Getting Personal

Sarah Beth made her first oil painting, a still life, at age 7. During her childhood years, she accompanied her mother to night school and sat in the back of the room and painted, as she listened to lectures on art history and education. During these years, she studied piano and cello seriously and wanted to go to conservatory to study music. At the age of 13, she started to develop back and joint problems as well as early signs of hearing difficulty. Then within a span of a year, she lost three mother figures, several friends from school and from the piano studio and severely burned her right hand, rendering her fingers on that hand inoperable for 3 months. From this deep sense of loss of people and dreams that were the center of her being and sense of self-worth, she closed herself off from the world. There, in the solitude of her room, she picked up a paint brush and began to paint. 

First she painted the door blue, and then painted stones on the walls. She painted on weekends and holidays from school, and in three years, it had become a mural that encompassed all four walls and the ceiling of her bedroom, that made it look like the inside of a castle courtyard, complete with climbing flowers, turrets and a sky with stars that would twinkle at night and comfort her to sleep. In a sense, this became her first "installation" piece, that created a visual environment that would engulf the viewer. In another sense the visual environmental pieces were an extension of the music that she could no longer play. 

She included photos of the mural in her art school application, and they not only earned her admittance but also a full scholarship to art school. There, Sarah Beth excelled in drawing, sculpture and art history, taking only one class in painting. There she was introduced to Yary Hluchan, and started a six-year long correspondence with him in letters. She also discovered a love for installation sculpture that eventually took her to pursue her Masters in architecture.

 

It didn’t take her long to figure out that architecture school was not a good choice for her, and although she stuck it out, she painted as a means of recuperation from the intensity and rigors of the architecture program. During summer and winter breaks from architecture school, she jerry-rigged a painting studio in a room in the old farm house where she took a room, which didn’t have heat or air-conditioning. She reminisces that on winter mornings she “would bundle up in two sweatshirts, a scarf and hat, put on my apron, turn on Prokofiev and get painting.”

 

Immediately after finishing architecture school, Sarah Beth left for San Francisco, originally for a six-day visit to see Yary, a trip which has lasted three years to date. Sarah Beth now calls San Francisco home and works in her studio in the apartment which she and Yary share. She paints every day, and averages two to three paintings a week.

 

For Sarah Beth, her current landscapes are similar to her installation sculpture in that her intent is to make an environment that surrounds and engulfs the viewer.  Currently she is working on a series called “The Wake Project” that combines her love of making landscape paintings with the concern for the environment that she learned from her father, an environmental scientist. Each painting of the “Wake Project” depicts the aftermath of a human-made environmental disaster, and the proceeds of the sale of the painting in this series will go to a non-profit organization that works on clean-up and animal/human rescue and rehabilitation. 

10 things they didn't teach you in art school...pt 3.

pt. 3

Letting go of the work is part of the process of bringing the piece to life. 

1. The Illusion of Preciousness

This is a very sensitive topic, because as artists we are very very VERY attached to our work. After all, they are our babies in a way, we spend countless hours prodding them to life and patiently let them incubate in our studio. Well, there comes a point, when you call it done (and that is a fuzzy area in of itself) ,  that your work is not really yours anymore. It belongs to the world.

Your creation has the peculiar dual status of both being it's own living, breathing being, full of meaning and emotive power AND simply being globs of paint on canvas/words on a page. While we all feel like our latest piece is the most important thing in our lives at this moment, we must also realize that it is also not precious, at least not to you, right now. (It may become precious again in the eyes of others, later, but that's completely different.)

The final product is not important; it is simply a chronicle of process of your growth as an artist during a specific period of time. The painting is and will always remain with you- the skills and what you have learned through making that piece are yours and can NEVER be taken away.

So if the painting has a life of it's own, we must detach ourselves from it or it cannot survive on it's own, and we will never be able to survive the criticism it will face. As I said before, the painting belongs to the world now, and it evolves into it's new life through what other people see in it. And in each person who sees your work, they bring a lifetime of experiences, stored imagery, stories, baggage, memories, knowledge and interpretation, and that is what really breathes life into it. Your job is done- the work lives in the eye of the beholder.

2. On Feedback and Criticism

As a child and into my early teenage years, I was involved with playing piano competitively. Between concerts, recitals and competitions, we had at least one, two sometimes three performances per weekend during the spring-summer season. In order to help me become more desensitized to what judges critique, my mother used to say, frequently, (and I say it to myself sometimes now when it comes to hearing critique on my art):

"Opinions are like ass-holes, every body's got one."

It's a good idea to remember when you are presenting your work in a critique, or someone offers you their opinion, solicited or not. It will give you a bit of body armour. 

That being said, feedback is extremely important to your growth as an artist as well.  It's a lonely profession, making anything. Sometimes we feel like we make work in a bubble, so it's good to connect with people and share your work with them and see what they have to say. I even recommend collaborating with others from time to time, and see how it shakes things up. 

I recommend that every artist become comfortable with talking about their work if they are not already. Invite people to your studio, or join a monthly critique session, or maybe introduce people to your work through social forums online. Once you start talking, it makes it easier to start writing about it, and writing about your work is vital to getting people you don't know introduced to your work. Remember, good work is simply a vehicle for good conversation.

It's good also to remember that feedback from non-creative types is just as valid or invalid as feedback from creative types. It's important for you to hear how people react to your work and what they read into it, because sometimes, many times, it will be completely different from what you intended. While they can be completely off base, who's to say, really? The artist is not the expert on his/her own work, once it is out of their hands. 

10 things they didn't teach you in art school, pt2

Part 2.  How to start and when to stop.

"Jush dash something down if you see a blank canvas staring at you with a certain imbecility. You do not know how paralyzing it is, that staring of a blank canvas which says to the painter: you do not know anything."   -Vincent Van Gogh

Writer's block/blank canvas syndrome is a huge creativity killer. Starting a new piece of work often seems like a daunting task, and unreasonable expectations that we put on ourselves paralyze us into doing the safe thing- nothing at all.  I wanted to share some ways to help you to get over that first hurdle. 

This isn't a recipe. It's like a trying on shoes. Try one, and if it doesn't fit, try another.

1. Say to yourself: "It doesn't have to be a masterpiece." This is true, it doesn't have to be good, and it doesn't have to end up being something you like. I have tons of paintings that I can't stand and have taken of the stretchers, rolled them up in a roll and they sit in the corners of my studio. So what? You take them off the stretchers, and stretch a new canvas.  The important thing is to start. You'll make a blunder, and then the next piece will be better, and the next piece will be better, and maybe you'll make another blunder again. It's okay to make blunders, because you will learn from them! It's okay. What's important is to start a momentum going of working that will soon drag you along with it and take you to new heights of creativity that you couldn't have planned or imagined.

2. Run around the block. No, really- the endorphins will help you get thinking, get ideas, and get you pumped to start the piece. 

3. Write a to-do list, and treat "make art 1 hr" as just another thing to do on the list.  Go even further and set an exact time to get working. 

4. Make a doodle, sketch, get out some crayons, write in your journal. Roll up your sleeves and just get messy.

5. Put on your favorite music. loud.

6. Okay, so this sounds silly, but for me, putting on my studio apron puts me in the art-making mindset. It doesn't have to be an apron, it can be something you put on, or a little ritual like lighting candles. It's like Dumbo's feather.

So how do you know when to stop? Well, this is a hard one, because technically a piece of art/writing is never ever done, and you can work on that piece forever. But, overworking a piece is the sure way to kill it, and can turn your piece from that masterpiece to mediocre in a couple of brush strokes. It's scary. So learning when to stop is really important and really hard to gauge, because it's very personal to every artist and particular to every work. 

My general rule of thumb is of knowing when to stop is:

1.  stop as soon as you find that what you are doing makes it worse. 

2. stop when you're just plain happy with it. 

3. And if there's no hope in liking it, well, put it away and work on a new one. 

4. I find that the closer you are to "finishing" the more and more you find yourself stepping back from your work and just looking at.  So that's one physical gauge you can judge by.

You have to remember that there's a time for making, and a time for critique. Keep the self-critique at the door and just Make. Leave the critique for later, after you've had time to digest it for a couple of days. 

It's actually a good thing for you to not like your work as soon as you're done with it. That means you've already outgrown it, that you're a fast learner, and that you're already getting better. Good job. Now make some more. 

10 things they didn't teach you in art school, pt 1.

1. Work your ass off / take care of yourself

"If I don't practice for one day, I notice. If I don't practice for 2 days, my critics notice. If I don't practice for 3 days, my audience notices." -Jascha Heifeitz

I love this quote, because it makes sense. Listen to Heifeitz play, lets see, anything, and you'll hear it immediately: it's flawless. And guess what- it's flawless because he practiced everyday. No matter what you do, if you're passionate about being a master of your craft, you need to work at it consistantly.  You need to make that commitment to yourself and your art, right now. 

That being said, everyone needs to take a day and rest, reflect, do something else, rejuvenate. As a artist/musician/writer/whatever mastering your craft is like training for a marathon. I mean this quite literally: The strain on the body of a painter, sculptor, musician is horrendous! Back pain, joint pain, tendonitis, depression, neck strain, and for visual artist, we have health issues steming from breathing in /touching turpentine fumes, clay dust, burning metal and plastic....

If you're in it for the long run, you need to be in physical shape. You need to exercise everyday, because making art/music/writing is an endurance test. Eat your damn vegetables, drink 8-10 glasses of water, stay away from processed/sugary/starchy food, take a multi-vitamin, take extra Bs and Cs, get enough sleep, get outside and get some sunshine/fresh air everyday, take breaks, cut out those bad habits. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. Nobody else is going to do that for you. 

5 questions for the emerging artist to ask

I can't stress enough to the emerging artist how important it is to ask the right questions when you are looking at a place to show your work. It's easy to become overwhelmed at first,  but I hope that by compiling this short list of questions  that it make your decision process a little more clear. It is important to also pick up on how your prospective gallery answers or deflects these questions. If they are happy to answer your questions, helpful,  honest and encourage more, then this is a good sign. If they are reluctant to answer your questions, or snotty or petulant with you, then that's indicative of how they will operate with you in the future. 

So all that psychology aside, here are 5 general questions to start you off when looking for a gallery to show your work. Feel free to e-mail me with more questions to add to this list as you think of them. sarahbeth_at_goncarova_dot_com

1. Get it upfront! What are the galleries fees charged to the artist per month, and/or commission taken? As a general rule of thumb, the fee charged to the artist per month should be nominal, and they should rely on the commission from the sale, or else the gallery has less incentive to actually sell your work.  Many galleries are solely relying on the monthly/yearly fee, (aka the membership fee) and some are raising it to cover their operating costs, because they're not getting the sales that they need to keep afloat. Do they require you to put in a certain number of hours each month? (and are you okay with that)

2. What styles/media are their bestsellers? This is where you need to take a detached look and compare what you are doing right now to what is selling there. For example, I do mostly landscapes, so if I approach a gallery and their best sellers is graffiti art, it's probably not a good match for me. 

3. What are there pieces selling for? Here you want to look at not only what is available, but what prices are pieces that are selling.  You probably want to find a gallery that sells pieces similar to or a little higher than yours, when you take in commission, and fees. I interviewed a  gallery yesterday that had extremely high prices for the quality of the work there- this can hurt you because potential customers with a discerning eye will see that and walk right out the door before they even see your work.

4. Where do they advertise/have they gotten any press? This question will give you an idea about how serious and creative they are or are not about promoting their artists' work. Ideally, they would promote the work in a mixture of media - magazines, newspapers, blogs, online calendar sites specific to your city.  Find out how they approach this- do they rely on paid advertising, or do they write out press releases for every show and send them out. (Some galleries write the press releases, send them out and still don't receive any press. They are dumbfounded as to what they are doing wrong. This is where hiring a person, skilled in the arts of pr and marketing is invaluable to your gallery, as well hiring as an events coordinator to come up with creative ideas for events held at the gallery. I can't stress enough how important it is for them- and you- to be creative- especially in this economy. ) 

By creative, I mean not just advertising in one art magazine. That's old school, and not going to work anymore, lets be honest. You need to get an idea of who your market is- imagine it in your mind- male/female/trans, age, where do they live, what hobbies do they have- and advertise in places where they will see it. The more detailed your vision of the typical collector, the more in tune with their mindset, the more successful you will be in this.

5. Location, location, location. This is what you want to look for:

       1. Do they get good street traffic?

       2. Proximity to important/popular destinations

       3. Walking distance to other art galleries- this is important for monthly artwalks during the  summer months

       4. cheap/free Parking/ public transportation nearby? This will gauge the health of the  neighborhood for the long term.

       5. Street presence?-windows showcasing the artwork at street level would encourage passers-by to come in. 

Authors note: I encourage the emerging artist to also be looking at alternative places to show their work, in small group or solo shows. By alternative I mean (but certaintly are not limited to, and please email me if you have more ideas) cafes, restaurants, clothing shops, bookstores, zine shops, any retail stores, salons, lobbies, frame shops, furniture shops, design studios, offices) Obviously having a show in alternative places require you to do most if not all the pr/marketing. We'll talk about that in the next post. 

a seething inner diatribe from a day-old conversation

Hello dear reader,

Have you ever had a conversation with a person and had tons of things to say in rebuttal to what they were saying, but out of politeness, (and in my case a mental impairement to make any sort of coherant argument), you said nothing at all? I guess even that was an awkard statement, sorry.

Well, I usually speak my mind freely, or almost freely when I am with friends, but with people whom you've just met, or people you respect, it's a different case altogether. But I'd like to comment on things that were said in this conversation yesterday that for the reasons stated above, I didn't allow myself to say during that conversation.

1. On" you've been only painting for, let's count august, sept... feb (while counting on fingers) and you think you're ready to have a show?"  

sb: Well, I've only started AGAIN in oils for 8 months, but before that I was working in watercolor and paper, before that architectural installations and before I was working in oils for 3 years, before that sculpture, before that drawing, before that I was concertizing on stage across the country on piano, and before that paintings. Lets see, I painted my first oil when I was 7 years, old, and since I'm twenty-eight now, I've been making art, regardless of media, for 21 years. And just because you change media doesn't mean you start from square one again. It does in some ways, but if you have skills in another media, they easily transfer and even make the work THAT much richer.  

I also think that there is nothing wrong with throwing yourself a show. If I'm going to be taking all the financial risk, for it, why not? In fact, setting that goal- "I'm going to having a solo show in 8 months or at the end of this year, and I'm going to make the best work that I can for that"- is completely healthy. Gives you a purpose. Makes you make work that you wouldn't make otherwise. 

It's like training for a marathon. You don't just become a better artist by just becoming older, or by osmosis, just like you don't get in shape by getting older or by osmosis. You have to put the hours in. You have to push yourself, each day, to be better, or to fun farther, or harder than the day before. 

And please don't count my work in years. Count it by the hours I put in everyday. I work on my art 4 to 7 hours every day.  So just like training for a marathon, the person who works out 4-7 hours each day is going to get a lot farther than someone who runs for an hour every other sunday. Sorry, but that's the way it is.  call me a hard-ass, or whatever you want. You don't get better by osmosis. You get better by pushing yourself, each and every day, and by making mistakes!

2. On "well, you write about experimentation in your work, making blunders. People with shows are done with experimenting- they've mastered their craft, perfected it, know exactly what they are doing, and what they want to say." 

 

sb: Well, artists who are done experimenting and have "mastered their craft" are either fooling themselves, delusional, making crappy lifeless art. How does one learn unless you experiment? How do you get any better without making mistakes? You don't. Name me one great master who stopped experimenting with their work? That's right, you can't. In fact, that that experimentation, that being unafraid to make mistakes in their work, is what makes them great. Period. 

 

Self-Portrait

Here's me in my studio apron. I did this painting looking in a mirror, and had to do a majority of it with my left hand.
I was trying to be less careful with the mark-making in this painting, a little less calculated. It must be the influence of the landscapes that I've been working on. I don't think this is my favorite, by far, but unlike so many others, I don't think I'll trash it.

at least for now...

I remember that when I was younger I was much more free with color- I should get back to that. See with my artist eyes again.

I think I want to do another big landscape before I leave for the holidays on thursday. I have some 36" x 36" stretchers that I gessoed last week, calling to me...