WHO’S WHO?

(for Ellie)

(Before I get started on today's entry, please remember to continue on down to the July 1 interview with Jill Badonsky, if you have not already read it. Jill has some truly interesting observations, and lots of useful information about where she herself is coming from in the work she does... Worth a read!)

So my wife Ellie raised an interesting question yesterday morning. She had awoken from a dream which she did not describe in detail, but which concerned the relationship between the Ellie she has chosen, in the course of her adult life, to become, and the “Ellen” she was called by her parents as a child. She was wondering how this relationship might be playing out in her studio, now that she faces the challenge of making paintings—a relatively new experience for her, since she has devoted her professional life, successively, to selling art works, advising corporate and private collectors, and advising artists. She came to the studio, then, just a couple of years ago, with a ton of knowledge of contemporary art and a finely honed eye, but with no actual, technical practice.

Ellie is much aware of that inner Ellen, and realizes that both are at work with her in the studio. Coming out of her dream yesterday, she was once again trying to sort out the relationship between the two. It was in this context—and on being asked for my opinion!—that I offered my own admittedly amateur “analysis.” I tend to see “Ellen” as the little child (don’t we all have one?) who felt lost and abandoned, very early in life by divorcing parents, and who very successfully devised the means she needed then to assure her safety: threatened by the chaos she observed around her, her young mind perceived the imperative to control her world and developed the strategies she needed to achieve that end. “Ellie” marched in much later, into her adult life, as a strong and independent woman, equipped with her own talents and vision.

The studio back-and-forth, then, as I see it, is between the Ellen who insists on organization and control, and the Ellie who is committed to the search for her inner truth and authenticity. The painting is the field in which this struggle is played out. The more she is able, as I see it, to allow the painting to emerge intuitively, from the inner core of being, the more successful it becomes. I have this notion that a painting—not unlike a piece of writing—has its own sense of what it wants to become, and that the task of painting it involves as much the ability to stand out of its way as the ability to control the way in which it happens.

In this view, “Ellen,” the controller, becomes the antagonist in the creative struggle. I don't see this as an exclusively negative role. Indeed, it’s a vital one. Ellen wants to be sure that Ellie doesn’t make a fool of herself, that she doesn’t reveal too many of her inner secrets, that she doesn’t go blubbering and otherwise emoting all over the canvas. The trick is to find the balance, to be able to persuade Ellen to take the back seat when she’s not needed—and to quite acting as the back seat driver! When this happens, in Ellie’s painting, she stands a far better chance of allowing the painting to become what it wants to be--and not incidentally to reveal some more to her about who she is.

And then, of course, having expounded all this great wisdom to my wife, I realize that I am really talking to myself. I have my own old battle with the one I knew for a long time as “the editor,” who would stand looking over my shoulder as I wrote, offering his “helpful” advice and criticism: that’s so ridiculous! Who would ever read such nonsense? And if anyone ever reads it, they’ll see right through you for the fraud you are. You’re just showing the world how ignorant you are! So I was talking not only about Ellie, not only about myself, but about every artist caught in that familiar struggle between “form” and “content,” between the drive for free, spontaneous expression from the depths of the soul and the technical skill and control that are needed to give voice to it. The mano-a-mano between Ellie and Ellen is the dilemma of creative people of all kinds, in all generations. And it’s certainly my own…

Persistence: A Portrait

I had lunch yesterday with Jean Milant of Cirrus Gallery and Cirrus Editions. I note this on Persist: The Blog because Jean is an exemplary model of determined persistence in the Southern California contemporary art world--no easy feat, because this is a notoriously fickle cultural environment, and a great many dealers have arrived on the scene and vanished seemingly in the blink of an eye. Jean's history as a dealer and master print-maker/publisher dates back continuously to 1970, and there are few around here who can claim his longevity.

I, too, have been around since that time, as an observer and writer, and I have a pretty good sense of the kind of hindrances Jean has had to face along the way. There is, to begin with, the fickleness of the artists themselves, who are perfectly capable of flirting greedily with a dealer--until they spy what they often mistakenly perceive to be greener pastures of leave him unceremoniously in the lurch. Loyalty is a quality that is notably lacking when it comes to the self-interest of an ambitious artist.

Location, too, can be problematic. In Los Angeles--and we are not alone in this--real estate trends seem to follow the artists and the galleries. These are people who often need large, empty space for the work they do and necessarily search out the most affordable square footage, which leads them to the areas of town that are least in demand at that moment. Their presence then attracts other business, the neighborhoods change, the prices rise, the artists and galleries can no longer afford them and leave for other locations. When Jean started, the downtown area was seething with galleries and art activity. That lasted about five to eight years; then galleries closed, and moved on to the next hot spot--successively: La Brea, Santa Monica, Wilshire, Culver City... Cirrus--in part, I'd guess, anchored by the Cirrus Edition workshop and its presses--has remained in place, while the art world's foot traffic has beaten those other paths.

Then, too, this area is notorious for a collector base that is far less reliable than, say, New York's. Much of the local money is in "the industry"--the entertainment business--long courted by art dealers with less than stellar success. Since Cirrus started, the periodic recessions in the economy have also made life difficult for those who sell--let's face it--objects which seem necessary only to a handful of aficionados. The current deep recession has been devastating for some, and we have seen numerous less well-rooted galleries fail.

What Jean represents, then, is the lasting commitment to a vision--and a vision which must continually expand and enrich itself with the continuing evolution of contemporary aesthetics. More than this, it's a loyalty to those artists who remain loyal to him, and a commitment to the development of their careers. Art, artists and the art world have come to be very much about celebrity and money. I for one am glad that there are some few people around, like Jean, for whom it really is about the art. His quiet dedication is, as I say, exemplary. He seems unswayed by the fads and fashions that characterize the trends and has followed his own path with notable persistence. He is currently engaged, amongst other things--and this was the reason for our lunch--in a project that will document and preserve the history of Cirrus--a history that, in so many ways, reflects the history of four decades of art in Southern California.