Megan Van Groll

Posters are now available of my work!

2011-06-30T20:14:00.005-05:00

I am very excited to announce that I now have posters available of my work at RedBubble! RedBubble is an online print on demand service for artists. They make it easy and affordable to buy art.
Click here to visit my store:
http://www.redbubble.com/people/mvangroll

These posters are different from the fine art giclee prints I offer. The giclees are limited edition and printed using only the finest quality archival inks on cotton rag paper, come numbered and signed, and will gain in value over time like an original painting. Limited edition prints are therefore often purchased as an investment, much like an original. I oversee everything about the production of these prints and I use a highly reputable printer who specializes in fine art giclees. We work closely together to ensure the highest possibly quality and replication of the original. I am proud to offer this as my highest quality print, essentially 'next best thing' to owning an original.

The posters, on the other hand, are a much more affordable option if you simply want to get the image on your wall. I ordered a large poster for myself as a proof, and I'm very pleased with the quality. They come on a thick, matte paper that unrolls easily and is very durable. The posters are available in three sizes. Incidentally, the large size of a poster is almost the same size as one of my 36"x48" original paintings. I currently offer five of my paintings and drawings as posters. I will be adding more in the future as often as I am able to get them professionally scanned. (Join my email list below to find out when that is!)

Please feel free to email me at megan (at) meganvangroll (dot) com if you have any questions.

Additionally...

This will be my last post to this blog. I began this blog in 2009 as a way to chronicle my journey as a young artist and spread information about new work, exhibitions, and publicity I'd received. I've now decided to shift that information to a private newsletter, delivered periodically (about 1-2 emails per month) directly to my subscriber base, which I've been building for the past few years. Please enter your email address in the form below to be part of this next phase of my career. And thank you!

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Five x Seven wrap-up, and a few announcements

2011-05-23T22:45:00.006-05:00

I attended Arthouse's annual Five x Seven art exhibition and sale as a participating artist this year, my first time showing work at the non-profit art space. It was very exciting to see that my diptych, The Americans in Jaipur, sold before the event even began to an Arthouse Center Circle Member. Center Circle Members, as donors, have the option to pre-select a 5x7 artwork before the sale actually begins. Here are a few pictures from the event (and you can find more on my Facebook Page):

I also have a few announcements to make. First of all, I have decided to shift from a public blog to a private email newsletter. This means that in a few weeks, I'll be shutting down my blog and communicating with you via (an occasional, timely) email subscription instead. In the meantime, I will only post once or twice more on this blog. To continue to receive updates about my work, please enter your email address via the form that follows. I'd hate to lose you!

My paintings for Arthouse Five x Seven benefit

2011-04-27T12:23:00.005-05:00

I have recently completed two new oil paintings for the upcoming Arthouse at the Jones Center's Five x Seven benefit. This annual exhibition and art sale features work from hundreds of artists around the state of Texas, and every piece is no larger than 5"x7." Every piece is priced at $150 for non-members, $100 for members; all proceeds benefit Arthouse, a non-profit art organization and exhibition space.

The Americans in Jaipur. Oil on panel, 5"x7" each, 2011. (diptych)

Additionally, my work has also recently been featured on Women & Their Work's Online Slide Registry. WATW is a visual and performing art organization located in Central Austin that serves as a catalyst for contemporary art created by women living and working in Texas and beyond.

New interview on IPaintMyMind.com

2011-02-01T23:13:00.000-06:00

An interview I recently did with IPaintMyMind.com, a non-profit arts and culture web magazine, has just been posted:

Evan La Ruffa, Founder and Director, had some kind --and interesting-- things to say about my work in his opening comments.

Megan Van Groll studies her own relation to body, function, and gender through her neo-realist interpretations, and does so in a way that feels mundanely human while rendering each piece particularly poignant and oddly evocative. Her ability to recreate scenes where egos and their respective bodies collide is truly a gift, especially since she uses it as a personal reflective tool, not as some thrift store badge of pseudo-hipsterness. Instead, her artwork serves as an honest intersection point – a place, outside our dreams, where we’re able to relive and rework the dynamics at hand, all the while cuddling and cajoling the aspects of personhood that some of us would surely like to see go by the wayside. Her unabashed undertaking of food and femininity sets the stage for work that could spiral off in various directions, and we’re glad to have caught up with her while she solidifies her current approach.

As masks of identity are peeled back by Megan’s culinary art, her intense, seemingly over-pixelated images are so real that they veer over the top; all the while allowing the viewer enough space to come to a variety of conclusions. If you need something more abstract, off you go… but when it comes to food for thought, Megan Van Groll has an appetite.

Check out the interview here.

Falling back in love: overcoming my creative blocks

2011-01-21T11:24:00.002-06:00

On a plane headed back to Austin this past weekend, I read part of a borrowed copy of the new Tim Ferriss book, 4 Hour Body. Amidst the chapters on diet and eating habits, something struck me. The author suggested that we should all consider our eating habits to be cyclical. Sometimes we'll feel the need to go into a strict, disciplined mode of eating, and sometimes, for our own sanity, we'll need to relax and indulge our inner epicureans. There is nothing wrong with this, it's just human, and we should accept it. I was dumbstruck. Wait -- you mean we shouldn't beat ourselves over the head for falling off the wagon every now and then? We should just regard it as part of an ongoing process, and continue with whatever feels right for us in that moment, whether it's continuing with a strict healthy eating habit or ... not? Even though this isn't rocket science and I already consciously knew these things, I guess it never sunk in. It was a liberating moment for me, to fully realize that life consists of a series of cycles.

The more I considered this, the more I realized that so many things in life work this way: the economy, diet and exercise habits, general self-discipline, medical and emotional health, happiness, friendships, relationships and falling in and out of love, cash flow, employment, life and death, bad days and good days, individual creativity, art world preferences, blogging frequency. . .

I'm very ambitious, so I set a high bar for myself and have a lot I want to accomplish in my life, the next ten years, the next five years, and so on. But I'm also a perfectionist, which is a rather self-defeating trait. If I set out with a goal that requires rigorous self-discipline, I consider one misstep a complete failure and beat myself up over it -- sometimes to a point where I nearly abandon the entire endeavor. This of course gets me nowhere, but it's something so deeply rooted in my psyche that I haven't been able to shake it. Everyone who knows me well tells me I'm too hard on myself, but I couldn't fathom how to stop. It's kept me locked in the same psychological box since childhood. I think everyone has something like this they're dealing with.

I finally realize now that it's normal to go through a period of heavy, explosive creativity, so intense you can't help but want to work all the time, followed by a tormenting dry spell, where no ideas come or they come so weakly that your better sense, at some point, shoots them down, followed by creativity again. I have several half-finished canvases lying around my studio that I never intend to finish, staring at me, reminding me that I failed, that I painted something that wasn't really that good. Or something that ended up boring me too much. After a painting like Bakery Brawl, which took me over a year to finish because of how much goddamn detail it had, I knew I would come dangerously close to abandoning my studio for a long time if I had to make something that didn't completely fascinate or excite me.

So what is it that I do want to paint? Don't get me wrong, I loved making Bakery Brawl -- certain parts of it. I really loved coming up with the idea, and playing around with the combined imagery. I really loved certain trays of pastries and especially the faces. The faces were my favorite part. So much fun to paint. So guess what? I should paint more faces. Not only that, I should change the face to canvas size ratio. Faces should take up more space on my canvas.

Detail of my latest work in progress, oil on canvas

Sometimes you just have to do what feels right, what you really enjoy, and trust it. The rest will follow. After all, if you're not having fun, why the hell are you doing it?

The past few years have been rough, creatively -- leaving art school and going out into the professional world, trying to figure out my style and voice as an artist, creating new work. I did commissions for a while -- too long, probably -- as a way to stall until I had an idea I really liked. Then I started on Bakery Brawl and was consumed with that. I wonder now if it was an unconscious way of stalling as well, considering how much time it took and how much work went into it. I completely stopped thinking of new painting ideas for a few months there, just because I was so preoccupied with this painting. So much of myself went into it. The two figures in the scene are both me, though it didn't start out that way -- I just needed better photos of those poses and I'm my own most convenient model. Still, the symbolism of fighting with myself in an over-idealized, sweet, tightly painted, but somehow slightly artificial feeling environment is not lost on me.

Bakery Brawl, oil on canvas, 36"x48", 2010. Limited edition giclee prints available.

As I came up for air after finishing that painting, that familiar fear struck my heart. What will I do next? I had a few ideas, and I wrote about them in my art journal (I don't really keep a sketchbook), and I even conjured up the bravery to discuss a few of them with my closest confidants. If I was enthusiastic, it was brief. Every idea deflated from all the holes I poked in them. In retrospect, I realize now that I was overthinking it. I was thinking too specifically, too rigidly about an entire series of 10 or so paintings, instead of starting with one or two ideas for specific paintings, and seeing how it would develop organically. I think I was still reeling from art school critiques, where your peers and professor gather around your work and discuss it in front of you. The entire point is to cut you down and lay you bare, so you hopefully go in a better direction or learn how to better articulate and defend your ideas. For the most part, it's an essential part of the process of becoming a good or decent artist, but it can also do a bit of collateral damage, especially to a perfectionist like me.

Despite my complex relationship to this experience, I felt a sense of loss over the sudden lack of that art community after graduating, so I kept abreast of art news, art criticism, etc. -- all things any art professor would recommend doing. I was already exhausted from writing papers in postmodern art history classes, so as I grew outside of that academic environment, I became especially weary of the art-speak -- that flowery, intentionally dense, overly self-referential postmodern art language style that exists primarily to preserve a sense of eliteness and exclusivity about the art world. That veil of exclusivity keeps the prices for the most canonized, blue-chip work stratospherically high and the bubble intact. But it also alienates everyone else. I refuse to believe that to write intelligently about art, you must write artist statements or critical essays that sound like something randomly generated by the Postmodern essay generator.

I both wanted validation by this art world and simultaneously loathed it. And then one day, after years of tiresome back and forth about this in my head (and a bit of wine and half an hour into a Ray Lamontagne concert), the stars aligned, the time was right. I was finally ready to say, fuck it.

The one defining thing I can say about my artistic philosophy at this point is that I want to make art about life, not art about other art. The art that is usually described or critiqued in that dense postmodern language is almost always art about other art; it's self-referential to the nth degree. I generally respect that as one of many valid forms of artistic expression, but ... in most cases, it just doesn't do it for me -- especially when it comes at the expense of aesthetics. It took me a regrettably long time to be able to say that.

I'm following my own internal compass from now on. My passion and focus has always been on the ever-evolving state of contemporary feminine identity, and I like to think of my artistic role as a pulse-taker of this cultural subset as I perceive it. In the end the best thing I can do is make paintings I can't wait to work on every day, and trust in myself -- and in the process -- to figure out what it means to me, and potentially others, in the end. Making art is a process of discovery. Even as the artist, you're not supposed to have all the answers or meaning up front. I forget that a lot.

I feel better already, in every aspect of my life, knowing that I don't always have to be perfect or feel on track towards my goal. Everything happens for a reason, everything has a purpose. Perfection is impossible, and not even desirable (the best paintings were usually mediocre until the inadvertent mistake makes them wonderful). You need the dark to see the light, and vice versa. This is not just a metaphor: I believe it was my high school art teacher who taught me that painted or drawn shadows, places of deep darkness on a canvas, need a bit of light in them to appear real and keep from looking flat.

So you cycle through life, but you never see the same cycle twice. You always learn something, you always get a little better, even if it doesn't feel that way. My half-finished canvases, as much as they make me uncomfortable, gave me physical room and psychological space to figure out what it was I do want to paint, and now I'm joyfully realigning with that. So the next time I have a dry spell, I'll remind myself that it's just a temporary, necessary part of the process, and the great ideas are on their way -- but not before I get through this first.

Sign Up for My Mailing List

2010-09-10T15:45:00.006-05:00

I probably should have had this ready to go before the Huffington Post feature, but better late than never, right? If you visit my website (or this blog!) you might notice that I now have a mailing list sign-up form. By joining my list, you'll gain exclusive access to information about new paintings and invitations to special exhibitions when I show my work. You'll also be among the first to know when I offer new prints for sale.

So what are you waiting for? Enter your email address below. It's so easy, my dad could do it (let's see if he does).

Huffington Post: Emerging Artist Showcase

2010-09-08T11:46:00.005-05:00

I've just been featured on the Huffington Post!

I'm a Gawker Artist!

2010-09-01T13:47:00.005-05:00

I was just notified that I'm featured on Gawker Artists today! Check it out!

Gawker Artists: Megan Van Groll

Gawker Artists, an entity of the Gawker network of websites, is "a curated online art community and exhibition program promoting the works of artists in all media. Participating artists receive profile pages on Gawker Artists and are eligible to have their works published in the ad space on Gawker Media titles and included in Gawker Artist sponsored exhibitions."

Bakery Brawl: New Artist Statement

2010-08-31T00:04:00.004-05:00

Detail from Bakery Brawl, 36"x48", oil on canvas, 2010.
To view and order prints of the full painting,
visit my website: www.meganvangroll.com

I've revised my artist statement to account for the new direction my work has taken since beginning Bakery Brawl in 2009. It now contains a paragraph describing the process of creating the painting from multiple image sources, and the conceptual elements of this piece that mark new directions in my work.
Here it is in full:

ARTIST STATEMENT
I'm fascinated by the obsessive, erotic, and somewhat dark role of food in the female consciousness. Despite its existence as an everyday and seemingly passive part of our lives, food -- particularly comfort or 'guilty pleasure' food -- is a loaded cultural symbol, embodying pleasure and nourishment as well as shame. This love/hate, crave/fear, indulgence/abstinence dichotomy parallels and flirts with the role of sexuality, highlighting the disconnect between the raw, corporeal aspects of our humanity and culture's expectations of gender roles and performance.

In a personal investigation of these gendered expectations, I have occasionally turned the focus onto my own body, most notably in a 2007-2008 series of nude self portraits staged in contextually inappropriate environments, such as public spaces. Painting my own image from photographs taken without assistance was a private attempt to autonomously reinvent and reclaim my self-identity from the patriarchal archetypes I had internalized as a woman. In this way, the image of my body in these nude self portraits serves as a metaphor for a personal inner dialogue about gender and identity.

My most recent painting, Bakery Brawl, is the first of a new series and marks a deviation from my earlier work with the use of multiple subjects. Bakery Brawl is a double self-portrait comprised of approximately fifteen different reference images. Using a grainy found image of two prostitutes at the beginning of an altercation, I recreated this dynamic pose with several reference images of myself, taken over the course of a year and combined on canvas into two figures. The framework and details for the stylized bakery display case are also sourced from multiple photographs, and I often hybridized some of the baked goods by combining elements from two or three different photographs. The result is a stylized, highly visceral narrative vignette - two women who both are me and aren't me. This oil painting marks the expansion of my artistic focus from the personal to the interpersonal, exploring identity construction within the framework of female relationships and communities.

Price List for giclée prints now available!

2010-08-11T18:45:00.004-05:00

The price list for giclée prints of my work is now available on my website as well as the Buy Art section of this blog! Giclées are an affordable and fun way to collect art, whether you're just starting out as a collector or building upon an existing collection.

I came across this great (and rather entertaining) article the other day that challenges (or blows wide open, rather) the assumption that to collect art, you have to be older (although you can begin collecting at any age, of course), have more money, or have some kind of pedigreed knowledge about art. Wrong! You just need to fall in love with something. I know the feeling -- I myself have recently begun collecting the work of other artists. It began with a few handmade, yarn-embroidered postcards and has recently evolved into giclée print collecting. I have a few other obsessions, as well - antique hand-drawn postcards of Europe, colorful scarves, art books, kittens (kidding... for now) -- the feeling is always the same. You see it, you love it, you have to have it - that's it. It's with that gut instinct that you should consider buying a work of art - you don't need an MA in Art History. The collections we build -- of art, of beautiful or unique objects -- speak volumes about who we are, how we evolve over time, and in this way (as the article explains) serve as a kind of personal narrative. So don't be afraid to dive into the world of art collecting - if you see it and you love it, you should live with it every day. And with the affordability of giclée prints, there's no reason not to start right now.

Click here for more information on the giclée printing process.

Ready to buy? Have questions? Email me at megan@meganvangroll.com. I'd love to hear from you.

I'm a Featured Artist on www.myartspace.com!

2010-08-03T00:03:00.002-05:00

I received a surprise email this weekend from the staff at www.myartspace.com, informing me that I was selected as a Featured Artist and that my work had been added to the rotation of featured images on the front page:

"We have added an image from your recent work on MYARTSPACE to our front page media window which shows interesting work from selective artists. We want to highlight excellent work such as yours on the site and the media window is a great vehicle for that. Congratulations!"

According to the email I received, only 5% of myartspace artists get featured. Awesome!

Click here to go to my myartspace profile. If you're a fellow artist using myartspace, join my network!

Prints available soon! Now taking pre-orders

2010-08-02T23:47:00.000-05:00

I will soon be offering fine art giclee prints of my paintings and drawings! If you have ever held an interest in purchasing my work but were unable to afford the price of an original, now is your chance. My fine art giclee prints are an affordable option for collectors who would like to either own one of my works at a reduced price, or would like an image of a piece that has already sold.

Each print will be signed and come with a certificate of authenticity.

I have hired an experienced photographer who will be handling this project from photograph to printed giclee. I will know more later this week about when the prints will be ready. Additionally, I will have dimensions available soon with exact pricing for each size. The larger range of prints will be priced between $150-200.

However! I am only photographing 5 pieces for this first round: Bakery Brawl, Meat Market, Dinner Date, Nude Self Portrait with Pastries, and Nude Self Portrait with Coco Puffs. Please let me know if you are interested in purchasing any of these as prints so I can better estimate where the highest demand is and therefore how many giclees to order. Additionally, if there are any other pieces you would like to own as a print, let me know and I will be sure to add it to the next round of works I have photographed.

Thanks! And don't forget to check out my website for an updated look at my latest painting, Bakery Brawl!

Bakery Brawl is FINISHED!

2010-07-20T23:51:00.003-05:00

36"x48," oil on canvas, 2009-2010.
To see more photos (including detail shots and progress photos), visit my Facebook page.

Artistic Growing Pains, or something said about Miley Cyrus inspired me. What?

2010-07-01T01:24:00.010-05:00

Being an artist is a very difficult thing to do.

I have found that there are two primary psychological/emotional states I shift in and out of as an artist, and these have been echoed by many artists I know (but feel free to comment if you're an artist and disagree or would phrase it differently):

When you're inspired and gathering momentum and confident in your work, you're on top of the world. Invincible, validated, deliriously happy, even.

When you're unsure of your next step, or you're between paintings (even if the last one was a strong or well-received piece), or negativity of any sort surrounds you, or fast-paced unexpected life changes (even good ones!) turn your world upside down, before all the dust settles, you're uncomfortable. Awkward, ungrounded.

They say that the biggest difference between an artist who makes it and one who doesn't is how hard they work, and how unwilling they are to give up. You have to have an unwavering belief in yourself, your work, your ability to go all the way, and apply that belief in the form of hard work. That's really the core of it - of all the advice I've hungrily consumed from books, seminars, classes, and artist-entrepreneur group meetings, believing in yourself and being willing to work like your life depended on it are the two things you need to make it. With those qualities, success is guaranteed.

That means being able to carry yourself through the unpleasant second phase, intact and with stronger work than you began with. I wish I could say there was an easy way to summarize how to do that. I'm still figuring it out myself. Today I finally had that cherished moment of inspiration that brought the kernel from which new ideas for future paintings will grow, but (in the interest of being completely honest) for months before I was nervously nursing my semi-formed ideas with the uneasiness that comes with lacking a solid artistic anchor.

I blame it on current events. I am no longer in the same place that I was in November (literally or figuratively). Let's just say the pace of my life has picked up considerably in the last few months. To recount, I met an incredible man, emptied out and vacated my beloved apartment to share living (and cramped studio) space with him a few months later (after about two hundred too many car trips back and forth between our apartments with all our --my-- crap and this asshole:)

The business side of my painting career has also picked up considerably, which is extremely exciting. All sorts of good things are happening quickly, at once, and I'm learning that finding your inner sense of calm, purpose, and direction amidst it all - in your personal life and your artistic/creative life - is not an end goal but a process that will have to be repeated over and over again throughout life and everything it throws at you.

As I write all this I remember a quote that I read recently at the bottom of a NYTimes article about -- of all things -- Miley Cyrus.

This particular quote oddly feels applicable to me or, potentially, anyone in that uncomfortable phase of art-making -- in an auspicious, forewarning, yet oddly optimistic way (and really, optimism is a key part of believing in yourself, is it not?). As with all things, it's a matter of perspective, and we can choose to view that awkward, unsure phase as either a scary free-fall or roadblock or positively, as complete, clean-slate creative freedom. And so I leave you with these words:

"At that point, untethered to any old modes, she may in fact look back with some envy on the time in her life when her choices were as simple as either/or." - Jon Caramanica, from "Miley Cyrus, Growing Up, Tests Identities." New York Times. Link to article here.

Artists statements are for the artist, not the viewer

2010-04-14T00:18:00.007-05:00

For a long time I've been painfully aware that my artist statement has needed some revising. I've even had it dated "May 2008" on my website just so visitors are aware that it served its purposes, contextually, in 2008 (and therefore, not to hold it against me!). In 2008 I was graduating from college and my work was in a cocoon-like state of conceptualization. I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted my work to be about, but it was in a very early stage of incubation. Not to discredit my earlier statement, because I am still very much fascinated by the same topics and probably always will be. But we all grow out of the way certain descriptions fit us at one time or another -- throughout our whole lives we are always growing and changing. Words have the power to shape us, define us, and help us better understand ourselves, and the same goes for artists and their work. Over and over I have found that writing about my work helped me put into words and therefore understand my own work better than I had before, which helped me then carry forward in my studio practice in new, fresh, exciting directions. It wasn't so I could put some explanation into the hands of a viewer to 'aid' their understanding of my work. It was a tool for me to verbalize for myself something visual and very instinctual, to open a dialogue within myself and the various thoughts and threads floating around in my head. Writing about your art is a catalyst for synthesis in your ideas, which encourages new thoughts and growth in your work.

There's a reason writing an artist statement is so difficult! Fortunately there are tools available to help you get the process started.
If you're starting from scratch, I recommend this online resource:
http://www.mollygordon.com/resources/marketingresources/artstatemt/
Further tips:
http://www.manhattanarts.com/Ezine_Renee_ArtistsStatement.htm

Personally, I know that without serious self-editing, I'll end up saying too much or being too wordy, so I try to be as efficient and concise with my words as possible. To that end, I've written a new and brief artist's statement that better incorporates the recent directions my work is taking.

As an artist, I'm fascinated by the obsessive, erotic, and somewhat dark role of food in the Western consciousness. Despite being such an everyday and seemingly passive part of our lives, food -- particularly comfort or 'guilty pleasure' food -- is a loaded cultural symbol, embodying both physical and emotional nourishment as well as guilt and shame. This love/hate, crave/fear, indulgence/abstinence dichotomy parallels and flirts with the role of sexuality, highlighting the disconnect between the raw, corporeal (and not always pretty) aspects of our humanity and Western culture's expectations of gender roles and performance.
In a personal investigation of these gendered expectations, I have occasionally turned the focus onto my own body. These nude self portraits are an exploration of the role of self-exploitation within contemporary female gender roles. Repeatedly painting my own image from photographs taken without assistance was a private attempt to autonomously reinvent and reclaim my self-identity from the patriarchal archetypes I had internalized as a woman. In this way, the image of my body in these paintings and drawings serves as a metaphor for a personal inner dialogue about gender and identity.

Additionally, I continue to advance on my latest painting. Here is a recent detail photo from this work in progress:

Personal transparency is a marketing tool

2010-03-25T23:39:00.012-05:00

Annie Arnold, "It soon seemed quite clear to me that all the major personality types had been taken."
Etching on mirror, 2009.
From Creative Fidelity art exhibition

As an artist, as a professional, as a daughter, a sister, a writer, social networking Internet user, as a consumer, a citizen, a girlfriend, and a friend, I deeply believe in the value and power of transparency. Being transparent isn't something you can do in only your personal or professional life, by its very nature. It inherently means being brazenly authentic in all areas of your life. In audaciously choosing to be exactly who you are, at all times.

There's more to transparency than simply being yourself. Authenticity is only one part of it. I say this because -- and I believe this is true of all ages and stages of life, not just when you're young -- you're always figuring out what it even means to be authentic, to be yourself. I refuse to believe that anyone, at any given time in their life, truly knows exactly who they are. Humanity -- collectively and individually -- is dynamic, surprising, full of both beauty and tragedy. And isn't it true that just when we think we have life figured out, that's exactly when it pulls the rug out from under us? As a person constantly in search of truth and understanding, and as an artist trying to figure out what kind of artist I am and want to be, I have put too much pressure on myself to 'understand' who I am. Just when I think I have myself pegged, I surprise myself. But who wants to be limited like that anyway? So, transparency isn't really about that. It's about being open and honest about the process of figuring all that stuff out. It's about not hiding your process and your opinions and experiences and creations from the world.

Now, there is absolutely something to be said for behaving appropriately according to the setting, but I believe we are subconsciously encouraged to fragment these various pieces of ourselves. This fragmentation that occurs in our communities but also in ourselves -- in our identities -- is a byproduct of postmodernism, but so is pluralism. So you have to dress professionally, speak less colloquially, or appear more polished in the workplace than you would among friends. This doesn't mean you're not being yourself -- you're just being a version of yourself, and you are not one-dimensional anyway!

The funny thing is, once you embrace that openness and bare-chested, here I am world, take me or leave me honesty, once you expose all that you are, are not, wish and hope to be, something beautiful happens: the law of attraction takes hold. Like attracts like, and if you are positive and embracing and life-affirming, you will receive positive energy in return. Your openness leads to conversations that are relevant to your interests and ventures and what you put out there into the world. Word spreads. These conversations lead to opportunities. To new connections, new ideas. Your personal openness leads to cultural exchange, professional development, and... lo and behold, a deeper personal understanding. To interdependence and economic viability.

This is something I've been pondering a lot lately not just as an artist but as a person who is absolutely fascinated by the conceptual side of branding and self-marketing. The people you have the power to choose to surround yourself with in life (personally and professionally) and who you attract through being transparent and authentic are more likely to get you, support you, and potentially connect you with people like you. Again, you never know who those people could become - new friends, new coworkers, new clients. New art buyers!

Being transparent doesn't come without a certain level of responsibility and self-editing. Like I said, like attracts like. If you want to receive positive energy, people, ideas, and opportunities, you have to put positivity out there. On an obvious level, that means not complaining about a bad day or otherwise verbally vomiting useless information into a Facebook status update, like what you had for lunch or something. But it also means being a good and uplifting person offline as well. You get what you put in.

As an artist, you're not just selling your work, you're selling yourself. Art buyers know they're not just buying the piece, they're buying --investing in-- a part of the artist. They usually want to know and like the person who made what they're buying. Similarly, someone doesn't like my work probably won't like me, and reflectively, if they don't like me they probably won't like my work. That's okay; I'm not concerned about those people. They are on different paths and ours are not meant to cross, at least not at this point.

Among the artist/entrepreneurial community, I hear a lot of discussion about how to find your market. By being transparent and authentic, you create (unwittingly or not) your niche -- you carve out your own slice of the market. You can't win em all, but you don't want to! Transparency is a filter and a magnet. This principle applies to all aspects of human interaction. Deliberately be a positive, life-affirming, helpful, transparent person. It's not just a good way to live your life, it's the best and most crucial marketing tool you have.

Striking a chord: the powerful influence of music on art

2010-01-24T03:08:00.009-06:00

As a painter, I've always been more inspired by talented musicians than I have by other visual artists. I've never known what this meant, particularly, or even how it could correlate to my work. There are artists out there who focus on visually rendering music, or whose work relies directly on music for subject matter in some abstract form. My work doesn't. It's fairly representational, albeit stylized, figurative depictions of themes and concepts that have nothing to do, on any surface level, with music.

But when I experience a song that moves me, that brings forth some powerful emotion, that makes me have to sit down and listen on repeat or look up the lyrics to or immediately find out when this artist is touring and if they're coming to my town, the first thing those emotions stir up is painting. I feel a rush of creative energy within my entire body and I have to, have to paint, draw, create, make something.

Just watch this and try (try!) to tell me you don't feel it:

When I saw Swedish New Orleans transplant Theresa Andersson live at the Saxon Pub in Austin last year, I felt amazed and deeply frustrated. Frustrated because she inspired me to be great. This woman has so much raw talent, and I knew that I did too, but I felt a bit ... wait for it ... unsung. I'm not a performer, although I took piano lessons for almost 10 years growing up, I'm not that great at it; I can't sing well, and you don't even want to watch me try to dance (I'm so uncoordinated that sports of almost any kind are a big FAIL for me). There has always been something fascinating for me about performance (the rush? the limelight?), but I know where my strengths lie. Art is my passion the way songwriting and performing is for Theresa Andersson. She live-recorded, looped, and layered her own voice and instruments for every song seamlessly, perfectly, with breathtaking precision, and without appearing overly rehearsed. She made it look easy and I was blown away. I sat there in awe as this one woman created such huge sounds with her myriad instruments and the tapping of her feet on the recording equipment on the floor - essentially a one woman band. Watching her master her art made me want to master my own. I drove across Texas to New Orleans for the first time that summer because of her, not to see her, just to experience her world.

This topic -- of how music has influenced my work as an artist -- is something I've been mulling over for a while, digesting and figuring out how to articulate. There's something perfectionist about making music -- you have to hit the right notes every time you perform -- coexisting with something that is improvisational, free, and spirited. What I find interesting is that this is a surprisingly accurate way of describing my style as a painter.

I love, almost more than anything in the world, that incredible feeling of "nailing it." Of portraying the likeness of someone's face perfectly, of fleshing out something that looks real or near-photographic with a couple tubes of mushed-around, thinned, layered, and blended oil paint... of stepping back from the canvas, looking at what I've created and wanting to do some kind of victory dance. It's such a high. I will never be an abstract artist. I respect other forms of art and even take influence from it. But I will never derive the same sublime satisfaction that I do with realist or semi-realist painting.

At the same time, certain things I've painted have turned out to have split personalities. At first this seemed to happen by accident, but now I'm realizing the conceptual significance of this. Several times when I've painted food, it either doesn't look like food at all or it looks, aesthetically, the opposite of how it looks in reality. Like I said, this was originally not purposeful. It's simply how my style evolved. My professors in art school urged me to stop placing so much contrast where it didn't exist, to stop, essentially, 'outlining' objects. It's true that if you outline the human body, for example, it will look more graphic/cartoonish and less realistic, and I'm glad I heeded their advice for a while because I became a better painter for it. But now I'm seeing that you can't kill what's natural to you, and though I'm still not sure how to describe my style, there is something whimsical about how I represent my subject matter. That whimsy is sometimes swirly, sometimes silly or gross, sometimes graphic and illustrative, sometimes sinister and dark, and somehow transformational. You might even describe this stylization as lyrical. I always listen to music when I paint, and since nothing exists in a vacuum, it would be difficult to imagine that musical rhythm and energy doesn't have some transference into my paintings.

Honey buns or internal organs? Crumble cake or brains? Cherry turnovers or torn, bloody flesh?

I love that this bakery in the background of my painting -- the source image full of luscious carbohydrate-laden frosted sprinkled goodness -- is becoming a little horror shop of zombie pastries. The beautiful is disgusting and then beautiful again. The realistic is deceptive and then realistic again. The performance of music and the act (performance?) of painting both balance on the fine line of attempting to flesh out something that previously wasn't; loudly sharpening into focus then receding and blurring, flowing smoothly then jumping into staccato, blending and layering the playful and morose, then dangling from an unsettling string before somehow finally falling into beautiful harmony.

Mapping 2010: The art of setting goals without self-loathing

2009-12-26T12:39:00.018-06:00

Ken Lum, 2009, Come join us, edition of 2; c-print, lacquer, aluminum, sintra
Galerie Grita Insam; Photo by Megan VanGroll from Art Basel Miami Beach 2009

When I first moved to Austin in May of 2008 to start my post-college life, I struggled with a sudden lack of structure in my painting life. In college, as a painting student, you're required to complete about 5 paintings a semester or 10 a year. In the academic calendar, this translates to about one new painting every two weeks. Some of my peers turned in work that didn't require much time (this is not necessarily a criticism, as these kinds of pieces can sometimes have their merits), but my large oil paintings took me between 30 and 50 hours to complete - and sometimes I was taking more than one studio class, so that meant two pieces (60-100 hours) every two weeks. I had to balance that kind of time commitment with my other classes, an internship in Dallas, and at one point, another job on campus at the study abroad center (oh, and a life). Then one day, I graduated, armed with 11 large, heavy oil paintings, and no idea how to structure my time anymore.

Obviously, the 'starter job' in Austin that I blindly took but was lucky enough to find helped me quite a bit with structuring most of my day. But in my painting life, I no longer had deadlines for completing new work. Nobody was checking in on me, nobody was critiquing or giving feedback. I had lost my art community -- suddenly it was all me, in a cramped carpeted 460 square foot apartment. That kind of silence was deafening, even immobilizing.

So I did what I always do when I feel dissatisfied or uncertain. Like any good control enthusiast (heh), I plan. I took a medium sized dry erase board and carefully drew 48 ruler-lined boxes in it with permanent marker -- to plan my next four years. At the time I thought I was going to pursue graduate school (I've shelved the idea for now, as an MFA in Painting is not the most economically sound choice -- not that it ever was, but it's even less so these days) so I researched application deadlines and how many pieces my top choice schools required you to submit in your portfolio. I then assessed how many pieces I had that I felt were good enough to submit, subtracted that from the total, and assigned myself deadlines for each remaining piece. I was on a schedule to complete one new painting a month for grad school entry in fall of 2011, which seemed like a generous amount of time even with a full time job, considering that I juggled quite a bit before, as well. When I think back to all of this, I laugh.

This is the reason there are so many people who are resistant to setting goals. There are too many variables and unknowns that get in the way, and if you can't complete your goal, it just serves to make you feel worse. Or, some people just prefer to let life unfold organically (go with the flow, in other words). Even as someone who notoriously thrives on structure, I understand and respect these perspectives. Because of my post-college experiences, I've even developed a new found appreciation for them. I now project just one year ahead at a time instead of four, and if I don't complete a goal, I no longer (thanks to counseling) view this as evidence of my total failure as a person or artist. (Hurray!) In other words, I've lightened up a lot. My happiness is not something I want to sacrifice at the altar of achievement. Happiness comes from being disciplined, but also from living in and appreciating the present moment. A delicate balance, one I am still fine-tuning.

This year, as I review my own personal successes and slip-ups, I think back to what kind of goal setting and time management strategies have and haven't worked for me as an artist. Obviously, grad school is out of the picture for now and I have a new perspective for the next year, so being flexible about my goals as they shift in and out of relevance is key. From a practical perspective, I know myself well enough by now to know that it's not a good idea to say, "at the end of January, I need to have Painting #5 completed." I'll just feel too defeated when February 1 comes around and I'm not finished with #5 (or #3 for that matter!). I need to focus on the amount of time I spend painting weekly instead of whether or not something's 'finished' (which is subjective anyway). So my new art goal for 2010 is to spend at least 15 hours a week in my studio, painting. I know this is doable as I've done it many times, I just need to be more firm about it. 3-4 hours 4 times a week is not unrealistic for me, and it doesn't conflict with a decent sleeping schedule, my full time job, or having a life. In fact, I know it's not as ambitious as I could be, but I want to be realistic about my need for a balanced life. I've also noticed that since graduating, my technical skills have greatly improved and my larger paintings take at least twice as many cumulative hours to complete. So, more than I need to worry about finishing by a certain date, I need to make sure I'm being disciplined with my time on a more consistent basis. To help make sure I do this, I'll be recording every hour I spend in the studio with a small notebook dedicated just to this purpose. I haven't recorded my painting time consistently in the past, and I know I should because it's a good way to hold yourself accountable.

I have several more goals for my life in 2010, of course. Avid blog reader that I am, I found a great resource for organizing and thinking about annual goal-setting on one of my favorite blogs, The Art of Nonconformity by Chris Guillebeau. Here's the link to his posts about conducting your own 'annual review', which I highly recommend you have a look at if a step by step guide to making your goals (art-related or not) achievable is of any interest to you:

http://chrisguillebeau.com/3x5/how-to-conduct-your-own-annual-review/
and a condensed version of that is here:
http://chrisguillebeau.com/3x5/2009-annual-review-overview-and-outline/

So, obviously there's some tension between being flexible and being disciplined, at least in my case. I've been overzealous in my past attempts at plotting out my life and my career, and too quick to lose willpower when I fall short of unrealistic goals or things feel out of my control. What I've learned in the past year is that goal setting is not about micro-managing your life, being unrealistic, or attempting to live up to someone else's expectations. Reviewing your intentions and ambitions on a yearly basis is just good self-management. Achieving the life you want to live will not happen by accident, and the process of mapping out what that means should feel personal and empowering. I'm not saying it's necessary to do so in as structured a format as I like to -- it should feel authentic to you, after all -- but I will say that something very powerful happens when you write things down. Your goals and priorities are no longer passive, nagging thoughts or urges, nor are they dull feelings of dissatisfaction with some area of your life. They are suddenly active statements of intent. And even if they change, they're still material. You're much more likely to act if you write, and there's definitely something to be said for that.

Review: Art Basel Miami Beach 2009

2009-12-06T19:26:00.016-06:00

I recently returned from Miami Beach, where thanks to my day job, I had the opportunity to view the Art Basel Miami Beach fair and several of the parallel contemporary art fairs (PULSE, Art Miami, Aqua, NADA). The sheer amount of art that I saw was overwhelming, and I did my best to document the pieces I was most drawn to.

Here are links to albums I posted on Facebook of the work that I saw and liked or otherwise found interesting, organized by day (that seems like an easier way to disseminate these photos at this point, considering how many there are). This is but a fraction of the work that I saw.

DAY ONE
DAY TWO

I will expound upon these photos with future reviews of the work that most grabbed me, but for now I'll start with my initial reactions to the madness of the past few days.

Overall impressions of the Art Basel Miami Beach experience:
I've found that most conventional art career advice is somewhat a priori negative. As someone who's been striving towards a career as an artist for pretty much her entire life, I've soaked up every bit of advice I can get, and the general feeling I take away from all of it is this rather contradictory, "Hey, you want to be a famous artist? Great! Shoot for the stars, anything is possible! Dream big! But... don't get your hopes up. Hardly anyone really ever makes it. Be sensible, have a back-up plan." What is a young artist with a burning, all-consuming desire for success -- for greatness -- in her heart to make of this?

The art market is a very strange thing. In a sense, it's exactly like Hollywood, the music industry, the fashion industry, or any popular or creative field where the pool of people who want to make it big is exponentially bigger than the slots available. Some people will make it, and the quality of their creative output is not guaranteed. Many will not make it, and great work will be ignored. It's not a fair system whatsoever. Art Basel Miami Beach was completely amazing, visually stimulating, and I saw SO MUCH work that I love and would never have known about otherwise, but it is also completely symptomatic of this system.

With that said, going to Art Basel (either Miami Beach or Basel, Switzerland) should be required experience for anyone who considers it their life's dream to hang their work in notable galleries, be written about, reviewed, paid, and in this way accepted to some degree by the conventional art market. Actually going to these fairs and seeing the work on display is very eye-opening in that you realize what work of this 'caliber' looks like.

In my case, I realized that my own work was at least comparable to much of what I saw. I did not enter this experience with anything other than the expectation that I would be overwhelmed and humbled. I saw many pieces that humbled me -- but overall, I was overwhelmed and motivated. Motivated to work harder, more often, because really, at this point, that is the only thing separating me from any other young artist whose work was represented at the fairs. I realized that I have just as much raw talent as anyone else represented, and it's only fair to say that in some cases, more. Going to Art Basel Miami Beach blew away my perception of the art world's mystique -- of being something aloof, uncrackable, and unattainable. Perhaps this was due in part to the psychologically grounding aspect of actually stepping foot into the convention center, being physically present. That experience, combined with the work on display that did not impress me nearly as much, made the whole thing suddenly real and achievable (and even a bit comical, in its hyper-commercialization of art) to me.

While I was there, I obviously thought a lot about what this meant to me as an artist, and how this would influence where I go moving forward. I was not 'inspired' in the sense that I had all these new ideas for paintings that I just couldn't wait to get started on. If anything, I was grounded and centered, and motivated to keep working on the paintings I already have, half-finished in my studio. I returned home feeling confident in my own approach and direction as an artist, in my own worth, in my own potential, and in my own work.

As an artist you must paint exactly what you are drawn to paint. The more educated you are in thinking about theory, the better, but in the end it will come down to an instinctual urge to represent visually that which truly stimulates, drives you, that which symbolizes your own way of relating to and interacting with the world. In your own unique style. That is the only way to ensure that you will make work that is a) interesting and enjoyable to you as an artist, but b) unique to you as a person. The way to carve out your niche in the art world is to relentlessly and unwaveringly work hard, network hard, and unapologetically be true to yourself in everything you say, do, and create. All else will follow.

Victor Rodriguez, BlueOrchid 8 (Picasso), 2009
Acrylic on canvas, 84"x 78"
Art Miami contemporary art fair

The Purpose of Art, and How to Talk to Artists

2009-10-22T21:11:00.020-05:00

I recently had the pleasure of exhibiting my work at a very well-attended art party. It was a really cool experience to talk to so many new people about my work and get such interesting feedback. Most of my work has been sitting in my apartment for months, gathering dust, so it was nice to get them out there again and in front of people:

It was a blast to have such awesome conversations with people who were interested in my work.
I invariably, though, got asked that dreaded question: "So what are you trying to say here?"

The reason artists hate to be asked this is because -- well, this is what I was told and believe to be true, anyway -- truly good art is about asking questions, not providing answers. It's not that artists hate talking about their work or describing it for people. And I understand that the viewer is not always being 'lazy' by asking this question - usually they have or are forming their own opinion, but want to hear my input out of curiosity or a desire for deeper understanding of the work. The same way we like to hear about what our favorite recording artist was thinking or going through while writing their latest album. However, there is this stereotype of the aloof artist 'refusing' to discuss their work for whatever silly, insecure, or egotistical reason, and I hate that stereotype. Really, the problem is that that dreaded question is really terribly phrased. Even flipping it around with, "What kind of questions are you trying to ask?" can be almost impossible to answer because the artist may not even have verbally articulated a specific question (much less an answer). The task of the artist is to create an image (or object, or video, or performance, or whatever) that addresses something important to the artist (personal), relate it to a larger concern (cultural), and do it in such a way that grabs and engages you both visually, experientially, and (in the best cases, anyway) emotionally.

The purpose of art is to get you to engage, to get you involved, to draw you into the artist's 'world,' so to speak. Once there, you relate to and shift the meaning of the work (you, yes you!) just by interacting in this way. We do not have the power to enter each others' minds (thankfully!), so instead we have this third party, this filter, and this is art. The artist creates something that hopefully, usually, surprises even the artist in some way, which is its own kind of miracle, or is at least a testament to the power of the human mind and creativity. The role of art, then, is to create these heterotopic spaces of experience and interaction, between art and other people. In this way, we share pieces of ourselves with other people. Both artist and viewer learn, grow, are changed in some way. This type of exchange is the highest form of human civilization.

Notice I speak about this as an interactive experience. I reject the one-sided idea of artist only as purveyor of ideas (appreciated at the time or not). I am moved, affected, influenced by your interpretations of my work just as much as you (hopefully) take interest in or enjoy it. This exchange is part of the process and you are integral to it - so if you enjoy art, seeing it, thinking about it, talking about it, never let yourself feel isolated by or excluded from the art world. People get this confused, but the art market is not the art world. The art world is you, the viewer, and me, the artist, in this room right now, talking about ideas.

I just read a really interesting article in my favorite Texas-based contemporary art quarterly, Art Lies. It's called "False Positives: a recursive chronicle from the Deus ex Machina in the age of technoscientific disenchantment" by Barbara Perea, a "Mexico City-based art critic and curator with a special focus on emerging media, sound and video art." The underlying pulse of the essay is an exploration of the role of the artist. The cultural consensus about what it means to be an artist and what one is contributing with art has always been shifting and evolving, and this latest idea postures artist as revealer of "mystic truths" (Art Lies No. 63, p. 20), and therefore art as a sort of "new religion":

"As a form of new research and knowledge, art is preoccupied by mankind's fundamental questions, its interest in spiritual matters very much present. If -- as many are quick to point out -- science will destroy us, and religion cannot provide viable solutions, will art then step in to fix the mess?" (p. 18)

You really have to read the article, of course, to understand what she's saying about destruction and religion -- BUT I want to draw your attention to the fact that the author here is describing art as both research and revealer of mystic truths. If all art is eventually to some level or degree about people in one way or another (as I believe it is), then you are my research, my inspiration, and if any kind of mystical truth surfaces, it's your doing, buddy. How's that for a humanist approach to religion?

How to talk to artists about their work

What I really mean by that is, 'how to engage with artists in a meaningful way.' If you are talking to an artist about their work, try asking questions that relate to the process. Ask "why" questions. Why did you choose these images? Why did you place them in this way? Why do you mostly focus on [x] subject matter? Other good ones: What kind of impact were you going for by using this kind of imagery? Do you think you've achieved that? Where do you get your source images from? What are you working on now, or where are you going with this theme? What are you reading, watching, listening to, and otherwise absorbing right now that might be coming out in your work? Nobody makes art in a vacuum.

And please don't be afraid to discuss art if you think you don't know enough about it. I am truly tired of hearing people say that they "don't know anything about art, but I know what I like." Come on, it's all anyone knows. Having an education in art history might allow you to understand and therefore appreciate aspects of certain styles or art historical periods more than a general public would, but MA in Art History or not, you're still going to like what you like. And if you ask questions like those above, you're not going to look like an idiot. Most artists are really nice and just glad somebody's paying attention. Nobody gives a damn that you don't think you know anything about art. Art is about the experience, not the pedigree.

So step up, open your mind, take a look, and tell me what you think.

A sneak peek of my latest:

This is just the bottom right corner of a 36"x48" oil painting on canvas that I've been working on for a few months. It's very much a work in progress - even parts of this corner that I'm actually willing to show anyone are still unfinished (especially cupcakes and clothing) and as you can see part of my source imagery made its way into the photo... but here it is nonetheless... its working title is tentatively "Bakery Brawl." ... I like alliteration.
More photos to come!

If you'd like to keep up with my progress on this painting, the best thing to do is to email me at megan [@] meganvangroll [dot] com to be added to my mailing list, or you can also subscribe to this blog!

Starting Fresh

2009-09-28T22:33:00.012-05:00

I haven't posted as much as I'd like to lately, and the main reason is because I recently killed my hard drive and lost all of my digital files because I stupidly didn't back anything up. All of my music, all of my photos (including the photos of my work), all of my writing, and especially my website. (It's still published, but to make any changes or add new work, I'll have to redesign it from scratch.)

So in the past few weeks I've been busy rebuilding. I thought fruitlessly for a long time about how this relates to my life and my work right now, but like all things, I've found if I sit on it long enough it'll hit me in a wave at once and if I don't write about it immediately I'll burst.

Losing everything on my hard drive sucked a lot, but it was essentially a clean slate. I'm moving into a new apartment/painting studio in a new part of town in less than two months, which is also a new start. September has come and almost gone, and I've always thought of September as a time for new beginnings (thanks to two mind control factories, the advertising/fashion industry and the traditional school system). I also started going to a therapist for the first time in my life a few months ago to learn more about myself and why I get so fucking stressed out all the time and why I was having panic attacks in the shower on Saturday mornings. All of this has caused me to think a lot about what kind of life I want for myself. Not what I'm supposed to want, or what I think people expect me to want. Of course, there is much we can't control, but if you don't design your life with a purpose, you will become a drifter and wake up one day in 20 or 30 years scared shitless that your life is not what you thought it would be.

That isn't going to be me. I am the kind of person who always needs to know what she wants, at every turn. I am constantly looking inward, attempting to define who I am and where I'm going. I'm fine with change, as I know that without it life would be boring and meaningless. Hell, I grew up a child of the military. I know nothing BUT change -- which is great because I adapt easily to new situations, but also not so great when you think about a person for whom (besides family and the principles that taught me) art has been her only anchor in life. Something as intangible, improbable, and financially unpredictable as art.

I know I've been writing a lot so far about topics that are more useful than they are interesting. That's fine with me. This blog is a direct reflection of whatever's floating through my mind at the moment. If I start writing a lot about how to organize oneself so that one can make the best possible art one is capable of, then you can tell that I'm scared about something and my perfectionist, left-brained, control-freak side is coming out to compensate, to get a grip on the reins. That's just who I am. So now you know.

As part of this clean slate, I'm establishing some principles for this blog. Granted, I haven't been writing in it long enough for anyone who might be reading (myself included) to get a predictable feel for what I'll be spewing out on any given week in the first place. I've rewritten the 'about this blog' section about three times since I've published it.

However, I think it's time to blow open the doors of pretension and just tell you that if nothing else, I want this blog to be honest. That doesn't mean I'm going to verbally vomit every detail of my life - that isn't my purpose, and there's enough of that out there on the internet. What it does mean is that I am not going to hide. I am not going to hide behind a mask of what I want you to see, even when I wish there was a mask. I am mercurial in the sense that I alternately deeply fear exposure and many social interactions (I hate attempting to make small talk, and I've always been a bit socially anxious/awkward), and love being the center of attention. I have a deep, intrinsic need to express myself, to shout to the world 'This is who I am, take it or leave it.' My attempt to understand these dual sides of myself is best demonstrated with my series of nude self portraits, completed in 2007. I emboldened myself and took up the task of painting my most daring, most deliberate series of paintings, every single one of which featured my naked form, tan lines, butt crack, little pooch belly and all, in public spaces of potential scrutiny. I loved that it scared me so much - that's why I knew I had to do it. Yet, when I attempted to paint boredom or indifference on my face, many times it came across to others as self-consciousness, timidity, or fear. Go figure.

Those paintings were and still are unbelievably well-received by those who have seen them digitally or in person; I'm grateful for those who really get it. There were those, however, who used it as a way to psychoanalyze me. I heard gossip from other artists, peers I once respected, that I was being picked apart for being so brazen, my likely emotional issues and/or personality disorders laid out on the table. When I heard this, I was devastated. It was my first wave of actual public scrutiny, and I thought I was ready for it but I wasn't.

After being hit with such a bitchy, backhanded wave of personal (not professional) criticism, I wasn't sure how to proceed. But in the end I got back up and dusted myself off. For a while, there's no way I would have felt brazen enough to write a blog, especially not one as honest as I intend this to be. But that certainly won't be the last time I will encounter negative feedback, deserved or not, so I'd better get used to it.

The people in the public realm who I admire the most are those who are most honest with their audiences, and not afraid to admit their flaws. I guess this means that I love authenticity. There is something audacious and rare about being exactly who you are, and not hiding or augmenting anything for the sake of image. Perhaps that is why I was originally drawn to live in Austin - I can think of no other place on Earth where people collectively feel so free to be themselves. (Interestingly, the public figures who inspire me and my art the most are not other artists - they're musicians. Maybe I do belong here.)

So if writing in this blog means that you might be able to see and therefore pick apart my thoughts, actions, behaviors, chosen topics, and well, art, with your own analyses, that's fine. I firmly believe -- despite constant struggle with all types of interpersonal relationships growing up -- that people are inherently good. Like attracts like. If you love authenticity and honesty, if you light up when people are real with you, then you are exactly who I want to write for. You are my audience. Everyone else can hit "Back."

This is me, take me or leave me, flaws, curse words, insecurities, unfinished work, topics that might make parents and relatives cringe, and all. It's an exercise in countering my self-sabotaging perfectionism, because yes, there is a crippling side of me that doesn't want anyone to see a work in progress. This is the same side of me that has panic attacks and can't fall asleep at night because I'm worried about things I can't control. I'm making a solid effort here to let go of that side of me, because it isn't healthy. I need this venue, and I need to be raw and flawed here, even if at times I hate it or have to force myself, if only for my own sanity. If you're here and you're reading, I hope you enjoy.

New Portraits (or, What I Learned about Art and Perfectionism)

2009-08-10T18:44:00.000-05:00

I am very happy to say that I finally completed a portrait that I have been working on for a fairly ridiculous amount of time. The subject of this painting is Jessica Olsson, Collection Manager at the Goss-Michael Foundation in Dallas:

She and I dreamt up the concept over a year ago when I was an intern there, so to see it finally come to fruition is something of a quiet victory for me - mostly because this is actually my second attempt at this portrait. Originally it was on a larger 36"x48" canvas, and I struggled with the background and scale. Here is a photo of my abandoned original attempt (which I am not proud of, but I learned a lot from):

Several problems with this: I was planning to develop the background quite a bit more, but I'd already painted over it so many times that the dried layers underneath were too textured for anything I painted over it to look right. Not only that, but I placed too much emphasis on the background by having her so small in contrast to the landscape. The concept involved a simultaneous visual representation of two very different sides of Jessica's lineage: her Swedish father and her Kenyan mother. Her appreciation for luxury and high fashion, something she relates to her father, is demonstrated by the couture-like gown; her maternal Kenyan roots are displayed by the savannah in which she stands.

The unfinished painting caused me so much anxiety that I took several breaks from it. To freshen my perspective, sharpen my skills, and have a little fun, I painted two smaller portraits in the meantime:

Self-Portrait. 18"x24", oil on canvas, 2009.

Portrait of Elle Moss. 18"x24", oil on canvas, 2009.
http://ellemoss.blogspot.com/

I think the refreshing effect of painting these portraits is obvious in the final painting.

Like these portraits, I chose a smaller canvas than the previous one (though slightly larger than those above),
I adjusted it from a landscape to portrait orientation,
I painted more thinly and let the layers gradually build up, resisting my usual impatient and heavy-handed nature,
and finally, I essentially stopped trying to say too much, too obviously, with one painting. There was no longer a dress, just her face -- the most important part, which should be the focal point of any portrait anyway -- and a vague indication of the African setting.

More than anything, I learned to be honest with myself about what each individual painting needs, and to trust my instincts as an artist. I am a perfectionist, and I was eager for Jessica to be happy with it. Taking a break and refocusing my priorities allowed me to see that my perfectionism was actually sabotaging my efforts. After creating those two smaller portraits, it was like a light turned on.

After years of well-intentioned parental conditioning not to be a quitter, I learned that sometimes it is best -- and okay -- to just throw in the towel. I barreled through about five layers of failed backgrounds, miserably, because I felt that I had to, led by a nagging voice in my head. The longer it took me to make serious, satisfactory progress, the more I dreaded working on it. I needed a fresh start for my own mental health at that point. Because I'd reworked the abandoned one so much, my own anxiety was embedded in the layers of the painting. I wasn't having fun with it, and it was obvious. I knew that I would have to start completely over and create an entirely new painting, but that it would be worth it, and that I would enjoy the process so much more. So I didn't give up entirely, I just gave the painting a new path.

I now prioritize fun in every painting I do. It's easy for painting to become work or feel like a 'second job' because, essentially, it is, because of all the time and effort it requires in addition to earning a living. But if you're going to throw so much of yourself into this, to really create a career from it, you have to enjoy it as much as you did when you were a kid, drawing on napkins and scraps of computer paper - if you don't, there's simply no point. And the only way to do that is to let go of that stubborn, negative side of you that's telling you, "it has to be perfect, or you've failed."

So I shut off that voice, told myself it would turn out great because the other portraits did, and I took it slow. I am much happier with the result and so, thankfully, is Jessica.

Total hours on Jessica's second and final painting: 40
Total hours on Jessica's first, abandoned painting: undocumented, approx. 38-42
Total hours on Self Portrait: 22
Total hours on Portrait of Elle Moss: 30

5 Tips for Organizing a Messy Studio

2009-07-29T20:09:00.014-05:00

The first few studios you set up are always a learning experience: how to store supplies, removing oil paint from carpet, clothes, and cats. Having moved a few times and reestablished a permanent studio in five different apartments so far, I have a bit of experience in what works and doesn't for your first (or first few) tries in small, limited spaces.

In undergrad art school, you usually have the option to paint in the open studio on campus or paint at home. Unpacking and repacking my supplies each time became a huge hassle so I set up a studio in my apartment bedroom. I painted in a small space next to my bed. Not having much money, I made use of what I had. Earlier I'd bought a cheap wire kitchen cart because a previous dorm only had a kitchenette, and not much storage. Suddenly it was no use to me in my full kitchen, so I employed it as a surface for storing my palette while painting and situated it directly to the right of my canvas.

I also owned an easel but found that in the tiny space, it was a space-waster. I could barely even fit it into the space I was painting in. So I hung the painting directly to the wall. Why hadn't I thought of that before? (I went back to it later in a different space, but now I prefer the wall anyway, I think).

Cramped as it was, it worked for me for an entire year and I created almost the entire "Naked" series from that post.

A painting professor of mine at the time allowed us to visit his studio one bright Saturday, and it set my art-student mind abuzz with dreams of how I eventually wanted to set up my own studio. The room was as big as my apartment is now, and it was filled with wooden racks to the ceiling of probably more than 20 years' worth of paintings. He'd built a huge table covered by a glass palette, which was piled with oozing, blended gobs of paint. Bookshelves of art magazines and literature filled the other space, and skylights lit up the room. What an amazing workspace I could create if only I had the money.

Tired of having roommates, I got my own place immediately after I graduated and moved to Austin. Suddenly I had the incredible freedom of... painting in the living room! In my (then) 460 square foot apartment, I set up shop in the corner of the living room. I laid down the kind of plastic T-shaped mat you use under desks, and plastic drop-cloths on the carpet and the lower part of the walls. I was in business.

Almost. I had just adopted a kitten, who had a mind of her own about this sticky wet stuff I was putting on my brushes and spreading over canvas. Hence the kitty cage:

Borrowed from my parents who had adopted a Great Dane puppy, the heavy gate kept their gigantic dog restrained until he was trained, but it was no match for Peaches. She eventually learned to climb it, as the space inside became even more appealing than the other 450 square feet in the apartment. So I did away with the cage when I moved to my next place, deciding that I would just have to learn to be less messy. Painting inside of a cage is pretty weird, anyway.

Artists are known for being messy. Some degree of this is fine and even helpful for the creative process, but materials need to be in a place where you can find them when you need them. Being a bit type A myself, I've created the following list for keeping everything in its place, at the lowest price.

This list is geared towards painters and crafters, but I think anyone can benefit from these simple, inexpensive tips:

1. Organize your materials by type and store them in clear plastic boxes. I prefer The Container Store's shoe and sweater boxes. They're cheap, from $1.49 to $7.99 depending on size, so I usually grab 5 or 6 every time I go, which isn't often (I use them for desk and closet organization, too).

2. Label each container using thin masking tape and a Sharpie, or a label maker if you're anal like me. Another way is to print labels from your home computer.

3. Use as much vertical space as you can. This is a good tip for all organization projects - so many of our surfaces are horizontal, when we have walls and walls of usable space extending upwards. It's a studio, not a design floor showcase, so find a cheap, tall, narrow bookshelf from Craigslist or build your own. My father and I built my bookshelf together in his workshop and I painted it a matte white so it would blend in with the wall. Stack your clear plastic boxes on top of each other on the shelves.

4. Make use of portable rolling carts. I store the paints, brushes, palettes, and reference images of whatever I'm currently working on (and okay, occasional glass of wine) on a simple wire kitchen cart.

5. Store the reference or inspiration images you aren't currently using in an expanding file so you can get to them easily. I also like to make binders of images I'm fascinated by alongside my scribbled notes and ideas, protected by plastic sleeves, so I can flip through them easily and mark them with sticky notes describing what it is I like about each image or idea. Having visual information organized and accessible like this makes getting out of a painting rut a lot easier. Now when I'm feeling a creative block coming on, I just flip through those binders.

When possible, it's important to make use of things you already have. Beyond that, most studios are going to have some relative degree of benevolent messiness. I've learned to accept it. But if you can at least find what you need, you can maintain enough sanity to bring your amazing ideas to life. As long as this one doesn't get involved:

How messy is your studio? Share your tips for keeping it all together in the comments.

Effective Art Studios: What I've Learned

2009-07-14T22:33:00.002-05:00

People tend, by necessity, to become more creative in uncertain or imperiled economic times. When we are forced to get by with less, we must find new ways of working, thinking, and interacting with our belongings and environment - making do with what you have. This is especially true in art studios, where intellectual and physical room for ideas to flow is paramount.

I live alone, in a one bedroom apartment. It isn't that spacious, and my living room shares precious square footage with my studio. Without my couch and barely used TV and wooden media cabinet, I would have an incredible amount of space to work in. When I began moving into my apartment, I thought that having a couch and the set-up of a 'typical' living space was what I wanted, to be comfortable. In fits of dissatisfaction, I have rearranged my living space three times. I'm giving up. It's time to make do with less. It's time to reprioritize - as an artist, as a designer of my space and an architect of my life.

Although moving my sofa around has not really changed much in my life, I've realized that I was on to something when I knew that my dysfunctional space was contributing to a greater stress and frustration in my life. When I was dissatisfied with my space, I noticed I also wasn't painting as often and when I did I had to browbeat myself into it. We all know that clutter is bad for our homes and workspaces, but it's bad for our emotional health and creativity, too. This is relevant for everyone, but especially so for creative types and artists. I'm not an expert in feng shui, but I believe the underlying belief is similar to what I'm purporting: your space affects more in your life than is immediately apparent.

As an artist, I need space to store all my supplies, hard floors, and at least one good wall to paint from. The layout of my workspace should meet my needs - this is just being practical. But it also doesn't need to compete with my couch and TV for space and attention. Do I really need that couch? Probably not. Do I need my TV? I don't have cable and don't want it. I enjoy watching my Netflix movies, but other than that, it's just wasted space and unnecessary heaviness. So I have decided to sell my living room furniture and move into an apartment with hard floors. It means sacrificing the 'comforts' of a traditional home in favor of having less, so that I can do more. With that bulky, unnecessary furniture gone, my space will have more, well, space. More room for new ideas to flow into my studio and breathe new life into my work. That's where the value of decluttering really lies - getting rid of what isn't working for you anymore, so that you can make room for what will, both literally and figuratively.

Any young artist starting out has to make several choices about their continued practice, and workspace is critical. Most don't have the money to rent a separate studio and must work in their homes (I, for one, prefer it hands down). There is no course for this in art school, so this is what I've learned through trial and error:

I believe it's crucial for single artists to live alone if possible, as the solitude breeds a creativity that isn't affected by subconscious worry about roommates peeking in and judging the unfinished. The importance of silence to think and space to yourself cannot be overstated.
The single most important thing you can do when you leave art school is to set up a studio in your new place right away. No other action you take to further your career will matter as much as this. This is a great piece of offhand advice I received during a critique by my former figure painting professor, Robert Jessup, and I can attest to its truth.
Wait as long as possible after moving to your next home to decorate and fill it with furniture. Being impatient and eager to move on with life post-college, I began acquiring furniture for my new place before I'd even moved there, thinking I'd wing it and make it work later. Going from art student to artist out there in the 'real world' is a huge transition. Allow time to get to know yourself in your new role and environment. Your needs may not be what you once thought they were.
Decide what your workspace needs are, and be honest with yourself. If you don't want art to be just a corner of your life, give it more than a corner in your living room. It really does come down to that.
Realize that the space you live in is more than a reflection of who you are. It is an instrument. It will affect how you spend your free time, and how you see yourself. Coming home to a bright, well-stocked studio will remind you that you're an artist and this is what you want to do with your life. Coming home to a cushy living room and then trying to work in it is distracting. If you can afford to separate these spaces, by all means. But if not, you must choose one or the other.
If you are a painter, avoid carpet like the plague.

My current lease ends in November, so I will be living here and searching for new ways to make my space more functional until then. I will be giving more useful tips for decluttering and studio/workspace organization in future posts.

Artists: What space did you use for your studio when you first started out, and what did this tell you about yourself? What worked and what didn't? Let it out in the comments.