting this far, but I cannot say I have that now, and it is very difficult being my own bastion of strength. I do not crave simple encouragement; I miss having someone who I respect to really know me, and really care about my progress, and to constructively help me to get to the next level. I felt sure that graduate school would allow me to be in a class of fellows with whom ideas could be shared and mutual inspiration could flourish. I am wanting to be in the same boat as others who are highly capable and driven, so that the experience of trying to be a better artist can be a collective one, as it does lend itself to seclusion, and I am far from a recluse. I would like to find a direction, point my nose to it, and follow it for the rest of my days. Making art all the time with no real way to share it is sort of pointless. I am hoping to find a connection with something outside of myself that will create a current on which art and ideas can travel to and fro. I had no expectations for this program. My decision to go here was based on proximity and provenance. In fact, its totally fair to say that my only goal when moving to Brooklyn was to attend here, (or New Paltz, before I got swallowed by Brooklyn).
Reviews take place in two different gallery spaces over a period of two days. Day one is second year, and day two is first year. Full time and adjuct faculty, administrators, lab techs, and a smattering of other dignitaries shuffle back and forth between the two spaces, partaking of appetizers and coffee intermitantly. Because of my priorities (finishing my work and my job), I was only able to make it to two second year reviews. The first one was a roast, but the student held himself together pretty well. The second one was all accolades. The rooms are full of tension and excitement, and honesty abounds. They are not here to coddle us.
I had started on my felcan work at the beginning of the semester after it became clear to me that I could not get through this program simply cobbling together imagery that I think looks wonderful. I took the plunge, because I have plenty of intellectual curiosity, and the message from two of my teachers was strictly focused on the development of the inquiry. For me, this will always be secondary to the actual act of making the work -- the time spent planning it and acquiring the materials. All of that is heaven to me. I worked like an animal on my pieces. I planned them months in advance. I schlepped a great many loads of material from work to school. I learned how to make a rubber mold and cast in plaster. I went to shows and applied the inspiration, working larger than ever, as my studio allows for this. I dismissed sub par finished work and cut it up to make it into something better. I took all of the advice that was given to the best of my ability. I devoured the readings on my coffee breaks at work. I spent money like it was the end of the world. I slashed and burned. I made a lot of work in a vast array of media.
The concept of the felcan was spurned by my necessity to work on many things at one time, and in all the media that my heart desires. I needed a common thread. The felcan had originated in my head a few years ago as a good idea for a graphic novel. Drilling deeper, it crossed my mind once that wouldn't that just be the most logical thing to do in this world of designer pets, and why has no one done that yet? Oh! ...because its impossible. The story line brewed in my psyche, and was mentioned to few. I imagined the felcan to be a very static creature that instead of reacting outrageously to situations (Crash!! Bam!! Kaplowie!!), has situations reacting outrageously around it. And so it goes.
On days that I decadentally took off from work, I planned my time in the room. I was fortunate enough to be the first person in my assigned space. Unlike most rooms in the building, this one is, for some reason, always unlocked. I was able to spend time installing hooks and anchors etc. prior to the actual installation. I did this after hours, when the building is ghostly quiet and all I can hear is the water dripping from a leaky faucet. I installed the hooks on a nice slanted bit in the room. It was really quite perfect. The anticipated piece, entitled "Be careful Who You Call Your Heroes" (Archie quote) involved suspending the concrete cores from the ceiling. These are heavy and the trial and error involved with attaining the look was immense. I bought fancy jewelry-lie rigging hardware that I decided not to use because it was too obvious, and did not fit in with the concept. I lugged a hammer drill back and forth from work to drill into the cores. Those damned cores...I see them on jobs and have wanted to do something with them for years. The steamfitters who cut them out of the concrete slab with hole saws and helped me attain them often seemed to know what I meant when I tried to explain their beauty, which was heartening.
By the way, the cores represent pedestals. they are suspended because the felcan is looking up at them. The suggestion is that instead of falling quickly, they are for unpredictable reasons stopped in motion, precariously...by something. Doesn't need to be the ceiling. Heros.
Dorothy, wonderful friend that she is, visited me one day and helped me do a test hang of the cores, and sure enough, one of the connections was faulty. I had to use concrete anchors which do not come with an eye hook, so I had to tightly wind tie wire around the head of the stud and fortify it with Loctite, but the wire had to be very carefully and tightly wound. I was so grateful for the help. It started to feel like a curse that I want to do this thing so badly.
I had to have some broken pieces of concrete, so I located perfect bits in a walled off yard on campus which I invaded and left with my booty--garbage to anyone else; a complete treasure to me.
I was able to hang "Birth" (below) because a sweet classmate was on hand to help me at the 11th hour. I could not have done it without her. This piece has its own epic story involving me fighting my way through it. Schluffing off naysayers. Believing in the vision. I adore this piece because of the journey that lead to its fruition, and oddly, I am very pleased with its funny looks.
Building the form for this polyesther resin piece was no small feat. Dealing with shop tech was trying at first, but in the end, I would have accidentally destroyed it were it not for him. Several failed lighting attempts--still working on that. Those flowers are lovingly painted with water color, and have push pins for stamens. The leaves, the tendrils, so much attention to detail. This is not a boast; it is just the first time I have ever done anything like this! I loved every second of it. When shoptek saw finished piece in my studio, he told me that he was worried that the rest of my work would look be similar to this piece, which he stated, "looks like he could buy it at k-mart".
The installation was complete Thurs night, and I was ready for my turn. Exhausted, relieved, relaxed, unflappable. I did my best.
Yesterday, Friday, the first student to get reviewed, a fellow I am friendly with was late and in a frenzied state when he arrived. He had been entirely MIA the previous day, so I was worried. His work, I think, is gorgeous. However, the audience was not impressed. He did not have enough work to show them. It was distressing and cautionary to see my friend in that position.
When my turn came, I was oddly calm considering my usual public speaking anxiety. I was too tired to care. One person who I do not know asked me which piece I thought was the most successful. I floundered, but I wished I would have suggested the below piece.
The Grad Deputy fancied a leaf tacked I to an x-ray as an afterthought. She said some other stuff that did not compute because I was derailed by this. How could such a small peripheral detail be noteworthy? She said something about how if I wanted to write a story, I would not be in the art department. I don't know. Its all lost. Someone said something about liking the work that was "less work". This is useless to me, because I enjoy spending a lot of time on my work and am not really in the business of pumping it out. Several people commented on installation potential, and its identity as a beginning. Archie said some nice things that I do not remember; he likes to see a lot of work. One person commented that I can spend the rest of my career working on just this project which made me feel warm. Masters Thesis teacher asked, "Why are you doing this?" I am doing it because I am interested in sharing my work, but if he has to ask why, that leaves me very confused. . He kindly spoke about the story. It was nice to hear it recounted from someone else, but I could not decipher in what spirit it was relayed. The rest of the conversation rotated around the narrative. Another fellow I do not recognize said something about an artist who walked around with a suitcase full of art that he "curated". I have no idea what I was supposed to get from that. I wish I felt connected to somebody in the program enough to get perspective on what happened in there. I blabbed a little about "the ultimate non-rhetorical question". I went on a tangent about limits. No one wants to hear me talk. Wish i could escape that part with every bone in my body, but I also think I secretly love it. Eto had good words for me about turning every piece into more pieces. I would like to know more about what he means. I was glad I focused on satisfying myself during the making of the work, as this mentality carried me through the semester, and especially during the reviews. .
I can make art that is satisfying to me anywhere. So why am I there? What am I getting out of it? It's something, but whatever it is will be revealed in time. I am there for feedback, which has been somewhat available. The financial sacrifice is daunting. The stress of having to choose between work and school so often -- intense. I feel like I am falling short all around. I have little time for life management like grocery shopping and laundry, and forget about a social life. No one at my job knows about the effort involved with school, and vice versa. Two different worlds! I have received criticism from some about not being at school more for the extracurriculars. I have been warned at work about "watching my time", and if I lose this job, it will be sad. There is a Lord of the Flies, every man for himself vibe at BC that is dumb and strange, and seems to stem from insecurity. Is that normal for art grad school? Maybe it is!
I learned that one second year student has been making art that is reflecting some inner turmoil with the use of pornographic imagery. He made a lot of work to this effect, and got lambasted in reviews. How did it get that far? Did he receive warnings and ignore them? I heard he left that day feeling disgraced. So he must not have known what he had coming. Is it possible that he was neglected? Did no one say anything about the difficulty in receiving his work? It was said in behind closed doors that he was working stuff out in his art that he should be working out in therapy. Again, this is cautionary. The second year student who received the accolades was asked if he had any questions for the group. He asked, in slightly broken English and with a hushed laugh, "Is it good?" Everyone in the room laughed, because we all know that is the million dollar question.
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