This Iteration is a little different. Earlier in the week, I went into DC to visit a friend at the National Gallery and I took a few notes before and after—just a few thoughts that were in my head on the train ride in and out of the city. I love DC and whenever I go into town, regardless of why I’m there, I always come away recharged and inspired and just generally happier. Adrianne says that I should start doing it once a week. Maybe she’s right.
I’m on the train headed into DC to meet a friend who works at the National Gallery. David Sylvian is in my ears singing about the promise that Orpheus may bring and my mind is wandering in and out of the lyrics. I’m thinking mostly about art—the doing and the viewing. I’ve been on a bit of a roll lately in my studio. I’ve finished three new pieces and three more are on the work table. I still don’t know whether what I’m making is Art—nor do I really care—but it’s definitely decor and I think that’s enough. I would much rather someone buy a piece that I’ve made because “it completes the room” than simply because they hope one day it will be worth more than what they paid for it. In fact, I would love to create work that gets changed out with the seasons the way Adrianne swaps her winter coats in the entryway closet when the weather starts to turn warmer.
Art should elevate your soul more than your portfolio.
I spent the next couple hours with my friend. We chatted over coffee and caught each other up on the happenings in our lives. We talked about our spouses, the state of the world, and even some of our plans for our respective futures. We also talked about Andy Warhol and God and guilt and shame and how all of it leads back to and is present in Art. I am so grateful to have such interesting friends who are able to show up and engage and be okay with the messiness that often goes with being human.
I’ve just left the National Gallery after a terrific conversation and a walk through the Vittore Carpaccio show. Full disclosure, while I can appreciate renaissance art, I wouldn’t call myself a fan of the period—I much prefer the 18th century aesthetic of artists like Boucher, Fragonard, and Watteau.
I do appreciate the draftsmanship and the fact that the artists of the period were inventing as they went, both in terms of techniques and materials, but it’s just not a genre that really resonates with me. That said, when someone who worked on the show offers to walk you through it, you say yes, and I’m so glad I did. Not only did my friend’s insight into the history of the period and the provenance of the work provide me with context I’ve never had before, as someone who grew up Catholic, her perspective around how some of the imagery and iconography land for her really allowed me to see and experience the work in a completely different way.
Before we left the exhibit, I asked her whether art was objectively better when it was made for the exaltation of God. She paused for a moment, before responding with, “That’s a really good question.”
While I wouldn’t call myself religious, per se, my mother spent much of her life as a seeker, exploring a variety of religions and never condemning one in favor of another. As a result, I went to Catholic mass—performed in Latin—until I was probably seven or eight and even though I had no idea what was being said, I remember being drawn to, and…comforted, for lack of a better word, by the ritual of it all, which is something that I still carry with me. When Adrianne and I went to Paris in 2015, we got the opportunity to attend mass at Notre Dame, purely by accident, since we thought the line we were in was for the tour. Just as it was when I was a child, I had no idea what they were saying, but I found myself in tears by the end of the service. The ritual of the thing, combined with the humility of such an incredible space was overwhelming—and that’s exactly what it was supposed to do. Remember, humility is not thinking less of ourselves, but thinking of ourselves less. Those spaces, and the art that was created in the service of God are supposed to humble us and get us focused on God. While I don’t experience it in the same way as someone who has grown up in the faith, I can absolutely appreciate it, albeit from a distance.
Regardless of whether or not you are creating for God, there’s definitely something in the submitting and letting the work move through you as it wants or needs to. Rick Rubin, who has been getting a ton of juice lately—and with good reason—recently said in an interview, “We really are talking about magic. We’re talking about the universe conspiring on our behalf, if we let it. It’s through the doing these things that want to be that the universe wants to happen now comes thorough us.” I love his idea of conspiring with the universe and that art somehow wants to be made—and will be made—either through you or through someone else. Whether you call it God or the muse or the subconscious, one of the roles of the artist is to be receptive to ideas greater than ourselves or as Rick Rubin said, “The best artists are the ones who have the best antenna.”
One of my favorite bands back in the 90s was Everything But the Girl. While they formed in the early 80s, the first song I heard was Missing, from their terrific 1994 record, Amplified Heart. Now, more than two decades after breaking up to pursue solo careers, Ben Watt and Tracey Thorn are back together as EBTG with a new record coming out in April. Check out the terrific video for Nothing Left to Lose.
Great video. I always loved that group.