Reviews
Artist's Stories
[less about discussion - more about finding connections - feel free to add your true stories and comments as well]
I love to read novels about fictional artists: Gulley Jimson in 'The Horse's Mouth' by Joyce Cary, Rabo Karabekian in 'Bluebeard' by Kurt Vonnegut, Ellie Crowther in 'Ellie and the Shadowman' by Maurice Gee, Asher Lev in 'My Name is Asher Lev' and 'The Gift of Asher Lev' by Chaim Potok, Hurtle Duffield in 'The Vivisector' by Patrick White. They are full of turning points, questions, success and failure and I recognise and relate to moments in their lives and work.
We all have our own stories and often the truth is stranger than fiction. I'd like to read about experiences other artists have had that could fall into the category of 'Paul Auster moments' - true stories that highlight 'the paradox of coincidence'. I will start it off with two short stories of my own. (I've changed the names of the characters but the stories are true.)
Capital City
I had just arrived in Wellington in New Zealand and was staying with my father's sister's family, the Grants. I had left New Zealand when I was 11 years old and had only visited once in the interim and now I wanted to find a place to have an exhibition. During my first week there I stumbled upon a very nice space on Plimmer Steps in the heart of the city where a collective of artists were having a show. I spoke with the girl there about the space and she explained it belonged to the hotel above - it had been a discotheque and they preferred to let it to artists than to leave it vacant. They had walled off the huge interior to provide a beautiful small gallery space with full-length glass windows onto the steps which were lined by cafes, bars, a florists and lead down to the main shopping and financial area of Lambton Quay. I went and talked with the manager and presented my portfolio and was able to book the space for when I wanted in the summer. The only concession was I had to pay for 'public liability insurance' to cover the duration of the exhibition. I had no idea about public liability insurance but went to the citizen's advice bureaux in the city library and they gave me the name of an insurance firm that specialised in art. They gave me a quote for a two week exhibition which was manageable. I left it for a week or so until one day I was in the library again looking up printers in the yellow pages to print an invitation. I then thought I should perhaps get a second insurance quote just to check the first was reasonable and so I looked up a firm my dad had bought life insurance with when I was a child and found their offices were nearby.
I stepped out of the lift into the foyer of the insurance company and was greeted by a man who had come into the foyer at the same moment. I explained I needed public liability insurance insurance and he ushered me into his office. As soon as I sat down the phone went and he answered 'Hello, Wallace Grant speaking.' A question popped into my mind... he had the same surname as my uncle so perhaps they knew of each other, but then it sounded silly 'Do you know so and so? ', 'Who? ... no, Wellington is a big city.' So while he was on the phone I put together my question so it wouldn't sound so stupid and when he hung up I asked, 'Do you by any chance happen to know Graeme Grant?' and he answered 'He's my brother!' We both laughed from disbelief... From then on everything was easy. I showed him my portfolio and explained what I needed and a week later I received a quote that was half the price of the first one and covered the whole month. It made me happy, not just because it was a much better offer but that somehow it seemed to say I was on the right path - like somebody had planned everything for me except that when I finally had the exhibition it rained for most of the time but then Wellington can be like that.
Beginnings and Endings
An elderly lady came to an exhibition of mine and she decided to buy a painting for her new house. She said it represented a new start in her life as her husband had died two years before and she wanted something youthful and new. She chose a lively abstract watercolour painting that appealed to her because of the colours and movement.
A couple of weeks later we bumped into each other and she held my arm and told me with animation what had happened. She had had the picture framed and was hanging it when she noticed the title for the first time. With my small abstract watercolours I tend to put the day I did the painting, for example: '(2) 29 January 2001' where the (2) means I did more than one painting the same day. She had found the title of the painting she’d chosen was the very same day her husband had passed away.
I love to read novels about fictional artists: Gulley Jimson in 'The Horse's Mouth' by Joyce Cary, Rabo Karabekian in 'Bluebeard' by Kurt Vonnegut, Ellie Crowther in 'Ellie and the Shadowman' by Maurice Gee, Asher Lev in 'My Name is Asher Lev' and 'The Gift of Asher Lev' by Chaim Potok, Hurtle Duffield in 'The Vivisector' by Patrick White. They are full of turning points, questions, success and failure and I recognise and relate to moments in their lives and work.
We all have our own stories and often the truth is stranger than fiction. I'd like to read about experiences other artists have had that could fall into the category of 'Paul Auster moments' - true stories that highlight 'the paradox of coincidence'. I will start it off with two short stories of my own. (I've changed the names of the characters but the stories are true.)
Capital City
I had just arrived in Wellington in New Zealand and was staying with my father's sister's family, the Grants. I had left New Zealand when I was 11 years old and had only visited once in the interim and now I wanted to find a place to have an exhibition. During my first week there I stumbled upon a very nice space on Plimmer Steps in the heart of the city where a collective of artists were having a show. I spoke with the girl there about the space and she explained it belonged to the hotel above - it had been a discotheque and they preferred to let it to artists than to leave it vacant. They had walled off the huge interior to provide a beautiful small gallery space with full-length glass windows onto the steps which were lined by cafes, bars, a florists and lead down to the main shopping and financial area of Lambton Quay. I went and talked with the manager and presented my portfolio and was able to book the space for when I wanted in the summer. The only concession was I had to pay for 'public liability insurance' to cover the duration of the exhibition. I had no idea about public liability insurance but went to the citizen's advice bureaux in the city library and they gave me the name of an insurance firm that specialised in art. They gave me a quote for a two week exhibition which was manageable. I left it for a week or so until one day I was in the library again looking up printers in the yellow pages to print an invitation. I then thought I should perhaps get a second insurance quote just to check the first was reasonable and so I looked up a firm my dad had bought life insurance with when I was a child and found their offices were nearby.
I stepped out of the lift into the foyer of the insurance company and was greeted by a man who had come into the foyer at the same moment. I explained I needed public liability insurance insurance and he ushered me into his office. As soon as I sat down the phone went and he answered 'Hello, Wallace Grant speaking.' A question popped into my mind... he had the same surname as my uncle so perhaps they knew of each other, but then it sounded silly 'Do you know so and so? ', 'Who? ... no, Wellington is a big city.' So while he was on the phone I put together my question so it wouldn't sound so stupid and when he hung up I asked, 'Do you by any chance happen to know Graeme Grant?' and he answered 'He's my brother!' We both laughed from disbelief... From then on everything was easy. I showed him my portfolio and explained what I needed and a week later I received a quote that was half the price of the first one and covered the whole month. It made me happy, not just because it was a much better offer but that somehow it seemed to say I was on the right path - like somebody had planned everything for me except that when I finally had the exhibition it rained for most of the time but then Wellington can be like that.
Beginnings and Endings
An elderly lady came to an exhibition of mine and she decided to buy a painting for her new house. She said it represented a new start in her life as her husband had died two years before and she wanted something youthful and new. She chose a lively abstract watercolour painting that appealed to her because of the colours and movement.
A couple of weeks later we bumped into each other and she held my arm and told me with animation what had happened. She had had the picture framed and was hanging it when she noticed the title for the first time. With my small abstract watercolours I tend to put the day I did the painting, for example: '(2) 29 January 2001' where the (2) means I did more than one painting the same day. She had found the title of the painting she’d chosen was the very same day her husband had passed away.
Replies to This Reviews
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Permalink Reply by Carol Caputo on -
One day, on 2nd Ave, while I was kneeling on the ground, creating a drawing, someone pushed into me. Annoyed, I gave the man a dirty look as he hurried down the street. I tried to reposition the paper onto the surface again and again. As I struggled with the problem, I noticed that the lines began to connect and overlap with each other. Drawings emerged from the pavement like a moving stream of scratches and textures. A rush of adrenalin took over as I filled several sheets of paper in an attempt to connect the dots of my misguided images. Later in my studio, while examining my interesting new rubbings,
I realized that there are no accidents in life. Obviously I needed someone to push me
out of my comfort zone. from my blog -carolrubsny@blogspot
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Permalink Reply by R Hartley on -
I was going through a very dark time in my life - and had begun to trance out whilst painting to music and seemed without direction and motivation.
I felt like a zombie.
I had been working on a large painting - really taking out my frustration on the canvas...and stepping back to gather my thought after a few hours of frenzied work on the piece I noticed with despair what seemed to be a drowned world and what appeared to be dead sharks and destruction.
I hated the piece and it made me uneasy just looking at it.
I turned it around at left it against a wall and tried to forget about it.
Exactly a week later the terrible Tsunami hit Thailand on Boxing Day and I happened to catch a news report describing how the bodies of dead sharks had washed up on a stretch of beach.
I promptly stuck the painting in a bathtub and scrubbed at it attempting to destroy it....however it survived and I decided to keep the painting.
I named it Tsunami.
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Permalink Reply by Aline Smithson on
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God Bless James McNeil Whistler
I worked for several years on a series of photographs based on what most people know as "Whistler's Mother", actually titled, Arrangement in Grey and Black, Portrait of the Painter's Mother. My own mother (and model) died shortly after I finished the photography, but she never got to see it exhibited or published. Needless to say, the original Whistler painting has great meaning and sentiment to me.
While visiting London last year, I really wanted to see some art and broke away from my family for a few hours. I spent most of my time in the National Portrait Gallery, but had about 10 mintues before I was to meet them, so rushed into the The National Gallery. They were exhibiting pieces painted by Americans who had lived in France...and there it was...the real Whistler painting. I stood before it and wept. And to think I might have missed it.
