Redtree Times

Give Me One Reason– At Principle Gallery

We give advice by the bucket but take it by the grain.

–-William R. Alger, A Dictionary of Thoughts: Being a Cyclopedia of Laconic Quotations (1875)

You should really…

Have you ever thought of trying…

Why don’t you…

There are probably a lot more beginnings to sentences than these three examples that are heard on a regular basis by any person toiling in the creative fields.

People telling you that you should try adding something to your work.

Or take something out.

Or do more or less of something.

Or your work should be more like that of someone else. That’s an all-time favorite.

Or try painting some place they know. That was the first unsolicited advice I received about my work, given to me the first time my work was ever shown publicly.

I remember the unpleasant feeling of my sphincter tightening then and that is still the reaction when I am given similar advice, even when it is given in a friendly and seemingly well-meaning way.

Yeah, I know the sphincter tightening thing is probably a little too graphic but, hey, I’m the one writing this, am I not? You get what you get when you read this, much as you do when you view my work.

It is the way it is because that is who I am.

If you don’t like it, then you have the option of not reading or looking at it. Or you could write your own blog on your chosen subject in a way that better suits you, much as you could get out your own damn brushes and paint your own painting that is more like the one you want to see.

Sorry if that sounds harsher than it’s meant to be.

I did actually reply once to such a suggestion that the person should try painting whatever they wanted me to attempt for themselves. That way they would get the painting that they wanted to see.

That sounds rude but it was said in a polite way that let the person know that I had no intention of taking their advice because the painting they wanted to see was not one that I wanted or needed to see. I immediately knew that it didn’t spark the kind of interest and enthusiasm required. Nobody wants to read the words of someone writing about something of which they have no interest, nor do they want to see a painting of something that holds no interest for the artist. You read or write because of the enthusiasm and emotional investment of the writer or artist.

I have been given many dozens of such well-meaning suggestions over the years. I could put together a large show of all those paintings I will never paint. It doesn’t happen as often now as it did earlier in my career. I think that is because I have been around so long that people now just figure that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. And on those rare occasions when the advice comes, I paste on a smile and say things like that’s interesting, I have to look into that, or maybe I will try that.

I mostly hear these suggestions now from my wife. I used to give the same responses as those above but we’ve been together forever so she knows by now what those terms mean– that I will not be doing whatever she suggested. Now, I just say I don’t think so, it’s not what I do.

More paintings added to my exhibit of non-existent work.

I hope this doesn’t come across as too crotchety. It’s not meant to be.

Well, maybe a little. But it could be worse. One of my favorite stories on an artist receiving unsolicited advice is one I have shared here a few times over the years. Below is as it appeared on the Fenimore Art Museum‘s blog many years ago and concerned the late, great American Folk artist Ralph Fasanella, whose work I have shared here many times.

Ralph Fasanella had trouble painting hands. A lot of trained artists do too, so it is not surprising that a union organizer who turned to drawing suddenly at the age of 40 would struggle with hands early in his career. But he did have something that proved better than years of formal training: he believed that he was an artist and that what he was doing – painting the lives of working people – was a calling that deserved his complete attention and all-consuming passion.

And that made him react when anyone suggested that his paintings weren’t up to snuff. He said that he was painting “felt space,” not real space. His people and the urban settings he placed them in were not realistic in the purest sense of the word, but they sang with spirit and emotion. As Ralph said, “I may paint flat, but I don’t think flat.”

His most memorable quote, and the one that says the most about him, occurred very early in his artistic career, when someone told him that his hands looked like sticks. He ought to study Rembrandt’s hands, they said, in order to get it right.  

His response is priceless: “Fuck you and Rembrandt!  My name is Ralph!”

I probably won’t adopt Ralph’s approach but you can bet his words will be echoing in my head the next time someone says “You should paint like…”

I think the point here is that when you read or view or listen to the works of others, take them for what they are. Even the most well-meaning suggestion carries the implication that their work is somehow lacking.

There’s a lot more that can be said about this subject and I have probably not done a great job thus far. But I have taken up too much of your time already, for you good folks who have read this far.

Maybe I will get to it sometime soon. Or maybe not. Who knows?

Here’s a song that might well be the anthem for most artists, me definitely included. It’s I Don’t Like Being Told What to Do from country singer/songwriter Roger Alan Wade. I had never heard of him or this song before just a few minutes ago. Apparently, his songs, especially the song If You’re Gonna Be Dumb You Gotta Be Tough, appears on most episodes of the TV show Jackass as well all of their movies. Not having seen more a minute or two of the show, I don’t know if that is a ringing endorsement. But I like and understand the idea of this song. That is the only endorsement I can offer.

Now, git before I get really rude.