Considerations

With the conclusion of the recent Olympics, the same thing always astounds me. It has little to do with medals, records broken or actual sporting events. What’s remarkable is how everything depends on a small window of opportunity where an athlete has this one chance (or in some cases, one minute) to make years of sacrifice, training and preparation count— and then it’s over! Anything can happen at these Games: flukes, upsets, unexpected disqualifications. Injuries, illness and even death. A competitor takes the wrong bus in a foreign country and arrives an hour after his event has already ended. All that time, energy and expense negated by an ill-fated bus ride… My favourite bizarre moment occurred at one previous Olympics, in a short-track speed skating final won by Australia. Crazy things happen in this sport. Champions have crossed finish lines on their stomachs, skating backwards, or with assorted body parts other than their feet due to frequent spills associated with racers jostling for position. In this case, the Australian was in last place behind a group of five. The skater in front of him tried to move up but stumbled and lost his balance. Unfortunately, the trajectory of his fall slammed into the knees of the person he was trying to pass. The collision generated a domino effect that sent both skaters hurtling forward and toppled the entire field, except one. The Australian took one look at the scattered heap and raised his arms as he passed everyone towards the gold medal. In subsequent interviews, he could not stop grinning at the questions, especially ones that began: “What’s it like to be Olympic champion? How do you feel about your win?” I enjoyed that he found it hilarious. Instead of dismay, imagine “Why me?” asked in awe and with a huge smile.  

Similar dynamics follow artists leading up to an exhibition. Viewers see only completed works but so much precedes the art prior to display that the duration of a show seems absurd by comparison. It’s not just the countless hours of trial and error, sustained effort, and other factors directly related to the production of art. Life stories also surround and exist behind a creative endeavour that may or may not influence our response to it, and, if we are in positions to do so— decisions that could affect its maker. In theory, I’d rather have my paintings succeed or fail on their own merit. Yet it’s hard to deny the gratitude, the welcomed support I’ve felt when odd luck or unexpected fortune favoured my career during difficult times. Others have described comparable situations as well. An artist recalled a juried exhibition he helped to co-ordinate. One juror adamantly refused to back down on a submission she was determined to have in the show despite rejection by the other two jurors. “The woman was a bear” he said. She was such a ferocious champion of the entry, everyone else gradually conceded out of fatigue. The work itself was apparently unremarkable by any standard. At the opening, the artist thanked the organizers and expressed what it meant to be included in the show. She had been severely depressed for months due to a family tragedy and the notice of acceptance arrived when she had been contemplating suicide. Getting into the show inspired a desire to continue painting instead. I don’t know if invisible forces prevail in this world, ready to sustain us when we need them most, or if the universe truly is a random place that has no interest whatsoever in our lives. Without any knowledge of someone’s circumstances, of course I’d respond to artwork purely on a subjective basis. Even when tribulations are revealed during, for example, a call for entry or membership selection, is it fair to others to give special consideration to one applicant based on their story, instead of an honest response to their work? Is it fair to the person in question? After all, it could create false security and expectations that lead to greater disappointment and problems in the future. Does sympathy towards artists who have experienced hardships cloud our professional judgement? Is it misplaced, inappropriate or even relevant in respect to their efforts? Does it matter in the long run? I cannot but be moved by Matisse’s paper cut-outs, done when he was bed-ridden; would never have guessed such bright joy coming from an artist challenged by debilitating infirmities. While it makes sense that someone creepy like Francis Bacon would create disturbing, grotesque paintings (which by the way, are absolutely stunning viewed in person) because of his propensity and fascination with violence, it’s hard to ignore the Matisse works on paper in contrast to his failing health. As a result, I don’t know if I appreciate his final output more from an awareness of his condition or if I truly find it stellar art. The majority of us are not famous or labelled geniuses like Matisse and Bacon so our stories rarely have such exposure. It is a testament of endurance for any struggling artist to present their work to the world in spite of obstacles to their health, sanity or well-being. If accidents of nature have the potential to change lives for better or worse, then arguably, random acts of compassion, even misguided ones, give an artist reasons to move forward and further develop their craft— or actually save their life.