Heretofore I had serious doubts as to whether Chicago was meteorologically capable of producing warmth, but with Sunday came a beatific profusion of sunshine so unexpected that I, alabaster Snow White of the Midwest, was caught outside with nary a Sun Protection Factor. Luckily, an artist friend (my life is posh) lent me a hat for our afternoon in Oak Park viewing her beautiful home and art studio.
During my early artistic life, using Hollywood productions as my guide, I gleaned that the artist can take on one of two forms: 1) the functionally insane artist-genius: sad, alone, and misunderstood (if one of the artists is starving, it will be this one, probably because he or she has spent all of her money on spackling paste or forgotten how to get to the grocery store) or 2) the beautiful but unhinged Femme Fatale or equivalent Don Juan, whose works are tiny clues into the cobwebbed attic of mysteries that is his or her brain. Whichever form they take, artists will always be smeared with paint, pencil, ink, or charcoal to make sure we remember that they are artists.
That was my view as a thirteen-year-old. In high school, I had a vision of the ideal artist blooming in my brain, borrowing from the words of teenage boys in The Virgin Suicides: "What we have here is a dreamer--someone completely out of touch with reality," someone wandering always in a woozy world of creative visions. At twenty-one, it was finally necessary for me to see a real live artist's studio--time to check my expectations of hidden insanity and hoarded tubes of paint. And I am proud to report that Martina defied my boxed-in classifications of a artist types--that in actuality, artists take on countless different incarnations.
As we walked to Martina's studio, I imagined a young couple looking at houses. The real estate agent turns to the artist half of the couple and says, "And here is the studio and office room, just perfect for you! Isn't it to die for?" But what's more impressive than finding the perfect studio space is making the perfect studio space, one that is uniquely yours, and this is what Martina has done with the garage in her backyard. The studio is just big enough to house materials, canvases, and chairs without being too crowded for an audience or too empty for an individual. (And if you are alone there, all of the rich color also offers a semblance of company. It is quite alluring in its vibrancy.) Entering it is kind of like entering another kid's treehouse, full of trinkets and treasures: It is not some dark, secretive place to recoil from the world, but rather a quiet place to reflect on the world, a place where the owner can either count on solitude or choose to share the personal. I particularly enjoyed the casualness of Martina's studio on this day. As classmates, dogs, and neighbors entered the studio, I felt like I was in the midst of a midday block party, humans and animals invited.
I was full of questions for Martina, first basic ones and then more subjective inquiries. Her paintings have sold from coast to coast and overseas. A huge part of the work of an artist, I discovered, is keeping a website well updated and participating in the local art scene through gallery partnerships and shows. Martina is constantly working on calls for entry and submission packages, an artist is less likely to garner website views, phone calls, emails, and general interest. The paradox, of course, is that in doing these things she doesn't have as much time to spend in her studio doing what she would actually love to be doing more often. But good marketing is vital to success in the art world, and Martina has learned to be a savvy self-marketer. It sounds exhausting to stay up to date on everything and everyone, to constantly keep a foot in the door of the "art world," but it is an imperative part her livelihood. So the myth is debunked: a contemporary artist can hardly survive as a dreamy, detached creative floozy. She needs a very good business plan.
I was also very interested in Martina’s movement into abstract art. I had a lot of questions about the importance of training in observational and realistic drawing and painting to an artist who has chosen to work in the abstract. For artists who primarily become abstract colorists, why should these observational skills even matter? Martina pointed out that at least having the skills gives artists a better understanding of the observational process, maybe a better sense of their place as a recorder of the world. And they then have the option of working that way or going a different route. Furthermore, isn’t any type of art really abstract art in the sense that it is a representation of something and not the real thing? If we think of it like that, abstract artists might in fact be the most "authentic" of all.
 |
| Martina's dog and Martina in front of her latest painting, Liquefaction |
 | ||
| Martina drinking iced tea in the backyard. |
 |
| Martina uses all kinds of old bottles for the drip work on her paintings. Heres a converted Sriracha! |
 |
| It was really interesting to see two paintings in progress, as I was interested in how Martina tackles a big canvas. From what I hear, the lines sort of move in groups and the painting direction can be largely spontaneous. |
 |
| Doggie with painting. Martina expressed that her work has a synesthetic quality for her--that she sees her visual work as having a a rhythm just like audible sounds. After hearing this, I am going to try to think of colors in terms of sounds more often. I like the concept of relating sensory experiences, or at least not limiting a painting to being just for the eyes. |
 |
I never actually asked about this, but I really liked the sculptural painted piece on the studio wall. |
No comments:
Post a Comment