WHY ARTISTS WANT WHAT THEY CAN'T MAKE

It took about a year of lukewarm responses to realize it, but the time has come to accept that I really don’t want to paint in styles that I am drawn to as a viewer. Recently, I pivoted away from realistic painting and explored creating abstract compositions. Non-objective art and its issues with mass appeal have always fascinated me. Why hasn’t it gained more acceptance by a wider audience? Would it be possible for me, as a painter, to somehow bridge the gap and make sense out of the vast gray area that is modern art? By and large, the viewing public remains attracted to reproductions of the familiar while steering clear of art that challenges our preconceptions of what we think it should be. I find it stimulating to think about work that other people view as pointless or even offensive. It prompts a thoughtful inner dialogue that increases self-awareness and depth of analysis. But there has always been a gulf between what I appreciate and what I make. The time had come to make something new, something modern and without reference to the real world. I wanted to participate in what I had appreciated for so many years. I wanted to become a contemporary artist.

Art is anything but easily defined. In the modern world, creative expression has taken on the rightful role of a challenger to the status quo. Fine art has become so broad that it can be hard to find in the haze of mass media, production, and consumption. For quite some time now, modern art’s purpose has moved beyond the recreation of recognizable scenes, to one of challenging the viewer’s perceptions of created forms. It has evolved into a psychological experiment that measures the perceptual skills of an audience that, more often than not, is unfamiliar with the sphere of thinking in contemporary art making. Modern art has become specialized, and if the masses choose to ignore its problems, there will always be a small, specialized group of people who enjoy it.

As a painter, I spent the better part of the last 18 months attempting to make the leap into the restrictive space of non-objective painting. The journey, while beneficial from an introspective point of view, ended with the production of approximately thirty pieces of minimal quality. Attempting to make abstract art ultimately required a problem solving process that does not align with my core perceptions or beliefs as an artist trying to communicate a message. Contemporary art necessitates a different approach to problem solving. It turns out that, to the core of my being, I honestly have little interest in solving creative problems using new combinations of forms. 

I’d love to possess the fortitude and perceptual skills to dive deep into abstract art issues and produce works that are worthy of appreciation by an exclusive community that judges the merits of new art in a modern context. But we are what we are. The only way to determine that contemporary art making was not for me was to create it and then measure the reactions of my audience. I started looking for artists whose use of visual language appealed to my sense of beauty or whose work made me think (See the Teh-Chun Chu painting below). The plan was to say what I wanted to say in the style of these well-known artists and then create my own language as these influences seeped into my painting process. It never really caught on because the people who liked my work preferred pieces that showed off the technical skills needed to paint things realistically. It was time to accept that I was not, and would never be, recognized as a contemporary artist. Even though I find this to be disappointing, it has helped me refocus my creative energy as an artist. For whatever reason, my heart is directing me to paint simulations of light’s play on 3-dimensional forms. It’s what I want to paint, and there is no point in denying it. 

Meanwhile, I'll keep researching and admiring contemporary artists who have gained recognition for painting new forms in new ways; artists who have created their own language. Theirs is a different set of problems to solve. The way their works make people think helps us learn more about how people communicate, what they say, and how they say it. 

Art is a form of communication; it is an attempt by one person to express an idea with the hope that at least someone on the receiving end understands what is being said in the work. There can only be two roles in art communication: producer and consumer. It made sense to think that I would gravitate toward producing art that I appreciated as a consumer, but this was not the case. Once the excitement of trying a new technique wore off, I found that my process slowed to a crawl in a web of overanalysis. I was stumbling to the finish line, attempting to solve aesthetic problems that, as it turned out, I had little interest in solving. 

Appreciating modern art is an exercise in philosophy. It’s called aesthetics. The viewer must look in the mirror to figure out why they are reacting to a work in a certain way when they are trying to understand a new form of art. Without this self-reflection, the analysis of art is reduced to hollow, unsupported opinions. Critiquing non-objective art can be a challenging activity. Representational art, on the other hand, more often than not involves a measure of technical skill in its reproduction of familiar things. The viewer’s appreciation of such works depends almost solely on the work itself. It simplifies the experience. While playing the dual roles of modern art consumer and producer, a hard line was drawn in the sand. It turned out that I needed to stay in my lane, a lane from which no amount of rational thought could swerve. I needed to follow my heart, and my heart was telling me to leave the philosophy to those artists who are committed, heart and soul, to the creation of new forms. It was clear that I needed to accept my role as a representational painter. 

Trying to make abstract art recently showed me that I want something that, to be honest, I'm not sure I'll ever have. As a creator, I will always want to have the kind of mind that gives me the ability to render powerful, nonobjective art with my brush. And while it’s possible that my realistic work is seen more favorably because its subject matter somehow moves the viewer, I suspect that more of the admiration is born from technique and my ability to render reality. The audience still likes to see things that look like what they know, and they will continue to admire painters who have skills they don't have, like those who can paint realistically. After all, it’s human nature to want what we don’t have. Perhaps this wanting is what keeps artists moving forward in their exploration of the world and our perceptions of it. 

Art is a journey. For viewers, it propels us to places we hadn’t yet considered. For those who make it, art takes us on an exploration of ourselves and keeps bringing us back to discover more. It turns out that art appreciation needs to inhabit a different space than art creation. They are two different processes that require two different skills. Neither has a clear path to the right answer, but both offer rewards in the exploration of our humanity.