Art For Difficult Times

By Vincent Katz
Even in its most private moments, art is seldom completely solitary.  Individuals may produce behind closed doors, but ultimately art exists in the wide-open spaces between artist and audience, creator and critic.  Here, art becomes a dynamic communal act, fueled by the passion of its participants and subject to the tenor of the times.
            The Critics’ Residency Program at the Maryland Art Place, now in its 23rd year, has long celebrated this symbiosis.  It is a privilege to have been given the responsibility to select the artists and critics for this year’s exhibition.  To my knowledge, MAP’s is the only program to add a layer of critical interaction to the traditional selected, or juried, format.  It is a difficult onus to select some, leaving out others—but part of the duty of the critic is to make distinctions.
            I was presented with the work of 76 artists and 7 writers, which I evaluated in a blind selection process.  I knew nothing of the identities of the candidates, beyond what might be gleaned from their work.  In the end, I chose eight artists and two writers, a group intended to reflect a diverse range of mediums, modes of working, and training backgrounds.  Among the visual artists: four painters, two photographers, one installation artist, and one artist who works in video, photography, and painting.  For the writers, I looked for people who wrote clear, unconventional analyses, free of jargon.  
            Out of many talented candidates, the visual artists I chose had, in my opinion, developed a visible engagement with both technique and imagery.  Among the painters—two figurative, two abstract—all four use paint for its painterly qualities, sharing an ability to make their chosen mediums appear fresh.  If you look carefully, you will find subtle distinctions of textural gradations and personal tonal statements.  And yet, the pictures are not secondary.  The technique is inherently linked to the image.
            The same could be said for the two photographers: differences of clarity, blurs, reflections, combine seamlessly with their images.  In addition to displaying a mastery of their medium, both had the additional intriguing quality of creating work related to the history of image making, or, to put it another way, were cognizant of a wide range of global visual expression, from abstract expressionism to artists, such as Gerhard Richter, who have painted pictures of photographs.  The two artists who use other media, ranging from crocheted plastic to etched plastic substratum, share with the painters and photographers a broad-based dedication to craft and a sophistication of imagery.
            I can see now that the criterion of worldliness was a key consideration in my selection process, perhaps at a less conscious, though just as operational, level.  Primarily thought of as an awareness of what other artists have done in a range of periods and places and what they continue to do today, worldliness is also an issue of sensibility: how one processes and responds to information.  Some artists are worldly while working with local subject matter, while others are provincial while working with apparently worldly subject matter.  The literal can be taken as a sign of the insular, yet the local need not be restrictive.  I think of Emily Dickinson, who spent most of her life in her family home in Amherst, Massachusetts, yet was able to create stunningly modern poetry in the mid-19th century.
            This issue of worldliness is of particular interest when considering the work of artists from a particular region.  In this case, six of the artists were based in Baltimore, two in Washington, DC.  Different personalities, attitudes, and philosophies towards art abounded, as did working conditions.  Painter Kim Manfredi studies in the Maryland Institute College of Art graduate program, while painter Gil Jawetz works in a one-room, office-building studio just off a busy Baltimore strip.  Lynn Rybicki paints under low, curved ceilings in her second-story suburban apartment; Jessie Boyko painted her canvases in a DC building dedicated for artists’ studios.  In Hampden, photographer Dottie Campbell keeps a second-floor office space in a converted Mill Centre building, while installation artist Bonnie Kotula has a studio in her home’s converted bedroom and basement.  Photographer Ken Ashton uses his DC home as a combination studio and showroom, and multimedia artist Bernhard Hildebrandt houses his large studio in a turn-of-the-century industrial building in Clipper Mill Industrial Park. 
            Their working situations placed varied constraints on the group.  I was aware in some cases of a certain isolation, which can be difficult for an artist.  While art can be created, or life lived, on one’s own, it requires a different social disposition.  Artists often like to work independently, yet there is a contravening need for contact with like minds, not to mention first-hand access to works of art in museums, galleries, and other artists’ studios.  Those we visited who worked in an art school or arts-focused buildings had the benefit of a more collegial atmosphere.  Those who worked at home, or in non-arts buildings, were more on their own. 
            Coming from New York, where there is continual access to art and artists, I was struck by how private the art-creating experience can be.  In 1948, when Willem de Kooning taught at Black Mountain College, he advised all his students to move to New York, much to the chagrin of art department head Josef Albers, who wanted to attract teachers and students to a remote corner of North Carolina.  (I don’t think many artists are moving to New York today, but quite a few are re-locating to Berlin).
            Of course, one’s artistic realm depends not just on the physical but also the emotional world in which the artist operates.  During studio visits, what came across clearly with all eight artists was an intense desire to create, no matter at what stage in their lives or careers they were and no matter under what physical conditions they were working.  The work was a priority, and the circumstances were sought and made to fit the work.
            To comment on their endeavors, I was drawn to two quite different writers, Martin Johnson and Dylan Kinnett.  A self-described writer, editor, and information architect, Dylan is a web designer and published poet who is currently creating a style guide for internet writing.  He holds a BA in Writing and Communications from Maryville College, where he wrote his senior thesis on hypertext literature.  Dylan writes in a simple style that can be found among the better journalists.  He attempts to bring in the philosophy of aesthetics while remaining open to the inherent unpredictabilities of the art he may confront.  His is a common-sense approach to art, coupled with a fascination for the inner workings of the artist’s mind.
            Martin’s work is similarly engaging.  A cinema studies doctoral candidate at New York University, he has a BA in Modern Culture and Media from Brown and an MA in Folklore from University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill.  Martin impressed me by the professionalism of his published pieces in the Baltimore City Paper.  I read his reviews of exhibitions at The Contemporary Museum and Maryland Institute College of Art and felt a kindred spirit there.  Not that Martin and I would see eye to eye on particular artists or even which issues to stress, but rather I respected the fact that he had already taken responsibility for the basics of criticism: understanding the issues at play in an exhibition, reporting on the techniques and interventions of the artists, accurately describing the installations in visual terms.  I found the clarity of his descriptions and analyses transparent and compelling.
            This past October, Dylan, Martin, and I made studio visits to all eight artists, shepherded by the able and energetic Julie Ann Cavnor.  It was a thoroughly enjoyable weekend, during which the diversity of the working situations must have made an impact on the two writers.  After the visits, Dylan and Martin interviewed the artists and began their writing.  They showed me two drafts, on which I made comments.  Their final essays were further polished by a copy editor.
            The process itself must have been instructive—to find that one’s writing, while hopefully shedding some light on works of art and artists’ modes of working, is also a social artifact.  To come to fruition, a body of words, whether it be a catalogue essay, magazine review, newspaper article, or other text, only functions when it has been worked on and resonates with a group of interested parties.  In other words, we are engaged in a collaborative act.
            I can’t say how Dylan’s or Martin’s writing developed as a result of this process.  Certainly these two are willful enough, as any critic must be, to want to see the world through their already-existing lenses.  While they seemed open to my suggestions, they did not try to write as I might have written.  All criticism involves establishing a context for the work, but the sense of a context can differ.  That being said, I feel I may have given Martin some focus to his writing, particularly when dealing with painting.  Dylan, I hope, has learned that, in Fairfield Porter’s formulation, all criticism is autobiography: one must put one’s own neck on the line in order to save someone else (the artist) and thereby do a service to society.
            For the exhibition artists, particularly those accustomed to more isolated working conditions, I think art’s communal role may be clearer, thanks to MAP’s program.  The artists were already committed to the life of making art, but now the collaborative aspect of showing their work—defining, selecting, and having it defined and selected—may be more palpable for them.  Meanwhile, each writer has been given an unparalleled opportunity (and responsibility) to interpret the work of four serious artists, their contemporaries. 
            MAP’s program is not just admirable; I would hold it up as a model for other institutions to emulate.  It not only promotes the work of local artists, giving them a high-focus exhibition in ample and hospitable spaces, but also provides them the unique benefit of interacting in a detailed, intimate way with commentators on their work.  This is something every artist strives for; MAP has opened the way for such an experience.  Fostering collaborative relationships and reinforcing the power of community, the program creates a critical support system for artists in today’s challenging times.  I know I learned from this experience a deeper appreciation of working with someone for a higher goal.  For as John Donne put it, “No man is an island….”