Updates on Me, in case you care: the “underCurrents” show ended, I got into another one called “Shifting the Body,” opening in Pacifica, in July (hooray!).  Spring semester classes just ended, I’m got some fun live painting and teaching gigs, I’m continuing to consult with artists and work in social media, and I’m selling work and commissions. With all this, I sat alone last week and thought to myself, “This is fucking amazing. I’m doing the art that I care about, I’ve grown to the point emotionally, that I can finally not be embarrassed to call myself an Artist. I’m an Artist. (Holy shit!)”

Then I thought: this is exactly what I wanted, and I’m about a hundred times happier now that I ever was, sitting in meetings and responding to emails for the purported, Best Company to Work For. But, um, what now?

Sidebar: I’ve never been one to congratulate myself. But here, in the Art universe, you have to learn to pat yourself on the back– because that’s all you’re gonna get. No one is going to hand you a check for showing up every day, or give you a bonus because you put in 20 more hours of work a week. That’s expected. And for better or worse, you’re gonna have to be your own cheerleader and your own critic.

That said, I knew I had to figure out a way to pat myself on the back for coming this far, and simultaneously kick myself in the ass to keep going. I recognize that having only spent a year doing this full-time, getting into seven juried shows, seeing my work evolve and get better, and making some money doing it isn’t anything to shrug at. All that is good and dandy, but what now? I need to keep doing this, and the reality is, I’ll need money to do it.

So, I’m standing at the crossroads– on one hand, I see the need for the funds to do more art, but the defensive, egotistic side of me refuses to see money as a reward for all the accomplishments I’ve made. Putting a monetary value on my personal growth as an artist just doesn’t seem right. It cheapens all the gain I thought I achieved. But that– that, right there is the seed of Elitism. I see it, I acknowledge it, but I can’t keep myself from preventing it from happening.

I hear it all the time, Art is inherently elitist and exclusionary. Yes, but the irony of it all is that Art is also the only thing that unites us all as humans. (Sidebar: read that article by Leon Wieseltier, it’s provocative and important.) We need art because our society is quickly starting to confuse money with wealth, and information/data with knowledge.

We live in a society inebriated by technology, and happily, even giddily governed by the values of utility, speed, efficiency, and convenience. The technological mentality that has become the American worldview instructs us to prefer practical questions to questions of meaning – to ask of things not if they are true or false, or good or evil, but how they work.

But I digress.

In a lot of ways, I see that Elitism comes from the artist’s need for self-preservation. Observing the artist trajectory, I see this happening a lot (sorry for the shitty flowchart):

I’m good at painting/drawing/sculpture/writing/etc, and I want to do this more, but I don’t know if I can be called an artist. —-> Fuck what people think anymore, I’m an Artist. —->  Oh, crap, this is vulnerable and not always fun. Plus dumb people don’t like/understand my work…

This is where the fork splits for the first time in an artist’s career. We all want credibility above all else, and when we don’t get the reward we want, it goes in two directions:

1. Everyone is stupid. I’m an artist, I do what I want. Or,

2. OK, I’m missing something. How do I get through to people? (Does that mean I’m compromising the integrity of my work? What else do you have but integrity?)

At this point, Elitism is born. It’s not that artists don’t want to put in the work– artists are far from shy when it comes to doing the work, but here’s where self-preservation starts to limit you, and limits who you share your work with. And isn’t sharing your art the whole point? Furthermore, if it’s not, why would you expect anyone would pay you to do it?

I suppose at this point I should say that I don’t believe democratization equals monetary reward, because that’s more of a secondary result… but the thing I have to remember, is Money is our society’s way of rewarding for value, and value is determined by others. Sure, I can quote Patti Smith and say that with enough integrity and good work, “your name becomes Currency,“ but what about making a living so that you can even get to that point (if you ever get there)? 

Believe me, if I had it my way, I would never have to think/talk/worry about money, and I spend most of my life avoiding it like the plague, but don’t we all secretly wish people would throw handfuls of money at us for just doing anything we want? Patti Smith might be there now, but she could have just as easily faded to complete obscurity– or worse, Quit. Nothing wrong with that, but when artists quit, they become jaded, and they retreat to being the victim.

At this moment, I’m aware of my own talent–enough to keep trying, and naive enough to believe that I can do more. But the more I progress, the more detached I become, and the more I want to retreat into the little, isolated, “elitist” bubble I feel comfortable with, so I don’t have to explain myself in anyone else’s terms, or worry about money. This is much easier to do. But Guess What? Not having to worry about money is inherently elitist, even if you don’t HAVE any of it! But this is precisely when I have to remind myself of something I wrote a bit over a year ago:

“Congratulating yourself for talent is like congratulating yourself for being tall, or having eyes on your head. What I do with it, and if I have lasting power is what time will tell.”

I need to make this last.

Book: The Flea’s Sneeze – Lynn Downey

Puppets: Bark George by Jules Feiffer

(Did this story as a puppet show, with just George and the animals that get pulled out by the vet. I was the part of the mother and the vet. This story is great no matter how you tell it!)

 Book: Sick Day for Amos Mcgee – Philip C. Stead

(I wasn’t sure how well this would go over, it’s a slower pace, but the kids were engaged throughout! Nice options for open dialogue with some wordless pages.)

Song: John Brown’s Baby (see at end)

 (A song with a Bingo sort of feel, with words being replaced by actions with each consecutive round. I had a chart with the words and actions for the song. Over the illustration of the actions I taped a slip with the word, which I removed as we progressed through each round.)

Book: I Broke My Trunk – Mo Willems

(Can’t go wrong with Mo Willems!)

Poem: Curing the Hiccups by Mary Jane Mitchell (see at end)

 (I used a lion puppet to recite the poem. Puppets make poems so much more engaging! He acted out what he talked about…and we let the kids try to scare the hiccups away before the line ‘…and ‘hic’ been scared again.’)

Book: Boo Hoo Bird – Jeremy Tankard

(I love the vibrant colors, and the story is cute too!)

Activity: No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed (with parachute)

(Did the classic ‘No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed’ with Balloon monkeys [each had a pebble inside for weight] on our big parachute. We would bounce the monkeys until one fell off then put down the ‘blanket’ and count the remaining monkeys before bouncing the next one off!)

The Parts:

JOHN BROWN’S BABY HAD A COLD

John Brown’s baby had a cold upon his chest
John Brown’s baby had a cold upon his chest
John Brown’s baby had a cold upon his chest
And they rubbed it with camphorated oil.

Verse 2: Omit word “baby” throughout and do motion
Verse 3: Omit “baby” and “cold” and do motions
Verse 4: Omit “baby”, “cold” and “chest” and do motions
Verse 5: Omit “baby”, “cold”, “chest” and “rubbed” and do motions
Verse 6: Omit “baby”, “cold”, “chest”, “rubbed” and “camphorated oil” and do motions
MOTIONS (not done on Verse 1):
baby – rock baby in arms
cold – cough
chest – slap chest
rubbed – rub chest
camphorated oil – hold nose and make a face

Curing the Hiccups by Mary Jane Mitchell

I have the …hic, hic …hiccups,

And nothing that’s been done

Has helped at …hic, hic …curing them.

Hic, hic …This isn’t fun.

I’ve breathed into their paper bags

And …hic… counted to ten.

I’ve …hic… been scared by everyone

And  …hic… been scared again.

I’ve …hic… walked on a balance beam.

I’ve …hic… stood on my head.

I home they cure them pretty coon

Before I’m …hic, hic… dead!