Bongo Serenade

I applied for yet another grant today. It’s a demanding and tedious process. Still, if you don’t apply, then you are assured of not receiving the grant. Who knows the sensibilities of the judges de jour. I have seen conceptual nonsense receive huge monetary awards. I have also met critics and art judges who were clueless about art.

For my part, I know my submissions are innovate and brilliant—this is self-assessment, not bravado.

Here’s a repost worth noting again:

There are many out there with vested interests—economic, cultural, and political—in preserving and controlling that which is sanctioned as art, and even what type of art gets shown [and to some extent, what art gets made] and supported by way of grants, awards, and fellowships.

Let’s face it. Given the hardships that a creator must endure to persevere, it is no surprise that few with a paintbrush have the mettle to confront the gatekeepers who faithfully and dogmatically defend the establishment.

Gauguin and van Gogh, for example, never received an award, fellowship, or a grant for their work; they didn’t allow rejection, hard times, or a lack of encouragement to dissuade them from painting in their language, nor will such tests of character paralyze you; that is, after you have successfully confronted the core questions in this book [An Artist Empowered]. Art is free from routine, contrivance, conceptualization, and ideas. Art, however, does thrive in the deep pool of realization.

Art without motive is, after all, art for art’s sake, a declaration that is all too often misunderstood.

On balance, art funding resources have budgets, and they do want to award grants and fellowships to artists. Of course, if they want oranges, don’t send them apples; if you can insinuate yourself into their program organically and you do so on purpose, you are still on sacred ground; however, if you start thinking solely in terms of what funding sources demand, then you have been co-opted because someone else has dictated what type of art should be made—even if it was your idea.

Most grant and fellowship giving organizations have websites where you can view previous winners and the quality level of their work, which is an eye-opener—you will have to come to your own conclusions.

Gulag Dreams

Art for art’s sake should not be misunderstood.

It is first art for the artist’s sake to fulfill a dharma in transit; and then it is art on its own for the sole purpose of being.

To be without the trappings of scheming and questionable motive is freedom—for you, me, and the art yet to be born.

© Hans Namuth
Jackson Pollock,1950, Long Island, NY

Jackson Pollock was born today on January 28, 1912 in Cody, Wyoming.

Pollock was a great artist willing to take risks. Although he wasn’t the first to use action drip painting, it was his ‘drippings’ that caught on and catapulted him into fame, which, for Jackson, became as unendurable as being unknown. Despite recognition in his lifetime, his demons eventually won out.

From the chapter ‘Jackson, We Love You’ in my book, An Artist Empowered:

Jackson Pollock’s (1912-1956) rise to fame and subsequent self-destruction tells a story.

In the 1940’s, art collector and dealer, Peggy Guggenheim, arranged for Jackson Pollock’s first one-man show, which was a success; she also provided him with a monthly stipend of $150, and gave him a commission: a mural for the entryway of her New York apartment, a painting some called expensive wallpaper.

The American art critic Clement Greenberg, who saw truth in Pollock’s paintings, was one of the first to champion the artist’s work.

Despite being taken seriously by these and other makers and shakers in the art establishment, Pollock wasn’t an instant hit. He endured severe personal doubts and hard financial times for most of his life.

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Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Mozart was born today on Jan. 27, 1756 in Salzburg, Austria.

An excerpt from the chapter ‘Mozart or Muzak’ from my book, An Artist Empowered:

While Mozart certainly composed with his patrons in mind, he also took risks. Not all of his works and ‘modern’ themes where immediately embraced as the enduring wonders they have become.

Ultimately, Mozart was more interested in pleasing himself. Salieri was the court portrait painter while Mozart was the abstract expressionist of notes. Listen, for example, to Wolfgang’s string quartet (1785) in c major, also called the Dissonant Quartet, and hear why this piece of chamber music lives on into the 21st century. This was one of his most sublime works, featuring two violins, one viola, and one cello. The first movement begins—adagio, very slow.

To compose a musical piece comprised of mingling discordant notes took someone willing to take brilliant risks. First, Mozart intoxicates the ether with a phrase of the strings. Suddenly, the sound drops steeply, dangerously, a whole step, before the phrase repeats, building again from the cello up through the first violin. Then, while the cello continues its pulsations, the viola plays a mournful, rising, chromatic line, luring the violins and cello into imitative responses.

Now, listen to a work by Salieri and you will hear not unpleasant harmony from a conservative, safe approach of that era.

Post Pop

More observations on the road:

Yesterday, I was in the left hand turn lane waiting for a long red light to give the green arrow for the turn. There, on the road divider to my left was a woman bundled in a big coat with a dog at her side, and a hand-scrawled sign that read: I’m traveling on a prayer. Of course, she was panhandling. There was a long line of cars behind and in front of me. It was a cold, windy day in Santa Fe.

I don’t often make such handouts because the panhandler isn’t offering something in exchange. But, I’m not stuck in my own dogma, either. For example, some time ago a young couple had parked themselves in front of a large discount store. Instead of begging, they were selling tacos stuffed with bacon. I’m not a bacon eater. Still, this ragged couple needed some help. I gave them $5 bucks, and said, please keep the tacos.

The lady with the dog stood on the windy road divider waiting. No one was offering alms. So, I waved her over, and gave her a buck, saying this is for your doggie. She blessed me and went back to the road divider. Then, suddenly, as if orchestrated on cue—one, two, three, four, and then five car windows in front of me opened in a cascade of generosity, waving paper money for her, which she promptly retrieved, blessing those folks too, I’m sure.

Finally, the green light arrow came on for that left turn. I drove passed the lady and her dog, we waved, and I was off.