Artiquette

There’s an old running commentary that goes something like this: an artist is approached by a curious viewer and asked, "Where do you get your ideas?" The artist replies, "I only paint what I feel." Bemused, the viewer retorts, "Then you mustn’t feel very good."

It is awkward enough, to stand before greatness without being dumbstruck– by admiration or envy. But what about work that fails to move, or worse, you just don’t like? Indeed, what protocols exist, if any, when artists meet the work of other artists? Is there any difference between the response of the general public– one’s family, friends, the maintenance guy in your building– and that of a peer, who has travelled the same course of formal (or not) training, devoted the same time, energy and hard work towards a creative vision? After all, this is someone who gessoed a similar canvas, sent out many submissions, who perhaps struggles with depression and went to great effort just to get this show out. I am speaking of something other than what critics are paid or required to do in their evaluations or disparagement. I am not also advocating that artists turn into a disingenuous race of sycophants; who flatter and perceive each other as being so fragile, we must take mandatory classes in Patronizing Art Fundamentals. We all have preferences. There is a lot of work out there. By our own standards or values, not all of it is good, harmless or even comprehensible. I personally tend to overlook minimalist installation or outdoor sculpture. I mean that literally; I walk right by without realizing it’s there. A colleague, who works in the field, has to yank me back to the spot before I truly notice the art that was in front of me. Even then, after I’m lectured on the feats of mechanical engineering, the skillful relationship to its environment– I’m still perplexed. Loose abstract painters wonder if high realists need more fibre in their diet. Representational artists come right back and opine– how facile, to just splash paint around on canvas. A third, strident, gothic contingency, dismisses both groups for work that is too attractive, decorative or conservative.

In the past, when I had problems with someone’s work or difficulty understanding the motivation, or simply felt neither one way or the other– I said nothing. If emboldened, I would seek out the artist, the artist’s friends, the gallery director, or a docent for clarification. I could always consult another artist. Some artists are genuinely pleased to discuss their work. Others will get annoyed if you’re not a buyer and point to a table beside the cheese caddie where an artist statement lies next to a biography and exhibition history. I’ve actually had openings where entire conversations revolved around the lumber at Home Depot, peoples’ children, the musical accompaniment– anything but the work displayed. Such techniques I now recognize, belong to the realm of avoidance– usually out of embarrassment at not knowing what to say. Yes, this is a business with its share of frustrations, losses, disappointments and hard realities. But exhibitions and particularly openings are about more than just the work being displayed. They celebrate the success of bringing what was there to offer, out into the world. They acknowledge completion of one stage in a vast creative process. It is always appropriate to sincerely congratulate an artist for the very act of having an exhibition, regardless of one’s own predilections for or against the work. All the effort required to have a show–think of it– production, framing, filming, dossiers, gallery shopping, rejections, contracts, transport etc. is an enormous accomplishment. Subjectivity aside, formal skills, especially if there is virtuosity, is always remarkable. For those who work conceptually, it is amazing that someone can start and finish a project from beginning to end. Anyone who manages to organize their own show, without support from established or conventional venues, and avoids going crazy– deserves to be commended.

Certainly, I am guilty of what I call the "ten minute size-up." In the past, at most shows, I could tell what an artist was trying to do, what the work was about, whether or not I think they pulled it off, if there was anything outstanding, the historical context or affiliation, the level of skilfulness, and if I was jealous– in less than ten minutes. It’s the equivalent of running one lap around a short indoor track, one eye on the wall at all times. In fairness however, I do know other artists who do this in even less time, although patience thins when I’m with somebody who actually takes longer and god forbid, wants to stop and "dialogue" with the work. Indeed, pausing in front of work longer than ten seconds, I think, is very good manners. In fact, the best visitors I’ve had are the ones who arrive and take the time to look at my paintings. Then after a while, they simply turn to me and say "thank you." I have a good enough grasp on reality to know that "thank you" doesn’t necessarily mean: "my god, you’re a raving genius..." but rather, "thanks for giving us the opportunity to view your work; thanks for sharing." After all, it really is my pleasure.