The Steadying Light– At the West End Gallery
We work in the dark — we do what we can — we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.
–Henry James, as quoted in The Middle Years (1893)
I’ve had sixty-some solo exhibits over the past quarter century and, without exception, the weeks following the shows’ openings are among the most difficult to endure in this artist’s working year.
These weeks are inevitably filled with anxiety and self-doubt. I find myself wondering if the work was as good as I had thought or if I had done enough or given enough of myself. Had I curated the show well enough, choosing work that fit the show? Will the show well enough to satisfy the galleries and pay the bills?
It is one the few weeks in the artist’s working year where the focus is not on the creation of the work but on results, on how it is received and sold. The rest of the year is seemingly done under a shroud, away from intense scrutiny and the pressure to perform in the sales column.
It is much as author Henry James spoke of above during one of the low points in his career, when he had ceased being the favored flavor of the moment. You do what you do and give all that you have in relative darkness, all the time fighting to reveal some sort of truth that lay beyond all doubts, inner and outer.
What becomes of it is out of our hands and is left to, as James puts it, the madness of art. That madness — recognition, sales, critical acclaim, etc.– is something far beyond our control, try as we might. You do the work and let fate do the rest.
Time has taught me that lesson. But even that lesson etched in my mind does little to alleviate the doubt and anxiety that arise in these post-opening weeks.
I sometimes make the analogy in my mind that during most of the year I am an ant working in the darkness beneath a big flat stone. Out of sight and unharried. But a couple of times year some little kid lifts that big flat stone and exposes me suddenly to the harsh light. I, as an ant, am suddenly in panic mode, racing madly around, all the time trying to get back to the shaded security of my flat stone.
If you ever lifted a big flat stone as a kid, you know what I am talking about.
It’s a hard thing to describe, this weird aftereffect that takes place in what should be a time of celebration. I can’t say that all artists experience this. I expect this is not unusual among artists, with maybe the exception of those with greater self-confidence than my own. But, in reality, I just don’t know.
Like I said, most of my time is spent in the darkness under my big flat rock.
Redtree Times 