Let me tell you a story about a very naive, young artist…
Once upon a time, my art felt incredibly meaningful. I felt like I was going to change the world, to connect with people, to help people. I was watching how my art healed me and I knew, with a fierce pride, that my art could heal others. I believed in it.
Lake Windermere I, © Sarah Marie Lacy - 16"x20" acrylic on canvas, SOLD
The first few months of my officially launched art career went better than I’d expected. I sold 2 pieces at my first solo show in October 2007, and then had 5 commissions for Christmas. I was busy, and making more money than I’d ever believed possible. I loved every single second.
But then the Christmas rush ended. And I didn’t quite know what to do next. I’d had a solo show – now what? So I applied for the Pelham Art Festival, a well-known juried art fair in Southwestern Ontario. I got in. Then I painted a piece for another local juried show, this time with a Valentine’s Day theme. I didn’t get in, but only because the Canada Post took it’s sweet time delivering my entry. I was still on a roll. My art still meant something. I was full of a beginner’s pride and confidence. I hadn’t hit any real walls yet, and felt like I could conquer the world.
In May, I showed my work at the Pelham Art Festival. You could call this the beginning of the end. It was 2008 and not a soul was buying art in the depths of the recession. Attendance was down. Suddenly my art was in competition with over 65 other artists. And at the tender age of 20, I was the youngest there by far.
I was a very little fish, in a much larger pond. I was way outta my league.
I suddenly felt very, very small. And not quite so confident in myself and my art as before. People would just wander past my booth. Don’t even ask me what the booth looked like – let’s just say it involved a wobbly plastic table, and a tackily coloured lawn chair. The art looked great – everything else? Not so much.
I did get a full page article in the local papers, which was nice. And people recognized me, but I didn’t know how to capitalize on that name recognition. This was the Real World, and I had no idea what to do.
Not to mention, suddenly I was sitting there while listening to others criticize my art under their breaths. I tried not to listen. Other artists would stop by and tell me how to improve my art – more contrast, they said. There’s not enough contrast. (They were right.)
In my already weakened state, one offhand comment from a family friend cut me to the core:
“I just don’t really feel anything when I look at your work.”
The River Dee II, © Sarah Marie Lacy - 11"x14" acrylic on canvas, SOLD
It was like everyone was suddenly really far away, and I was free falling into a void. He doesn’t…feel anything?
I fought it. I argued it out in my head a million times over. I defended my art. I defended myself. I told myself he was cold-hearted & hated nature, couldn’t possibly understand the delicate feelings in my landscapes.
It was too late. The damage had been done. My inner doubts had heard those words and ran with them. It had never occurred to me before that people could look at my work and not feel anything. (Oh, how young and naive. It was before I’d learned that tastes vary.)
The stage was set. I suddenly doubted the emotions in my work. I started to doubt if it meant anything, or had any value at all.
Enter The Marketing Coaches
I was feeling intensely overwhelmed at this point. It was June of 2008 – I knew I needed business help and I hadn’t sold a painting in months. So I decided to use the $2000 I’d inherited from my grandfather and hire some marketing coaches and buy their system.
Don’t get me wrong – they were lovely. They heard my story, they gave me a discount, they taught me a lot about the inner workings of marketing.
But we didn’t quite see eye-to-eye when it came to my art. Or really, the kind of business that I wanted to run. For them, a blog was a chore that helped you get better SEO rankings. For me, it was this wonderful new tool for connection.
For them, you never mentioned a single negative emotion attached to your art. Never. Ever. That was a Very Bad Idea. No one would ever buy your art if they ever found out that it was pain that had inspired that piece.
The pain of your heart breaking, the pain of losing a loved one, the pain of abuse, the pain of grief, the pain of illness.
Yellow Rose, © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2010. 16"x20" acrylic on canvas, framed.
No one wants your pain. People only want to know about happy things. (Nowadays I say…explain the blues! Explain Death Metal! Explain the 8 billion songs written about heartbreak!)
My paintings were me trying to transform the pain. But that had to be kept a secret.
That was in August of 2008. I could list on one hand the number of paintings I’ve officially finished and posted on my site since then. There are almost none that I am truly happy with.
Quite frankly, I don’t know how to paint without pain.
I don’t know how to produce a painting without that bittersweet edge. And heaven knows, I haven’t yet. But when I’m finished, or trying to finish, I am ashamed of that. I am ashamed of the darkness in my work. I am ashamed of the occasional sombreness, the muted colours, the tinge of sadness.
And so I never really finish. I walk away. I feel like I’ve failed, that no one could ever connect with the darkness in my work.
I feel like the work I do is meaningless. If it’s only for my selfish gratification, why bother?
Why bother?
I hate those words. I hate the apathy behind those words. And as I struggle to complete the paintings for my application to the studio in France, I come up against this voice every single day.
It says, “No one wants your art. No one wants your pain. No one wants you. What’s the point of you going to France? To improve, you say? To produce more art that no one will want? It’s stupid. You’re stupid. Stop.”
We all have an inner critic. Mine is just a particularly ornery asshole.
I’ve been acting like a performing bear the past 2 years. I keep trying to make art that others will like, that others will approve of. I keep trying to be less of me, and more of someone else.
I am actually physically incapable of maintaining this any longer.
I’m going to have to start acknowledging that my art comes from pain, from the bittersweet taste of life.
But I’m going to need your help to do it.
Love Notes
Nude #1, © Sarah Marie Lacy, 36"x36" acrylic on canvas.
I want to create a reminder to myself that some people (my Right People) connect with my art. I have some emails and comments of my own that people have sent me. But I would love to hear from you. Have you connected to my art in some way? Have you been touched, moved, inspired? Did you feel hopeful, understood, heard? Did you look at a painting and say, yes, I’ve felt that way too?
Put it in the comments, send me an email, shout it out on Twitter, put it on Facebook – whatever your preferred method of communication is, I’ll take it.
Thank you.
xoxo
p.s. If you don’t like my art, or don’t connect with it in any way, and you agree that, hell yes, never tell people that your art comes from pain – I would really appreciate it if you didn’t say any of these things out loud. Or at least, anywhere that I can hear/read them. Thanks.
7 Comments
What a wonderfully courageous post!
I’m going to pay you a compliment that may not sound like one at first, so please withhold judgement until the end of my comment.
I don’t generally love realistic paintings without people in them, which means I like your Nude #1 best from an aesthetic point of view. I recognise and admire your skill in the landscapes and flower, but they’re not usually the type of painting I’d seek out to have in my house.
(I’m more of a death metal type gal, so I like my paintings on the verge of the abstract, with bold colours, action or surrealism and a lot of contrast.)
But your Yellow Rose just breaks my heart.
Not because you’re a great painter who hides her pain, but because you’re a great painter who is willing to share what moves her. The painting has become a conduit for connection, something that makes something in me out for you, rather than just a pretty or artful thing.
Yes, I’ve felt that way too.
And I never would have known if you hadn’t told me.
You know wifey and me adore your art. Any time you feel a bit meh re-read what MIL said about the painting you did for her.
*cuddles*
I think all art arises from pain. Even the kitchy stuff, and the fluffy stuff. That stuff is made and meant to hide, disguise, gloss over and deny that pain exists.
Let’s face it, pain hurts, and kitchy denial is one way to deal with it. The artist who goes deeper, who seeks bedrock, discovers both the pain and the rising above, discovers the human courage, the enduring and transcending, that makes art satisfying and complete.
That’s why the songs work. That’s why the very best art rips the heart from the chest.
And that’s why art makes us all a bit more human and alive. It gives us both the pain and the redemption.
Your art is strong and has depth, because you are strong and deep.
Good to see you’re back from your online break.
Some people will always connect with what you do. But many won’t. If you manage to come up with an image that *everyone* likes and will connect with; you’ll be a billionaire overnight as every marketing company on Earth tries to throw money at you. It’s not likely to happen though.
When images appeal to many people at once, they do so because they lack depth and power. Strength inspires loyalty and passion, but also dislike, envy and even hatred.
I wrote about it a while ago, with far more swearing than I’m doing here, but whatever you make or whoever you are, there will be people who connect very deeply to it. In fact, I’d argue you’d be fine pissing off 99% of humanity but deeply connecting to the remaining 1%. Because the remaining 1% will follow you to hell and back. Obviously, you’re not anywhere near pissing off 99% of any population.
It’s far better to produce the work you connect with, with the sure knowledge that it will connect with someone else just as deeply; than to produce what you think people might like.
And yes, I like your figure work, but that really isn’t relevant or important. Compliments and complaints are pretty much background noise to making art. What someone likes or dislikes is largely a result of their background etc rather than what you do. Once you reach a level of technical proficiency, which you have, it’s really just about the viewer’s background/tastes. Which you’ve no control over.
Sure I don’t really connect with the landscapes, but they are obviously technically well executed and professional. The reason I don’t connect with them as well as the figure work isn’t because of anything you’ve done. It’s just the genre I prefer. The only way you’d be sure to have them connect with me is by placing a large figure in the foreground… Which, you know, kinda makes it not a landscape anymore. Not so reasonable.
Every artist, who’s any good, thinks their work needs major improvements. Every artist no matter how good, is always improving their work. There will always be people better and always those who’re worse.
The better you are and the deeper you connect with people, the stronger the emotions in your viewers become: Both positive and negative. It’s a matter of realizing that negative reactions are evidence that you’re actually connecting strongly with people. Connecting deeply with one person means you’re probably alienating several others.
Which is fine. Because in this market you make the best living by connecting with a few people very deeply.
Keep going.
Hands and Sleeping Innocence. Those are the two I connected with the most. Hands is a love story unto itself and Sleeping Innocence makes me smile. I’ve suffered from insomnia and nightmares since I was a teen so it’s a backward connection I feel to that one.
I’m of the opinion that telling the story behind the painting is critical to forming a connection with somebody. It matters not what that story is. Whether it’s a joyous or a painful one in my opinion it should be told.
That helps people connect with you. It’s why I bookmarked your site months ago. Your willingness to let us know the real you. It’s already been stated above that you can’t please all the people all the time. That’s OK and once you let go of that and truly paint what’s in your heart the rest will follow. Ultimately you’ll build up a core group of collectors that buy your art because they like it AND because they connect with you the person.
We have to eat so I get where you feel the need to paint what people want. I paint dogs to keep my head above water at this point but don’t neglect the art YOU want to create. The paintings that come straight from the heart exposing the cauldron of emotions within you. Ultimately it’s those paintings that will lead to your definition of success in your art career.
Your as real as it gets Sarah and for the various personal reasons we all have we connect with YOU the artist.
Hey Sarah, I too get so discouraged by my inner and outer critics. It causes painters block doesn’t it? grrr… I like your tag line, “Art that reminds you to dream” but, your art makes me remember, I feel like I have been there before, they are places that bring me peace. Places I want to go to when I am in pain. You have so many kind words here from people who connect with you and/or your art. Remember them when the inner critic tries to convince you that you’re not good enough. You paint beautifully! Keep on.
Sarah, I’m so glad you’ve brought this up- that you’ve recognized that painting “for other people” has reaped so little. I have struggled with this before- wanting to paint something “pretty” and “happy” so that others will maybe want to buy it. Well, my heart wasn’t in it.
I think that most people CONNECT to pain and some of my favorite paintings of yours are “Masked” and “Lonely”- I hope that those make it into your application process to the school in France. (i hope that doesn’t come off as me telling you what to do:))
And if I haven’t said it before, I’ve been to Art School- spent 7 years of my life there- and your art would be in the top 5% as far as how technically “good” it is. And when you paint your pain, your loss, your heartache, well, in my humble opinion, THAT is great art.
Good Luck with your application and the ones who don’t “feel” anything when they look at your art, aren’t worthy enough to have it hang in their homes. Period.