ARRESTE

Saturday, May 4, 2013

Arrested by the No-Talent Police

“I still believe that at any time, the no-talent police will come and arrest me”- Mike Myers

My parents bought a modest, affordable house in the suburbs. It came with a small backyard pool that has since been filled in due to the nuisance of upkeep. But at the time, it was such a novelty that they hosted summer barbecues for our relatives. I was and still am a poor swimmer, barely able to complete one width (not length) of a pool. One year, my aunts and cousins invited some friends and their children. I’d recently bought a one-piece, budget swimsuit patterned with red, white and blue stars and stripes. I looked like a Chinese-American flag which was probably why it was so cheap. I went out to the pool deck just to sit and wet my feet – and discovered one of our guests wearing the exact suit. Problem was, she was 6yrs. old while I was all of 32. Not only that, she swam like a baby porpoise out of hell. Her Dad monitored laps while she zoomed back and forth. Do you think you can do one more? he asked in a tone of voice reserved for business ventures that are a done deal, but all parties go through the motions for the sake of courtesy. I’ll try Daddy, replies Dolphin Junior, who then churned up the pool in seconds flat while people cheered and clapped. To paraphrase Lady Macbeth– who knew one kid could raise so much spume? I used the opportunity to try and slink away unnoticed but not before I heard my smart-ass cousin Stanley holler at my retreating back: Hey! Can you do that?

Even though I’ve been an artist for over three decades, there are more times than I care to admit, when I still feel like a rank amateur. Much of what contributes to an artist’s insecurities comes from the inevitable experiences we all encounter when we bring our work out into the world. Rejection, frustration, disappointment or lack of response have a cumulative effect on psyche and soul. Most artists involved in any creative field rarely have a steady income or stable life from pursuing their craft, no matter how important it is to them. For some, it becomes necessary to find alternate sources such as family, friends, community and additional jobs– capable of providing support and balance otherwise missing in their lives. One of my guilty pleasures is reality TV talent competitions: all the Food Network cooking contests, interior and fashion design star searches, shows where unknown singers with incredible voices finally get on nationwide TV. Many people eliminated at the appetizer round, the first garment or room display, preliminary auditions– are remarkably talented with credentials already! Small wonder that the ghost of self-doubt haunts some artists for the rest of their lives. Because one of the most persistent challenges to overcome is the belief that the reason for poor results, for the lack of interest or so much rejection, is the quality of one’s work. The No-Talent Police whisper in the back of an artist’s mind, that maybe their work just isn’t good enough as confirmed by evidence of repeated struggle, failure, and huge effort for little gain. They also don’t care whether or not in fact, the belief is warranted. Navigating the intricacies of art business permits further opportunities for insecurities to grow. I get my anxiety and small panic attacks whenever a commercial gallery does express interest in my work because that’s where the biggest let-downs and complications tend to happen. Most of my art practice and income has occurred in non-commercial venues: public, institutional, regional galleries and artist-run spaces. Switching to a commercial venue, with its agenda, protocols and expectations, requires a whole different mind set. A dealer once confided that running her gallery was quite hard. All they want is junk! she cried. If that’s her observation, what does it mean for artists seeking representation? If we sell, is the quality of our work limited? But artists who sell have more professional credibility and higher market value, certainly in the eyes of other galleries, government, appraisers, and associated enterprises. If we don’t sell– what? Our work is good/not good enough? Maybe, maybe not, but rent is still due. We all know that fine work can still generate income and mediocre art stay where it belongs. But if the ultimate dream of any artist is to make a living from what they do, the dynamics of a system needed for art to operate as a viable business sends confusing, frustrating messages to those who submit their work. No wonder, that even successful artists question their own true worth; become susceptible to feeling like a “fraud” or “fake.” Are they involved in art or commodities, investment or the creative process? Some artists are capable of taking care of business– and still produce the kind of work they want to do. Power to them. But if nothing sells, nothing further comes from the initial euphoria of being taken on. I’ve been welcomed into a “stable” and put out to pasture within months. It’s difficult to maintain faith in one’s own process, to believe in the work we do when questionable sources of external validation serve as the gold standard. However that is exactly what we have to do. As Georgia O’keeffe once said: “To create one’s world in any of the arts takes courage.” Sometimes the very people who declined our submissions– dealers, directors, curators, jurors– are the ones who encourage us not to change our work because they still recognize what we have to offer. Integrity may not always pay the bills but it does help to preserve the essence of an artist’s soul. It puts our insecurities in a broader perspective, allows us to step back once in a while, so we can still function in spite of their presence.
Insecurity and the pursuit of excellence often bump into each other as well; hard to tell where one ends and the other begins sometimes. Used as a motivation towards improvement or the furthering of one’s craft – it becomes an asset. When insecurity immobilizes an artist from making any effort– that’s when it’s a liability. Many of us will never be totally free from its debilitating effects. But if we continue to make art regardless of its no-talent police voice, victory is already ours.