The BBC had a long-running television show called “The Good
Old Days,” which recreated the spirit and look of the British music hall of the
“Gay 90’s,” to the extent of having the members of the audience dress up in
period costumes and sing along to some of the tunes. The show ran from 1953 to 1983. I had never seen it until somebody uploaded a
bunch of highlights onto YouTube a couple of years ago.
One of the acts was a little guy wearing a snappy red bandleader
outfit, with a big bass drum strapped to his back and cymbals fixed on top of
his head. He performed a frantically comic
version of “McNamara’s Band.” When he
first pranced onto the stage in this ridiculous getup, he stopped, looked
squarely at the audience and, with a scowl on his face, declared, “What if I am?”
in a defensive tone. He got a big laugh.
“What if I am” is a neat phrase that has been sneaking into
my thoughts lately. It would make a good
title for a motivational self-help book with a confrontational bite to it. You might also say, “I’m doing my own thing
and what’s it to you.” Might be a
best-seller on Amazon.
.
Not that it matters to anybody else, of course, but that’s
kind of how I’ve conducted my negligible painting career for many years. I have no interest in following the crowd to
make a buck. I have absolutely no
burning desire to blaze new ground with my painting. The things I like to paint are simply the
beautiful things painters have always painted from life. Accurately recording any
old scene from contemporary life, like strip malls with lots of utility poles,
traffic lights, signage and parked cars in them, or village intersections with
lots of utility poles, traffic lights, signage and parked cars in them, or urban
environments with lots of utility poles, traffic lights, signage and cars in
them, as former advertising illustrators and graphic designers are good at
doing, is not for me. Snapshots tell you
all you want to know about such scenes. We
are advised to paint 24/7 and not wait for inspiration. But it seems to me there’s no point to
painting, or engaging in any creative art, for that matter, if you are not inspired. We’re not digging ditches here. I’m not supposed to be inspired to paint? How is that possible? My inspiration comes from looking at nature
and looking at beautiful paintings. Pretty
original, huh? That’s all there is to
that, and really all that I can say about my own painting. You look, you like, you don’t like.
Painters are initially attracted to painting and other forms
of art because we love creating it. Millions
of deadbeat Americans like me now call their passion their profession these
days, even though many of my comrades at easel have waited to take up painting
until the kids are grown or they have retired from another career. This late start in the brush-cleaning routine
makes them easy prey for the bottom-feeding artists who figure out ways to
profit off that passion. These
profiteers are in high gear now that warm weather has arrived in the Northern
Hemisphere.
I have to say I’m a devout curmudgeon concerning the art
business. What if I am? I’ve been paying attention to all the art
marketing magazines for years and haven’t seen fit to embrace any equally
satisfying alternative attitude. Of course, I could just smile and try to take advantage
myself of all the marketing opportunities available for artists, but I’ve got
far too much integrity to sell art like life insurance or encyclopedias
door-to-door. A Lutheran life insurance
salesman knocked on our door in my little home town when I was 12 years old and
sold me and my brother $1,000 life insurance policies, something every child should
have, considering the potential disasters lying in wait when puberty strikes. You never know what can happen to you, after
all. He opined flatteringly that I would
make an excellent man of the cloth, so of course he got the cash from this youngster
of integrity and I got that valuable Lutheran life insurance policy. It expired in a year, and I’ve resisted all temptation
to purchase another policy from the various purveyors, praise the Lord. But then I’ve never met another Lutheran life
insurance salesman, either. And now AARP
won’t leave me alone.
I recently looked into an online gallery that wants to
attract “emerging and mid-career” artists with “a positive attitude.” That leaves us me out. Who wants to promote the work of a curmudgeonly
artist well past mid-career?
Right now there is a mountainous flurry of happy painting experiences
waiting round the bend, as artists traipse hither and yon to pick the pockets
of millions of other artists through useless enterprises such as vanity workshops,
plein air painting excursions, conventions, instructional books and videos,
pay-to-watch demos, and much more.
But everybody seems to have a jolly good time spending their
money on these communal endeavors.
Somebody is hosting a week-long workshop in the fall at a Happy Trails ranch
miles from nowhere in sagebrush country.
Dinner at the bunkhouse is $60 bucks, and McDonald’s takeout is probably
not an option. I don’t know any artists
in New York City who can afford
such extravagances. Of course, I don’t
know many artists. But somebody else is
probably paying the bill for most of those who attend these art-related social events
anyway.
Then there are the handyman artists who produce unnecessary custom
art supplies like pochade boxes, pre-primed art panels, giant double-mast easels for your 8 by 10 foot
studio with low ceilings, and exclusive brands of oil paints “without fillers”
to satisfy the voracious appetites of profligate artists and the credit card
companies.
Whenever I see the phrase, “call for entries” in the art
magazines, I want to scream. Many artists
do answer the call, but few are chosen. Why
should I pay an entry fee of $40 bucks for juried exhibitions and risk getting
rejected so you and your friends can socialize on a regular basis at swell receptions
for the chosen few, most of whom are members of the sponsoring art club? And I just saw that an art supply
manufacturer is sponsoring a contest with a $40 entry fee. Most of the prizes are this company’s own art
supplies, which I never use.
None of this nonsense is necessary for you painters out
there, and it will only confuse you anyway.
Continue your “home schooling” after your studies and paint whatever you
like that is extremely convenient and comfortable for you to paint. Never walk more than a few blocks from your
studio to find your subject matter.
Paint only by natural light, even when it is overcast to the point of
being nearly unable to see your subject matter. Don’t spend more than $6 or $7 for a small tube
of paint, no matter what the color is. Buy
the big tubes of brands your rich friends turn up their noses at. Avoid juried shows like the plague. Paint your subjects in the way you alone are
capable of painting them at the time of their execution. And unless you are a mad genius, I can
guarantee that you will end up an alienated “starving artist” just like
me. Ah, yes, “What if I am?”
