The Big Idea

Last night, I happened, really by accident, to have a brief dinner with a group of local artists that I know from the department. Three were grad students, one was an undergrad, one was a professor, and to be honest, I don’t really know what the sixth one is doing these days. I was sitting there at the table, talking to the friend that I actually came to the restaurant with, and listening, on and off, to their conversation. They were talking about art, and ideas, and history. I realized very early on that everyone at the table was a much better artist than I am-- not because they’re more talented than I am necessarily (though frankly, there’s a good chance that that’s true as well), but because their ideas are better.

I have almost no background in art prior to about four years ago. My environment as a child was not a particularly cultured one, and most of what I knew about art I knew from comic books and cheap wall prints and the smattering of art history that was taught in my school growing up. I knew what art was, but I didn’t understand it. This, I think, is a common problem.

In art, what you can do is not nearly so important as why you’re doing it. Just a few months back, I was talking to a painter friend of mine, a serious and very talented artist, and she told me about a conversation she’d had with a grad student. She had been talking about her work and what it meant to her and what she thought she was trying to do with it, and when she was done, he asked her why she was working with paint. Why paint on canvas instead of sculpture or photography or pen and ink? She didn’t have an answer. After all the thought she had given her work, that one, blindingly obvious question completely stumped her. It would have me, too.

You see, if you don’t know why you’re doing what you’re doing, it loses some of its value. Of course there is something to be said for pure aesthetics, or sheer technical skill, but really, almost anyone can make something pretty, and you’d be amazed just how many people out there have a natural artistic ability. If you want to have an impact, if you want to make something that will stand the test of time, the conceptual side is actually significantly more important than the visual side. The idea counts for more than the finished product. Most people don’t think about that. I never did, before I came to college.

You can’t take anything for granted. Sure, you may find this image interesting, but why would anyone else? Yes, you may love to paint, but are you certain that painting is the correct way to address the issues you’re dealing with? Have you considered this? Have you tried that? Alright, great, you have an idea. Bully for you. So how are you going to share that idea with others in a way that makes sense? Art is full of hard questions, and the more you think about them, the harder they get.

In physics, they talk about the notion of a well-posed problem. In order to achieve anything, you must first clearly state your objective. Art is more like science than people realize. What are your objectives? What are you trying to do? Posing the problem can be harder than solving it.

So back to last night: I was sitting there, looking around the table at the immensely talented people all around me, and I felt deeply inadequate. I have a great deal of natural ability as an artist. My sense of aesthetics, while perhaps a bit quirky, is strong. But when it comes to ideas, I’ve spent most of the past several years grasping at straws. I don’t know what I want to do. I certainly don’t know why I want to do it.

It’s not that I don’t have ideas, or even that my ideas are bad. They’re just… shallow. Empty. I conjure up these overly complex themes in the hopes that they’ll pan out into a career, or at least a body of work, but they’re all two-dimensional. They just sound good, just look pretty-- they don’t mean anything. They’re not saying anything. There is no truth in them. Real art is always true (though not always factual). What truths do I have to share? What is it about me that I what other people to see? I don’t know yet. I’ve been without sleep at times trying to think of it.

It has been suggested to me that I’m trying too hard, thinking too much. That’s probably accurate; certainly it’s possible to think yourself into a corner. I’ve come to the conclusion lately that I cannot create a Big Idea-- the idea is there already, and I have to find it and flesh it out in its entirety. Easier said than done; I’m so lost these days, I don’t know where to look. When that happens, you take a break, clear your head, and come back at the problem from a different angle. But it’s discouraging when you start to feel like there are only so many angles left.

Why am I an artist? Why do I want what I want?

It can be depressing, asking yourself questions like that, but there’s value in it. Question everything and you won’t find yourself chasing after figments.