Eyes of the Beholder

Georgia O’keeffe painted flowers so others could see how she saw them. She painted them big and up close; the viewer would be surprised– stop and take a look.
– “I will make even busy New Yorkers take time to see what I see of flowers.”
But she was dismayed when people read all kinds of explicit sexual imagery in her work.
– “Well– I made you take time to look at what I saw and when you took time to really notice my flower you hung all your own associations with flowers on my flower and write about my flower as if I think and see what you think and see of the flower– and I don’t.”

Exposure is a given for any exhibiting artist. Some of us feel more comfortable or sensitive about it than others. When work is shown, both art and artist are now open to speculation. We go public no matter how private we are as individuals. Despite press releases, artist statements and project summaries, it’s hard to predict how viewers will think or feel about what they see. Many artists don’t want to control how spectators experience their work and avoid unsolicited explanations or guidance. They consider a variety and range of opinions, natural procedure. This attitude benefits both artist and onlooker. It demystifies, relaxes the viewing process– which allows further interest to develop. Gallery visitors may even feel confident enough to share feedback with the artist who finds the information useful for future reference. However, what about those of us who admire the generosity of such an approach but wish we could do it more often? How do we deal with reactions to our work that we find weird, dubious, or even a bit awkward? This differs from critique or analysis which evaluates the quality or success of a work by certain standards– even though criticism is often influenced by subjective response. What happens when we cannot fathom how someone arrived at their conclusions? And even when they enjoy, identify with or relate to our work, the emotional intensity towards it is rather astonishing or questionable...

At my last exhibition, I sat the gallery one weekend. A couple stopped on their way out. He asked if I was the artist. When I nodded his partner regarded me with grave concern and said: “It’s not very happy, is it?” I stifled a laugh– no disrespect was intended, but I thought humour existed in my work too and suggested they take another glance. Later, they both agreed with me; all sobriety vanished and replaced with cheerful goodbyes. Sometimes though, an artist is responsible for how their work was perceived. Peculiar receptions or misunderstandings happened due to problems with execution: perhaps another method, choice of images, or materials was better suited to their purpose. A concept or theme needed extra time to be resolved or taken further. “Bonsai Stylus” is the small painting of a pen on the upper right corner of my home page. It’s the icon link to my images website. At one show, a guest remarked that she found the piece quite “phallic.” Excuse me? A miniature landscape grows on top of the pen. On the bottom, scribbles extend from the tip to mimic roots. At least that was the idea. After hearing these details, the woman looked again. She then claimed that because the pen was enlarged, it emphasized the “shaft” quality of my object and the scribbles emerging from the “ballpoint“ resembled pubic hairs. I concede that the scrawls and roots could have been more skillfully rendered to look like what they were suppose to be. But the pen only reads pen to me. “I don’t know– maybe I just have a dirty mind,” she shrugged. I too have gazed at art produced by others with the same misconceptions, assumptions and associations people have not only stared upon mine– they’d make Georgia O’keeffe cringe in the afterlife. Years ago, a unit became available in an artists housing co-op. Volunteer members conduct interviews with potential candidates in their own suites. My appointment occurred in a lovely space the artist had converted into a loft. The walls were covered with drawings– as if in preparation for a show, which she confirmed. So far, I got that right. My impression of her work: loose, colourful images of a repeated, vortical, funnel shape. They reminded me of contractions, a birthing process– both actual and figurative, a sense of emergence I couldn’t help but connect to female sensibilities. I once completed a similar series after a number of sessions with a Jungian analyst. I thought for sure this artist was currently in therapy; her display an expression of emotional energies released through the process. I’m very glad I kept my mouth shut. No idea if my assessment was correct but an interview for an apartment was hardly the place to ask. She could have just as easily been inspired by the cosmos: an homage to the galaxies, supernovas and interplanetary forces that govern our universe. Another incident involved my admiration for someone else’s work after attending several retreats based on teachings around the Medicine Wheel. I saw totemic elements and shamanic qualities everywhere in her paintings. She listened graciously to my observations and comments, thought they were interesting, but eventually told me her approach was not consciously related to those influences.

It is possible to “redirect” a viewer’s attention towards a greater comprehension and therefore appreciation of one’s own work that will enrich their experience as well. An artist who candidly appraises their own efforts will recognize areas where changes or adjustments could have strengthened what they were trying to do, or at least, reduced misunderstandings. Seeking additional opinions also determines whether a perplexing response was unique to a sole individual or widespread. However, even supremely accomplished art elicits an assortment of reactions. Ultimately, it isn’t really about the work; how people respond reveals more about themselves, where they are coming from at any given time. The challenge for artists dismayed by odd encounters is to fortify and maintain this awareness if no further developments such as unwanted attentions ensue.

After the incident with “Bonsai Stylus” I shoved my painting in front of anyone’s face. “What’s this?” I demanded. “What does it look like?” Although initially startled and nervous because they thought it was a test, most decided to have fun with it. “A tree grows in penmanship.” “A pen leaking ink.” “It’s a pantry, no– pentree! ” “Bic pen grows into Big Pen.”