Redtree Times

At the age of six I wanted to be a cook. At seven I wanted to be Napoleon. And my ambition has been growing steadily ever since.

–Salvador Dali, The Secret Life of Salvador Dali (1948)

From 2008:

At the opening for my show at the Haen Gallery in Asheville, NC, a young woman approached me, telling me first that she had a piece of mine which she loved. She said she felt the same about all my work. We talked for a bit then she came out with the inevitable.

“You’re not what I had expected. I thought you might be wearing a beret or a cape or something like that.”

Strangely, I get that a lot.

People expect me to be something much different than I appear to be. More flamboyant, I guess. Maybe more boorish. Maybe like this guy, Salvador Dali, who exemplified that stereotype of the crazy artist.

But they’re faced with me– a thick-waisted, middle-aged guy with a sloppy gray beard. I used to kid with the folks at the Principle Gallery that one day I would show up at a show in a Dali-like manner, swooping in to hold court in my flowing black cape, waving my arms about in dramatic flourishes. Maybe wearing a monocle and spats like Mr. Peanut. Maybe with a waxed rat-tail moustache a la Dali?

I sometimes wonder if people would look at my work differently then.  Would they find different attributes in the paintings? Would they find a different meaning in each piece?

I don’t know. I hope not.

But I do know there is an illusion behind each person’s impression of a piece of art, that it is a delicate web that supports how they value a piece and that can be affected by my words or actions or even appearance. I have had collectors who did not want to meet me at openings for that very reason, fearful that I might end up being a total dope and that the paintings on their walls were now worthless in their eyes.

Probably a wise move on their part.

That is one of the reasons I’m a little reticent to do this blog. I could write something off the cuff, something that I might soon realize was a product of flawed logic, and quickly destroy someone’s whole perception of my work.

Perhaps that is not giving the work enough credit for its own strength and life. Perhaps this is the flawed logic I mentioned. Whatever the case, it’s something I bear in mind. But for the time being, I will keep the cape and moustache wax in storage and stick with the credo of my childhood hero, Popeye: “I yam what I yam.”

And that’s all that I am…

Followup from 2012:

In the comments from the original 2008 post, someone made the point that the work should stand on its own regardless of the mannerisms or perception of the artist. Of course, I agree completely with that in theory. 

However, I point out that sometimes the artist can affect, both positively and negatively, how their work is viewed with their words and actions. I cite a story I’ve told innumerable times of going to a local college to hear a famous author speak. I was seventeen years old and aspiring to be a writer at the time, armed with a legal pad filled with questions that I hoped to ask this author so that his words of wisdom might guide me along. At the reception afterwards when I finally got a chance to speak with him, he was half in the bag drunk– and a smug prick as well. He rudely dismissed me, moving on without taking a second to consider my question to him. I was crushed and left promising myself that I would never read another word that fool would write.  I have kept that promise to this day.

I also vowed to myself that if I was in that position, I would never treat anyone so dismissively. Hopefully, I have kept that promise.

This was written in the first few months of writing this blog so some things have obviously changed. I was still up in the air about writing this blog, something which I have obviously reconciled with myself. But I am still the same middle-aged guy with a thick waist and a sloppy gray beard.

Followup from 2023:

Since it’s been fifteen years now, must be I have gotten over my hesitancy in writing this blog. Still the same thick-waisted middle-aged guy with what is now a white sloppy beard. The cape and moustache wax have, like Elvis, left the building long ago. Still worry about inadvertently coming off as rude or dismissive of folks at openings and talks. 

And still strong to the finish ’cause I eats me spinach…