Sunday, December 31, 2017

Essential Questions: The Next Step in Your Career

When looking to take the next step forward with your career, how do you make your choices? How do you decide what shows or galleries you want to be in? What are the criteria you use to make those decisions? Our ProWax members often talk about career issues. These are some of their comments.



Edited by Jane Guthridge

Dorothy Cochran I always have a number of projects going, so when one finishes the others are already in motion. My choices of exhibition venues and shows are often dictated by who the juror or curator is and whether I want that person to see what I am working on and whether the efforts are worth my time, energy and finances. Some of my best artistic moments in the past year have been total surprises, proving to me that if I just keep working diligently there will be returns when I least expect them. I seek a balanced life between art and living.

Whether we think in terms of stepping up or stepping forward, a career stagnates if it doesn't move 


Paula Roland I take an overview, make some choices, set a few in motion, and let it ride. Mostly things happen in their own time. I know that sounds vague, but trying too hard does not help. Like making art, the best things happen unexpectedly, or at least organically, after you set intentions.

Heidi F. Beal Put your career in context with your life. I went a bit sideways recently in this department. I messaged a colleague for advice and she answered back, "What do you want to do in this precious life?"

Laura Moriarty I agree with Heidi in thinking of it as a way of life rather than a career, but I give my resume a good evaluation about once a year. I look for gaps, weaknesses, things I might want to change, or items that might be missing altogether, and I make filling them in a goal. I try to focus on just one aspect. Last year, for instance, I determined that it would be good to get my work in more institutional collections. I didn't really do anything special to make it happen other than make myself mindful of it, but it worked.

Lorrie Fredette I've always kept the growth of my work, which is also personal growth, at the forefront of everything. Then, I think about the spaces best suited for it and pursue introductions as well was conversations with these curators and directors. In hindsight, the path has been more organic and aligned with my interests (i.e. my admiration of universities, schools and small museums). Over the years, I have made decisions to carry debt in order to realize a new work. I enter into debt consciously and with a "get out of debt plan" once the work has been made.

Joanne Mattera For 15 years I didn't have a plan. I just followed the carrot of an idea that I wanted to "make it" as an artist. I lived on a commune with artists, then moved to a city and took all kinds of odd jobs that sapped my time and energy. I entered a lot of juried shows and said yes to almost everything. Although art was the entire focus of my life, I got nowhere careerwise (though I learned how to be a better artist). 

When I moved to New York City in 1983 I was without a studio for a couple of years. I spent a lot of time visiting galleries and that's when I understood how to move my career forward.
. I learned that galleries have programs, and I tried to find the one(s) that would be receptive to my work
. I approached gallerists as a colleague, unlike in earlier days when I'd approach them like a beggar
. I got picky about where I showed and with whom
. I adopted a mentor
. I realized with a shock that getting into a gallery was not the end of my effort but the beginning of a larger one
. When invitations started coming my way, I stopped entering juried shows
. I networked and continue to do so. I curate, which creates tremendous goodwill and reciprocity among other artists; and because this is where my life is now, I'm focusing attention on women artists over 50.

While it helped that I wrote a book on encaustic and created an incredible conference, in terms of expanding my career beyond medium I'd say that the networking and blogging have been what have propelled me. 

Debra Claffey For many years, the goal was to carve out time and materials to work, while working free-lance or part-time, and later starting a small company. Then with time available, I entered juried shows, worked with groups that empower women artists, and learned professional skills. There wasn't much time left over for networking, going to receptions, or marketing. Now, I am learning from the professional artists in groups online, building relationships and getting to receptions. I'm working on making my own opportunities, and being ready for invitations. I am selective about which shows to enter, thinking about who the curator or juror is, who will see the work, and whether the show helps round out my resume.

Dan Addington This isn’t a "big picture" answer, but I have this convo with many artists and I often float the idea of hiring an assistant. There are a lot of ways to do this. Maybe it just means hiring grunt work out to craftsmen or part timers. Maybe it means hiring a part timer to do digital organizing and records. I do know that when it's time, for the people who do it,  it results in positive change.

Laura Moriarty So true. I hired an assistant for one day a week for one year and it led to my being able to go full-time. My assistant handled my correspondence with curators and galleries, and managed all my files - images and documents, including any new work that needed to be photographed. She prepared my newsletters. She proofread my proposals and offered great suggestions. She also kept the studio clean and organized. Nothing makes you get your shit together like having to pay someone by the hour! I spent every Sunday preparing for her (because she worked independently on Mondays while I was at R&F). Having an assistant is not a walk in the park, but it allowed me to concentrate on making new work at a time when I was really overwhelmed.


Krista Svalbonas I made a list of goals ages ago when I read through both Jackie Battenfield's  The Artist’s Guide: How to Make a Living Doing What You Love as well as Art/Work written by Heather Darcy Bhandari and Jonathan Melber. Some were long term goals and others were short term. I regularly check and see where I am. I tick off boxes and add new short-term goals. I do a lot a lot of research--looking up grants, residencies and galleries that would be a fit for my work. I try and stay on top of it all but it can get quite tricky especially when I might be working on several projects at once in the studio.

I joined a gallery collective in Philly recently because I wanted to be more proactive with my career. I'm interested in curating and also interested in making opportunities for myself instead of waiting for someone else to. One of those is taking my work and many other artists associated with the gallery to the Satellite Art Fair at Miami Basel this winter. I'm excited to learn new skills and also excited to see where this leads next!

Milisa Galazzi I have created a calendar form which helps me plot my short and long term goals in one document. I have printed out a form for each year until 2020 and they hang horizontal along the wall of my studio. I can plot goals month by month and year to year. This has been an incredibly helpful planning tool from applying to residencies and exhibitions to art travel to monthly studio production goals. Setting reasonable goals is one type of challenge; tracking the progress towards these goals is another!

Elizabeth Harris I only seem to achieve the goals I have written down, and given myself a time limit on. 

Jeff Juhlin I like Heidi’s comment. What do you really want to do with this precious human life you have and how does that fit into your art practice and your dealings with the art world?

In Five Words: Dianne Jean Erickson

Curated by Debra Claffey


In Five Words is a regular feature of ProWax Journal in which we go literal, lyrical, and poetic. Visual art does not exist in a vacuum, it sings along with poetry and prose, music and rhythm. Each issue we ask our feature artists to comment on one of their works with five single words, chosen to add meaning and highlight intent.


A Weighty Subject, 2016, encaustic, pigment stick on birch panel, 8 x 8 inches

balance
tension
revealing
suspense
subjective

www.dianneerickson.com/

Studio Visit: Shelley Gilchrist, Chicago area

By Shelley Gilchrist


From my back door I walk 40 feet across the yard to my studio over the family garage. This structure was built ten years ago to replace a collapsing single-car shed that housed chipmunks. Once we designed and customized my work space, my aim was to keep my finished pieces stored away so that I could work adventurously, unencumbered by old ideas, past designs, and too-familiar color palettes. While I routinely wrap up completed pieces and store them away (under the train table in the house basement), when I cleaned up the studio to take photos I found long-forgotten works hiding under bags of wax scraps and piles of drawings. Revelation! I’ll revisit this in a moment.


The staircase you see here leads from the garage to the custom-built studio above it. Could the message 
Keep out! be any clearer? As the steps have become a storage area over time, the clutter now serves to deter all but the most determined visitors (a.k.a. family members). Bear in mind, I have tidied up this scene so I could photograph it.

Having several work areas became a necessity when I started using wax. As most of us have discovered after a few disasters, keeping wax off drawing paper, and charcoal dust off wax pieces takes some forethought. I’ve found that dividing the space also makes it easier to focus on a project since I can turn my back on other ongoing work. My wax workbench has overhead fluorescent lighting and was built at 38 inches, an ergonomic height for a tall person. The rack under the bench stores paper and portfolios.




The wax area with plenty of outlets and an exhaust fan. (The drawing at right will be mentioned shortly)
Inset top: The intentionally not-so-inviting entry to the studio



The east window area has a seven-foot table for drawing and painting. Left over from my oil painting days, the easel is still useful as a stand for photographing small work. Note the pile of paper on the shelf to the left–templates for all the sectional pieces stored away in the house basement, saved to make future installations easier. Recently I added a larger computer screen to my desk–a boon for working with Photoshop or any image program.


 My “research and development” desk overlooks the garden beds and rear of the house. Observant chocoholics will note the box of truffles close at hand on the nearby shelf. Chocolate can inspire great things, am I right? 


Inspiration usually starts on an ipad with an old “Adobe Ideas” program. When I’m not in the studio, the ipad is usually close by and doesn’t require any drawing materials. Conversely, a photo of something I’ve made experimentally, such as these curving strips, can become the first layer in the Ideas program, and then I can draw over that, by way of exploring further “what happens if . . . ”.


I am experimenting with heating and bending strips of pvc panel, to see what shapes I can make and what they inspire. Some projects take off, but many more experiments gather dust, and eventually make it to the dustbin. (The jury is still out on this particular effort.) 



A few paragraphs ago, I mentioned a revelation. Well, perhaps it’s an insight. As I diligently cleaned and straightened up my studio this week, I uncovered this piece, Patterns of Flight, from 2005, made in my old studio in a nearby artists’ building, and long forgotten under my present workbench. It serves as a good example of my painting style at the time: grid-based and representational. 


 Patterns of Flight, 2005, encaustic, 20” x 15”


And yet in the same box of forgotten things, I found the charcoal drawing you see on the wall next to my wax workbench, from just a year later (inspired by Sol Lewitt?). I also uncovered another 2006 work, Giverny, which seems to be on the cusp, one of my first embraces of abstraction.



In retrospect I see that both the drawing, right, and Giverny, below, positioned me for the work that came next



Between 2005 and 2007, there was a sea change in my work that was a likely consequence of my studio change in 2007. My new studio arrangement gave me the impetus to put away old work purposefully and erase it from my mind. It also enabled me to fulfill an emerging vision because I had the opportunity to add new skills and tools (saws! sanders!) to my process arsenal. It’s unlikely that I could have made Cherry Creek, 2007, in my old space. With its new color palette, curvilinear design elements, shaped sections, and use of negative space, it denotes a transformation in my thinking about art-making.

Giverny, 2006, encaustic, 14 x 14 inches

Cherry Creek, 2007, encaustic, 18 x 19 inches





In order to design large work or photograph installations, I move out the cars and use a large wall in the garage below the studio. It’s also a useful space for working with saws and sanders, with a shop vac to control sawdust. 


The scroll saw, left, is my most beloved power tool.






I show up in the studio nearly every day, often eager, but sometimes resistant, in which case I make my appearance toward evening. There are times when, no matter how willing I am, a full day in the studio yields little except a swept floor; this reinforces my sense that it can be valuable to spend time not working. Occasionally, distraction ends up serving as a back door for an idea or long-sought solution enter my brain, so I try not to feel guilty when I don’t work. 

“Do you spend a lot of time out here?” is usually the first question asked by intrepid visitors who make it up the gauntlet and into my space. The follow-up from non-artists is “You must like to be alone.” I own up to enjoying solitude, and appreciate that being an artist gives legitimacy to this personality trait. For that reason, having a studio is a joy and a necessity. 


. . . . . . . .

Shelley Gilchrist is a contributor to ProWax Journal. A widely exhibited artist, she is the author of Form and Iteration Across Mediums in Issue 14. Learn more about her in our Staff Bios.

In Five Words: Debra Claffey


The Singing Tree 14, v.2, 2017, oil, wax, graphite, pigment stick on panel, 40 x 40 inches

listening
apperception
complexity
singing
encompassing   

www.debraclaffey.com/

In Residence: Report From the Yukon

By Leslie Sobel

The ridgeline view from camp in Kluane National Park
All photos by Leslie Sobel


This past May I climbed into a tiny two-seater plane and flew up to a glacier in the Canadian Yukon where I tent-camped with four climate scientists for more than a week. We were at an altitude of 10,000 feet, where temperatures dropped as low as minus 30 degrees. I’ve been a backpacker and wilderness hiker for decades, but this was the most remote, physically challenging trip I have ever taken. My residency in Kluane National Park was the culmination of multiple years’ work focused on making art about climate change. It took me into a setting I could not have gotten to on my own and was a tremendous adventure.


The two-seater lands on the ice


Why a Glacier?

I'm the daughter of two scientists, and looking at the world from a perspective invoking both science and art is an intrinsic part of my life. I’ve been deeply focused on climate and water in my work, with a particular obsession with Antarctica and other high latitudes. Going to Kluane came about as a result of that obsession.

I was working on a grant proposal for the National Science Foundation’s Artists & Writers in Antarctica program. I wanted to go to the Ross Ice Shelf and work with scientists studying its melt. Figuring out who was doing that kind of work and if they would be open to working with me took a mix of research and just putting myself out there contacting strangers and asking for their help. The Program Manager for the NSF program gave me names of scientists working in my area of interest and I started emailing and following leads. Eventually I connected with Seth Campbell, a glaciologist who works on the Ross Ice Shelf. Seth was enthusiastic about my interest and wrote me a great letter of support to join him in Antarctica. NSF did not fund my proposal, but Seth said he also did climate work in the Yukon and would I like to join him on the Eclipse Icefield in Kluane National Park? Yes!


Getting There

Kluane is remote. It took me over 12 hours of flying to get to Whitehorse, the largest city in the Canadian Yukon, where I connected with the scientists. We spent a couple of days in Whitehorse shopping for groceries and picking up more gear. Then we drove 60 miles to Kluane Lake Research Station, run by the Arctic Institute of North America. The research station sits on the edge of Kluane National Park. After a couple of days checking gear and re-packing, we were flown, one or two at a time, 100 miles into the Yukon’s high country where we camped on the Eclipse Icefield for eight days.

I arrived last with the bulk of the science gear. The two senior scientists went first with their camping gear, then two grad students with their camping gear. For this kind of geography, survival gear always goes ahead of science gear, because it’s common to have transport unable to continue if bad weather comes up. My flight was more complicated because it had to fit all the big boxes of science stuff and me—and then the wind blew the door off the plane! The mechanic had spare parts of everything so he just replaced the snapped hinge and we were on our way, only two hours behind schedule.

Getting out onto the icefield took my breath away—the stunning setting combined with the thin air and the feeling of amazement that I was actually there. I didn't have much time to gawk, though. We quickly unloaded so that the pilot could fly out. Then Seth helped me set up my four-season tent on the glacier. We used two- foot pieces of bamboo for more holding power rather than metal stakes, and right-angled climbing pickets at the corners. Every possible tie-down is used so that the tent is as secured as possible in case of high wind. We were in a more sheltered location than some. The Eclipse is surrounded by moderate peaks with much bigger ones nearby including Mt. Logan, the tallest peak in Canada.

Flying in above the immense Kaskawulsh Glacier 


Living on the Ice

To sleep on an icefield and not freeze to death I had two nested sleeping bags resting on a liner on top of two closed-cell pads placed on a Thermarest inflatable mattress. I slept in two layers of wool long johns with a hot water bottle. I snuggled with all my batteries for two cameras and a tube of sunblock to keep them from freezing overnight. Some additional clothing got stuffed in as well so it would not be frozen when it was time to get up and dressed. Omitting a layer of long johns or the hot water bottle was the recipe for a chilly, miserable night.

My tent and view


We were on the glacier for eight days, one longer than planned because half the time bad weather made it impossible for us to work. The scientists worked gruelingly long hours when the weather cooperated—digging pits to collect snow samples, towing heavy radar arrays on sleds with skis to collect accumulation data, drilling ice cores, fighting with recalcitrant equipment and, of course, logging data. When we were stuck because of weather we read, talked, cooked, journaled or slept, so it was an odd mix of working full out or having lots of downtime.

I did a lot of photography when I could shoot and a lot of writing when I couldn’t. It was too cold to draw, but I spent a lot of time thinking about the climate-related work I will produce. I made plans for larger-scale works than I have generally done; the scale of the subject calls for it. I am planning installation pieces as well. I will use some of the radar data Seth and his students collected as well. The icefields in Kluane are shrinking due to climate change but will not completely disappear because the mountains are coastal and trap moisture from the Pacific Ocean. The icefield is about seven degrees warmer than it was in 2002, an enormous change in a short period of time. 

This was a physically challenging trip. I was back-country skiing and camping almost two miles up, keeping pace with some scientists who were 30 years my junior. As a hiker and backpacker I was already in decent shape with a pretty serious fitness routine, but I spent about six months going to the gym five times a week and hiking on non-gym days. It was good preparation, but the extremely thin air made physical activity difficult, and there's no good way to prepare for that.

Some of the reality of camping in those temperatures: No heat. We hung out together in the kitchen tent where the warmth of a propane stove helped a bit. All our water was snowmelt so we had a big pot of snow melting all the time and drank a lot of tea. Sitting on a foil-backed pad or resting one’s feet on it made a big difference.

We made hot food for every meal and ate well. Breakfast was typically oatmeal or pancakes with tea or instant coffee. Lunch might be soup and grilled cheese. Dinner was pasta or curry or salmon or stew—hearty food, although my appetite was off due to the altitude. As with most back-country camping, getting back to civilization and taking a shower and doing laundry was bliss.

And of course the big question: How does one go to the bathroom? This is a situation where guys definitely have an advantage. We dug latrines into snowpack—new ones every two or three days—basically a deep pit with stairs to a bench with a hole, on which sat a Rubbermaid lid with a hole, and a niche dug into the wall of the pit to hold a ziplock with toilet paper and hand sanitizer. Fortunately (and unlike some backpacking trips) we did not have to carry our waste out. At night time I think everyone used a bottle or a ziplock. (Women used a specialized funnel, surprisingly effective.)  Being out of the wind helped but, yeah, bare skin at 30 below encourages speed, especially in a blizzard.

The scientists collecting their radar data on skis


Back to the studio

After my week on the ice I spent a week at the research station. I was the only resident, except for a post-doc paleoclimate researcher and a former social worker who burned out and was working as camp cook. I spent a lot of time with them and far more time alone, walking on the shores of Kluane Lake. The lake is fed by outflow from the Kaskawulsh Glacier. Last summer the glacier retreated so far that its outflowing Slims River changed direction and no longer feeds Kluane Lake. As a result the lake level is down some 40 inches, another dramatic example of climate change. Despite its shrinking size, the lake provided good transition time between the ice and my home in Michigan.

Chilling on the shore of Kluane Lake


I am slowly starting to make studio work from this residency. Here’s a peek at  the three types of work resulting from my experience so far: encaustic paintings, works on paper done with cold wax, and small three-dimensional landscape shrines set into cedar boxes finished with shou sugi ban scorching so the darkened boxes set off the brilliance of the “ice” inside.

Mountain Shrine, 2017,  encaustic and mixed media in found box, 2.5x 6.5 x 14 inches, open


Inspiration: Alpenglow on far mountain, as dark as it gets on the glacier
Below: 
Alpenglow 1, 2017, encaustic on panel, 12 x 16 inches

Snowy Ridge II, 2017, oil and cold wax on Rives, 10 x 13 inches

   ________________


More Info

Funding this Residency
It’s easier to get to the Yukon than Antarctica but this was not a funded residency, and it would cost many thousands of dollars between airfares, other travel costs, and serious winter gear. Research led me to work with Fractured Atlas, partly because this is an ongoing project, not a one-time thing, and their program works better for my kind of project than some others. I will need to continue to raise funds to support developing the work and hopefully additional climate-based field experiences. Fractured Atlas has a lot of good information on the details of running a campaign, and because they are a fiscal sponsor, my backers could write off supporting me as a tax deduction. That made donating to my project much more appealing.You can see my page here.   

Red-lined Reliquary, 2017, encaustic and mixed media in found box, 5.5 x 8.25 x 9.5 inches open


I also had a studio sale and will continue to do studio events and pop-ups and social media. My art career is decidedly non-traditional, and many of the ways artists show and finance their work are no longer viable for me, so a mix of grants, crowdfunding, and showing my work in some non-traditional venues seems to be better. I have learned that asking and being open will take me to unexpected but rewarding places. Asking strangers for help is hard for me (and for many of us) but it can make the unexpected happen.

Related Reading about Kluane

. Ice Flow and Ice Cores in the St.Elias Mountains, co-authored by Leslie's arctic mentor, Seth Campbell
. Seth's blog, Alpine Sciences
. How Warming is Profoundly Changing a Great Northern Wilderness 



Read more about Leslie Sobel here.

Open Call: Copying versus Finding a Signature Style

By Anna Wagner-Ott

Summer Breeze, 2017, encaustic on panel, 24 by 24 inches


Six months ago an artist new to encaustic wanted to know how I created my woven paintings. We had an in-depth discussion on ideas, techniques, and processes. Recently the same individual posted paintings on the internet, and I was surprised to see a similar intent and content to mine. I contacted the artist to talk about the issues associated with copying versus finding a personal theme and direction. We seem to have reached a détente, and that conversation prompted this article.  


With regard to artwork, copying is reproducing the way one artist has used the elements of design to capture his or her intent. The person copying uses the same theme, colors, lines, shapes, textures or forms as the original. Yes, someone may take the same intent and tweak those elements to make his or her own painting, but it’s problematic when the source comes from the originating artist or teacher. While copying an artist’s idea and technique may not fit the legal description of copyright infringement, it certainly violates a community standard. And, of course, it violates the originator of the work.

I have seen teachers at some conferences, in some workshops, and especially on YouTube promoting a step-by-step approach to painting. The least inspiring of these teachers encourage the viewer to create a replica of their artwork with the same techniques!  In this kind of beginner-level, teacher-directed workshop, students learn the instructor’s signature style but rarely the basic elements and principles of design. Nor are they encouraged to develop strategies to find a personal theme or approach.

Additionally, many students, after taking only a few such workshops teach the same techniques as their teachers. So the baton goes from students copying their teacher to that of a student becoming a teacher who uses similar techniques and methods to teach his or her own students. One instructor a few years ago actually offered a workshop in how to paint in the style of a well-known artist in the encaustic community (who did not teach because she didn’t want her work copied)!


Strategies for developing a signature style

From my own experiences I have found that the first step to move away from copying is to find a theme or topic that inspires you and then research that theme by looking at artists who have painted on a similar theme. Instead of copying, consider these issues: 
. How does that artist use the elements and principles of art within the work? 
. What is the artist’s message? 
. How does the message work in relation to the elements and the artist’s techniques? 
. What does or does not work in the painting?
. If the work is based on themes outside of visual art, explore them at the source, whether they be science, 
mathematics, music or literature
. Learn about other artists but keep them out of your studio when you are creating art   

The second step is to take many workshops from different teachers to broaden your sense of what is possible and then just paint until you find the tools and techniques that best suit your theme. 
. Make small experimental works by exploring the elements of design with different painting tools  
. Learn how to paint different types of lines, shapes, forms, and experiment with color relationships  
. Teach yourself how to apply wax for different types of surface textures   
. Painting on small panels and exploring your theme will help you begin to master the design elements and techniques   

The third step is to paint many artworks on one theme. Do variations by changing the colors, textures, lines, or proportions so that after varying paintings on one theme, you will begin to discover new ways to express yourself. If you paint artworks that come from a personal voice, then few will say that your artwork looks like some other artist’s painting. 

How I learned encaustic

When I discovered encaustic four years ago, I had never dipped a brush in liquid wax. Although I knew how to paint, I did not know how to paint with a medium that cooled and hardened almost instantly, so I took a workshop and learned how another artist painted in wax. She painted amazing expressionistic paintings. I loved the way she demonstrated how to scrape back layers of wax with a blade, use pigment sticks, and add transparent and opaque layers of colors. It was a valuable workshop because she taught how to paint with abandon.  

I took her ideas back to my studio, but I still had a quest to find my own style of painting and a theme to explore. I have always been drawn to weavings and art quilts, so I decided to begin each painting with flowing streams of colors similar to reflections in the water. When the landscape is completed, I paint a covering over it using hundreds of interlaced lines. At first the lines hardening extremely fast frustrated me, but I learned to trim my brushes so that the wax left the brush smoothly. After four years of painting different types of lines, I can now paint straight, flowing, meandering, or curving lines. 

At the same time, I researched hundreds of artists who work with textiles. The weavings of Ptolemy Mann and Anni Albers and the fabric constructions of Dorothy Caldwell are inspiring. Mann uses vibrant colors and her woven sections move from strong primary colors to softer muted tonal values. Albers weaves different weights of threads to separate each geometrical section from raised to receding areas–a push and pull of textural surfaces.  Caldwell uses needle and threads and hand sews predominantly white meandering lines onto the surface of her black fabric constructions. 

Inspiration not duplication

Mann, Albers, and Caldwell have inspired me to think about color relationships and the idea of line and shape as an embellishment to create surface textures, but I do not use their images or think about them when I am painting. In my studio I am alone with my thoughts, thinking about the connection between coverings and barriers as metaphors, and continually investigating ways to paint woven structures.


Anna Wagner-Ott lives and works in Eastern Ontario, Canada. Read her bio here.   

Repudiating "Encaustic Art" but Standing Up for Encaustic

Editorial
By Nancy Natale


Recently I was invited to show at a local gallery near my home in Easthampton in Western Massachusetts. The gallery owner left up to me what type of exhibition I wanted, and I decided to invite Sharon Ligorner, another artist from my town, who also works in encaustic, to show with me. I thought our work complemented each other's because while we both worked in an abstract geometric mode, Sharon's work is much more curvilinear and expressive than mine and provided a balance to my straight lines and rectilinear forms. 



Sharon Ligorner, Diversity, 2016, gouache and encaustic, 24 x 24 inches
Nancy Natale, In the Rough, 2017, encaustic and mixed media, 16 x 16 inches



I suggested the exhibition title of Pursuing Geometry as it placed the emphasis where I wanted it to be. Since I was aware that encaustic is a relatively unfamiliar medium to most people, we each submitted statements to the gallery that emphasized the way we structured our work and what we intended it to say while mentioning in parentheses that encaustic was pigmented beeswax.


I took charge of the listing in the Valley Arts Newsletter, a weekly online publication advertising visual and performing arts in the area. Although I was limited to only 500 characters including spaces, I managed to combine both our viewpoints:

Two artists paint abstractly and pursue geometry in their own way, one inspired by nature’s circular forms and patterns and the other by unique materials and straight lines. Their common medium of encaustic (pigmented beeswax) unites them with its inherent transparency, malleability, and dimensionality. Ligorner’s swirling patterns and transformative shapes contrast with Natale’s horizontal emphasis and muscular collages.


An Unwelcome Surprise

Despite my providing the gallery with the aforementioned statement along with our brief separate statements, to my horror the gallery promoted the show quite differently: 

Nancy Natale and Sharon Ligorner have at least one thing in common: wax. Their medium of predilection is encaustic painting. This artform is relatively unknown but certainly not new: The oldest surviving encaustic panel paintings are the Romano-Egyptian Fayum mummy portraits from the 1st Century BC. 

Encaustic art has seen a resurgence in popularity since the 1990s with people using electric irons, hotplates and heated styli on different surfaces (thank you Wikipedia!).

Whether you are familiar with encaustic art or not, we invite you to discover how Sharon and Nancy use that same medium to create their own unique artwork.


My Response

I immediately wrote an email to the gallery owner, Jean-Pierre Pasche, a very nice guy who had good intentions but didn't understand what was at stake. Here's what I said after being somewhat apologetic for having to write:

The description "encaustic art" is a very limiting and even ghettoizing term for art made using this medium. It reduces the work to just its medium and takes away from the unique use by individual artists. In other words, it detracts from the artists' intention in making the work. Would you describe oil paintings as "oil art" or works in acrylic as "acrylic art?" In some respects, the medium is the least important part of a painting. Do you see what I mean?

Encaustic is just one of the mediums in which we work, the way acrylic or oil or watercolor would be. The commonality in Sharon's and my work is geometry and the way we use it to make paintings.

This is a somewhat sensitive subject for me because along with the renewed popularity of encaustic has come a plague of hobbyists who just want to "play with wax." In some areas of the art world, this has caused works in encaustic to be regarded as inferior, too delicate to be sold, art that is not collectible in the same way as that in other mediums. You wouldn't believe the incredible messes made in the name of "encaustic art."

Sharon and I are professional artists who have been painting for years. The work we make could have been executed in any medium, but we chose encaustic because of its additional unique qualities.

Installation views at Elusie Gallery, Easthampton, Massachusetts

Above: Sharon Ligorner, D'Art Board; encaustic, gouache, and pencil, 24 x 24 inches; Good Fortune, encaustic, 12 x 12 inches; Sun Parade, encaustic, 12 x 18 inches; all 2017

Below: Nancy Natale, Red Blast, 24 x 24 inches; In the Rough, 16 x 16 inches; Googly Dots (top) and Blue Moons, both 12 x 12 inches; all 2017, encaustic and mixed media


A Resolution

The gallery owner understood and said he would not advertise the show that way any longer.

Perhaps he thought that I was being overly sensitive, but then he heard from two of his patrons that their impression of paintings made with encaustic had been based on the drippy, smeary, playing-with-wax paintings they had seen previously. The works in our show contradicted that impression. In a conversation I had at the opening reception with one of these patrons, an architectural color consultant and interior decorator, she expressed her astonishment at the amount of "control" that Sharon and I showed over the medium. She was stunned to think that her opinion of work in encaustic had been so far off track because of what she had seen from the melt-and-drip practitioners.

This experience has shown me I can't assume that someone writing promotional statements about a show will understand that the work is not about the medium. It must be explicitly stated that the medium is a means to an end and that the term "encaustic art" is not appropriate in any description because it diminishes the work. 

The term “encaustic art” does irreparable damage to those of us working professionally in the medium. I know that some artists (including ProWax members) refuse to even use the word "encaustic" because of its connotations, but we shouldn't shy away from the word just as other artists wouldn't shy away from "oil" or "acrylic." We choose encaustic because it has inherent qualities that allow us to make the work we want to see and to express the ideas we want to express. But to be clear: When we're describing our art, we don't need "encaustic" as the adjective.

. . . . . . . .

Nancy Natale is the executive editor of ProWax Journal



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