Recommended Reading

I want to take a minute to suggest a site for thoughtful and gently provocative reading - William Kenower at authormagazine.org.  I am very unclear as to why his name isn't readily obvious on the posts or the home page of the site, but in any event, when you click on the Twitter button on the site, it will lead you to him.  Follow him on Twitter.  Follow the mag.  He is skilled and if you are a writer, he will stimulate your brain.  If you are a reader, he will soothe you, lead you, open you by opening himself without sentimentality.  Look through the archives for June and find Gift of the Night - remember and go forth into your day refreshed.

Artists and Commissions

Note: This is a post I wrote for NWSalon.com and was originally published there in Mar 2011.  I am reprinting it here as a response to a Twitter stream.  Thanks . Whitney

For a variety of reasons, some artists dislike working on this basis, preferring instead to sell only what has already been completed.  Others of us enjoy the challenge and the conversation to balance and coordinate our ideas with that of our client.

Final touches

What contributes to getting a commission? (And here I am speaking only of private commissions, not public or corporate ones.)

Listening is the first and, I think, most critical.  We listen for that which impresses the viewer, because, after all, it has to be more than just a “that’s nice” reaction to our work to interest them in a specially made piece.  Each artist has a gut feeling about the strength of his own work.  Is it born out by the viewer?  Or, can you hear a potential problem – perhaps, “I love that piece, but not the colors” or “Beautiful colors! Too big, though.”  There are hesitations to listen for, and tones, and casual comments – “Hmmmmm” and “That would look great in your bathroom, Alice,” and “Good colors, but not so much for the bedroom, do you think, Honey?” or “Hmmmm, not quite."

So is a positive comment always a positive?  And is a negative one always a negative?  No, to both questions.

Loving someone’s work doesn’t automatically mean anything.  It is, however, an invitation to ask your own questions.  “What is it about the piece that you most like?”  (Appreciate that they may be in awe and inclined to burst out with “Everything!” but encourage them to be more specific.)  Now here is the place where sales books tell you to begin inquiring about their home and “qualifying” them.  I HATE this approach. I’m not a car salesman.  This person who is standing in your booth or studio or gallery is most likely responding to your work on an emotional level.  For me, that is the signal that we have a place where we might relate to one another. Instead of assessing her shoes and asking, “Do you collect original art?” I might ask if she gardens (because she is staring at my garden painting) or “Are you from here?  Are you watching for the hummingbirds to come back?” (because I have some in another piece).  Take a few moments to find what moves this person, because what moves her in her role as viewer, as potential client, is what may move you, motivate you, inspire you.  A piece of your self, your being, your soul can make a difference in a client’s life.  Learning a bit about who she is as an individual can open the door to the possibility of a long and successful artist/client relationship.  Finding spaces for relatedness connects both ourselves and our art to other human beings.  Relatedness never happens in isolation 

Similarly, “Nice colors, but it won’t work,” may sound negative, but in actuality is not at all.  Acknowledging their appreciation of your colors is the open door.  “Thanks – I’m glad you like my colors!  But what is it that won’t work?  I’m always interested in people’s difficult spaces.”  Your interest in their space is personal and caring.  I have had this conversation many times in my career.  Sometimes the resolution I see requires a different kind of artwork, and I am able to suggest artists who might be a better fit.  Often it is just an issue of position or shape or pattern – basic design principles of which they may not have a working knowledge.  It’s a great feeling to see their eyes light up when they see the possibility of one of my suggestions working for them.  And what better way to develop trust but to help in a generous manner without agenda.  If you don’t get the immediate sale, I guarantee that you will see the benefit down the line as they tell their friends all about you and your work.”

After you have developed the seeds of a relationship with your potential client, what comes next? 

Instead of announcing that you do a lot of commission work, why not suggest looking at their problem space together – maybe try a few pieces in the space to see what kinds of shapes/colors/sizes might work?  “Perhaps we’ll come up with some fresh ideas – then we can go from there.  I’d love to be part of the solution!”

Artists have good eyes.  That means if we use them, it is easy for us to take in a great deal of visual information, assimilate it, and generate many possibilities to solve spatial and design problems.  Are you approaching commission work with your eyes wide open, or are you just looking for a quick sale – no fuss, no muss?  It’s perfectly ok not to be interested or inspired by collaborating with the client.  If this is the case, just be clear about it within your own mind, be generous – give the client some artist’s names who might better be able to meet their needs.  Be clear about boundary lines –“I can incorporate this idea of yours, but not that.”  But, if you like this type of problem solving, then enter their home, eyes open to the myriad of details in their surroundings.  Why is the problem area a problem?  Listen to why they think it’s a problem.  Are they looking at your sculptures which are clearly not going to fit into the 4” deep niche?  Should they be considering a painting or shallow wall sculpture instead?  Can you see a place where they might be able to place your large sculpture?  Suggest it.  Perhaps you are a painter and they like garden paintings but have four broad-view garden paintings already in the room.  Suggest to them that perhaps they would like to consider a close up of the iris – one bloom in fine detail – to set off their wonderful collection of garden paintings.  Do you hate the other paintings?  Do not be insincere, but look at their home from their viewpoint.  After all, you are not the one living in the home.  They have paid you the complement of loving your work.  Respect their other choices.

Listening. Seeing the fun in problem solving. Respecting your audience.  Require 50% deposits and gurantee your work (they will be less anxious and, after thirty years of being an artist, I’ve never had to return anyone’s deposit).

Self-expression/Trash/or Art?

As someone who has mostly worked with less than conventional materials, I am always interested in conversations about what art is, or isn't.  This article in the Los Angeles Times engaged me, and many others, in that conversation again.  Reading their comment section, I see that some went from 0 to explosion in short order.

It used to make me angry (and defensive) when someone would suggest that what I do with gourds was not "art" (with that tinge of disparagement in the voice...or, was my sensitivity barometer too finely calibrated?)  There are certain undeniable rights to aging (or is it maturing?), and one of them is the throwing off of the yoke of caring what other people say.  It really is something to be treasured (and envied if you're not there yet).  Obviously, whomever is negating the art of fine craft is seriously limited in imagination.

But, oooops! Am I now one of that limited audience?  I actually have seen some visually beautiful and exquisitely executed graffiti, so I would have to say, no, I don't think I am dismissive of graffiti or outsider work.  And, I don't have problems with calling much of it "art".

 So, what are the distinctions between what is art and what isn't?  Good art and bad? Commercial and "real?"  Trendy and lasting?  For people with a language as massive, fluid, creative and alive as English is, we are sorely lacking in either actual words or use of words for "art."  (Admittedly we also seem to fall short of words for "love" and "snow" (not so short for "rain.")  I also mourn the lack of imagination when it comes to expletives.  (Skip the remainder of this paragraph if the 4-letter word offends you.)   How seriously can one be taken if the only response to "That's not art! That's crap" is the ubiquitous (and therefore relatively meaningless) "Fuck you!" (unless it is amended, as does my friend, Bob, with "...and the horse you rode in on."  After all, if that doesn't make you smile, you may need a day off.)

But, back to distinctions.  Personally, I distinguish between "decorative art" and "serious art", which now, upon reflection, seems pretty lame.  Does that mean that Diego Rivera's monumental mural work, which certainly "decorates" the National Palace in Mexico City is not "serious?"  It doesn't get too much more "serious" than holding a brush in one hand and a pistol in the other to guard your work against right-wing students as Rivera did with Creation done at the National Preparatory School, also in Mexico City.  So much for that distinction.

What about distinguishing between work that is traditional, executed with great skill, and work that is innovative, experimental, untrained?  That lets out Dubuffet, the father of outsider art and may allow in the many who are painting the same aesthetic over and over without expansion of their own sensitivities.

In regards to Chaka, many comments referenced his hoody connections to crime, the criminal aspects of painting on private property.  What does any of that have to do with art?  How does what the work is done on matter?  Does the Chaka work, hung in a gallery, mean more or less to the viewer than Chaka painted on the gritty walls of LA?  (I'd say that hung on gritty walls, it may have more relevance, since graffiti implies a certain revolution and willful act of protest which would certainly be lacking, made impotent, in a gallery setting.  Perhaps that is what is achieved, after all, by hanging Chaka in a fine LA gallery, 700 people in attendance, drinking wine, waiting to be photographed with this outsider who, in other scenarios, might be far more intimidating than they would like.  Is this our way of putting his guts in a box?  Or is this his triumph, knowing he's not really anything remarkable in the vast, untapped world of grafitti artists, as he mugs for the camera?  Or is Chaka a true self-expressionist?  He paints his name repetitively.  Listen to me!  I am here!  I count!  And does this make him an artist?

What about work that stimulates thought and conversation as its main end?  I think of a recent incident in my own town when a local artist hung a pair of men's underwear in his shop window.  Someone was offended and the controversy was ignited.  The underwear was unembellished in any way, but because the local artist is, in himself, controversial, the underwear became the fuse.  In the end, there were weeks of interesting conversations about what was art and why is art.  Seems that hanging underwear on a gallery wall is not the same as hanging underwear on a clothesline.  In the same way, Chaka writing his name over and over on a gritty LA wall, dodging cops and security guards, hanging by a rope from an overpass, risking jail and fines, is not the same as Chaka painting his name onto some surface that can be hung in a gallery.  The intent makes all the difference.

Or maybe not.  I have seen much work with good intent and disastrous results, either because of unclear intention, complete failure in execution, or both.  The road to mediocre artwork is often paved with good intentions.

Distinctions seem self-limiting. Exclusions the same.  Inclusions become a dilution of meaning.

It would seem, then, that we are in dire need of an expanded vocabulary.  This is a dictionary definition of art that I came across - "Human effort to imitate, supplement, alter, or counteract the work of nature. "


I am imagining myself at a holiday party.  An attractive couple joins me at the table.  Mr. Attractive turns to me and asks, "And what do you do?"  I spread my napkin in my lap, take a sip of water, and reply, "I make a very human effort to imitate, supplement, alter and sometimes counteract the works of nature that surround me."  He smiles, pats his wife's hand, and they turn to an imagined question from their other side.  Too broad, I decide.


There are many phrases for the styles of art: fine art, graphic art, impressionist art, expressionist art, modern art, classical art, outsider art, folk art, and dozens of others.  If we spent money on art history education in our public schools, this all would be so much easier.  I am flummoxed.  (Now isn't that a great word for confused, puzzled, baffled, bewildered, mystified, nonplussed, stumped, stymied?)  Why do we use only "art" for all the results of making a "human effort to imitate, supplement, alter, or counteract the work of nature?"


I just don't have the answer, so now I am going to return to carving, sanding, sculpting, painting, and grinding an interpretation of my inner thoughts about expressing the impermanence and significance of both my personal and female human relationship to the ethereal and spiritual qualities of an experience with a wall of succulents in my neighbor's garden.