Even after studying beginner Italian for three semesters at the Toronto’s Italian Cultural Institute, and buying a bunch of self-help books and tapes, I wasn’t confident enough to speak the language once in Florence (for the Biennale). However, this didn’t detract from my enjoyment of being there, and sensing what was said and written—taking in the ambiance, mood, and energy. In Italy, la dolce vita (the good life) is energizing, especially when a stark Canadian winter sets in.  At a quick glance, here is some of what seems to matter:  art(s), food, hairdressers, individuality, laughter, playfulness, style, uniqueness

Food tastes different—fruit and vegetables smell like they’re supposed to (haven’t been forced or altered), and time is taken over meals. Friends gather in large groups and share what’s on the table—at home and in restaurants.  There’s a lot there, but servings are adequate, not excessive.  People learn how to dine, course by course, and interact while eating, from an early age.  They also are seen out walking on a daily basis.

There may be chaos surrounding organized events and activities, but everything gets done, just in time, and happens how it’s supposed to.  Along the way, it might be realized that biggest isn’t necessarily be best.  More intimate gatherings and personal/neighborly relationships prevail.  Instead of being home alone, many are out doing their daily grocery shop, or frequenting destinations in easy reach, by foot.  The streets bustle with locals engaged in habitual activities that have existed for generations:  going to mass, errecting and taking down market stands, or standing up for an aperitif and antipasto at a corner bar. Even well-known bursts of rain don’t stop everyday life, or visitors.

 

A few local tried and proven recommendations in Firenze include:  Carlo Bay: haircare; Cellai: hotel accomodation; Grom: gelato;  Madova: gloves; Muniaciello: pizza, cocktails, music, Rivoire: lunch, pastries, home-made chocolate; Zaza: fun, central trattoria; Zechhi: art supplies.

I am exhibitng my spring fine art collection "From Doodlemania to Organic Art" at Toronto Art Expo, March 6 -9, 2008 (Toronto’s Metro Convention Center). After the event, I will offer behind-the-scenes tidbits pertaining to this "happening" and its organization on this blog.  What artist participants experience and what the general public notices, will likely be interesting (and different)… Participating at the Florence Biennale had predictable bumps (some of which are already recorded on this blog).  Showing artwork in a foreign country with different ways and standards is always an adventure!  In Toronto, however, and due to the heavy costs of participating at an event that’s not in its infancy, my expectations have been higher…  Let’s see what happens!

My booth is 401 u/l.  It’s on the upper level, in the far back left-hand corner, at the bottom of aisle A and adjacent to the toilets.  Please stop by and say "Hello!"  Hang out for a while!  Look for sping colors and feelings. I hope to create a "cozy, welcoming corner":  a little sanctuary tucked away in an overwhelming, large, noisy hall.  

Painting through a  "long, cold, lonely winter," this "Litttle Darlin’" has been crying out for spring—imagining it in a myriad of shapes and colors. (Please click the link just given and listen to the You Tube song that you’ll find there!)

The paintings on display, I hope, will lift the spirits, and hearts, of Art Expo visitors.  Oh, and, by the way, most of them are for sale!  The Art Expo mandate is that only originally work can be displayed and sold there.  Reproductions are available to order, outside of the show…

 

We research some hotels in advance.  Others, are found by chance.  When the Florence Biennale travel agent billeted me at the Hotel Cellai, I didn’t know what to expect, but ended up being surprised and delighted. This boutique hotel, I think, might enhance any arts enthusiast’s visit to Florence—epitomizes the Florentine spirit and its evolution. 

Originally, a small bed and breakfast, the premise has been in the Carvallo family for three generations—passing from grandmother to daughter to son.  Francesco, the current owner/manger credits his three decades of "international renaissance education" with strongly influencing his hotel’s remodeling and expansion.  The Cellai now has 70 rooms, and is brimming with artwork, ornaments, fine furnishings, and old-world charm. Each room is different from the next and the lounge areas are comfortable and intriguing.  Magazines and books are are in key locations throughout, opened on pages with special quotes, images and articles.  Also, various contemporary artists’ canvases are exhibited on a rotating basis in a living room area.

Although the hotel looks complete the way it is, Carvallo is in the process of adding three more common areas:  a billiard room (with a purple-clothed table).  Geometry is one of this designer’s passions, and the room’s intention will be to give a sense of the "forces of the universe." The second addition will be a "love room"—one that’s not really intended for use, but to be viewed as an installation of sorts, built around a red velvet sofa (from a 1890 - 1905 "pleasure house").  "It cost a fortune," Carvallo admitted, reminding that people will be looking at it, not sitting on it.  There’ll also be special mirrors (from another "pleasure house").  Finally, there’ll be Libertine prints, showing people flirting. The third, and final, new space, will be a wine bar with books and silk curtains.  20th century style will be set off to advantage here, with black and white photos from 1920 - 1970 being an important decoration (from Carvallo’s extensive personal collection).

Interior design, according to Carvallo, is like "a medicine" for him.  His own home celebrates the 1940s - 60s, but has paintings from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries as well.  Carvallo especially loves still-lives from the nineteenth century that have dark backgrounds and Italian origins—mostly from Florence and Naples.

Carvallo appears a modest and diligent man, and blushes when telling that his interior designs have been featured in niche magazines. He is also very excited about another space, adjacent to the hotel, that is also nearing completion.  It is to be called the "Spazio Bianco" (White Space).  This is where his designs will have a chance to leap into the contemporary world (beyond the 17th, 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries).  He loves the idea of covering centuries, room by room, as he has done so far.  The "Spazio Bianco" (White Space), as its name indicates, will be totally white and have a wooden floor, also painted white.  Carvallo is particularly looking forward to creating special effects in there.  The simplicity of the decor, he thinks, will offer unique possibilities, like to change the color of the air.  

The event space/gallery is 150 square meters, and will be the hotel’s cinema, if there’s no special event or exhibition happening.  Carvallo plans to show Italian black and white movies from 1948 - 1968 (from his personal collection).   He’s also looking forward to playing there once a week, with his band, "The Pink Freuds."  Carvallo is the vocalist.  In the band, there’s vocal, piano, guitar, electric guitar, and drum.  Apart from a female lawyer, all the other band members are male—and professionals with significant day jobs:  an architect, economist, town planner, and geologist (responsible for Florence’s public water systems).

Carvallo’s attention to detail shows everywhere, and not least in his agenda for the event space/gallery.  The product line "San Zanobi" (local oils and wines) will be available for tastings.  Then, once a month, vintage dresses will be shown, from a flee market close by.   And, there’ll be a salon-type atmosphere with literary readings and art shows.  Carvallo is "connected," so the offerings are guaranteed to be interesting!  Cecco Mariniello, the number one (and reclusive) Italian childrens’ book illustrator is the Cellai’s postcard designer—and, right now, these postcards are "giveaways"!

Carvallo doesn’t have a secretary, and says he makes all his own decisions and designs.  His days are long and guests catch him fluffing cushions early morning, or with papers all over his desk well into the evening. In the day, he drifts in and out, covered in dust from construction. Carvallo explains how, in Italy, "Everyone wants to change things themselves, and put in their soul…and then there’s Italian mothers who ‘kill’ Italian boys…"  His own mother, at 83,  went paragliding in Florida recently, and his father lived a healthy life until his passing at 90.  Carvallo’s mother still helps out at the Cellai, and he says he’s appreciative of that.  "Traditionally, Italian men talk but don’t do.  Women do…," he stresses.  Carvallo might just be an exception to his own rule!

Carvallo is hoping to open all his new additions this spring.  Then, he’s planning to start selling artifacts that he’s collected, as well as artworks from displays.

 

 

At the Florence Biennale, sitting at my exhibit most days, I had a lot of time to reflect on what was happening there.  I either doodled my thoughts in a sketch book or wrote them up as poetry.  Here’s a poetry sample:

Reciprocity can be tricky sometimes. There are those who give in order to receive, those who give in order to mutually benefit, and those who like to take but not give back.  Those who give to give, no strings attached, are exceptional.

In real life, we see this with dinners, gifts, phone calls, and so much else.  Certain individuals always seem to offer a whole lot more for a whole lot less.

In cyberspace, gaining "reciprocal links"—like having "friends" on Facebook—has become a supposed indicator of success, popularity, and networking ability.  In recent weeks, I’ve noticed an increase in offers to exchange links, so as to raise Google rankings. But, what might "virtual-reciprocity" imply to the non tech-savvy? Because we exchange a link and list another web address on our site, does it mean that we endorse it too? If we decline a request to exchange a link, what is the message that we’re giving back?  That we don’t like or approve of it?  Will someone list us without us having to list them?

Because, for now, I don’t have distinct link lists, I try to include as many links as possible in blog entries and website text.  Requesters who’ve taken time to review my sites usually understand—and see a place where they might be inserted.

A Florence Biennale artist who has just requested a reciprocal link exchange is Ann Haessel. A fiber artist from Alberta, Canada, you might like to check out her site.  Unfortunately, I did not get a chance to see her work at the Biennale.

Other entries on this blog also offer perspectives on RECIPROCITY.  These include: 

Give to Give, (poem), Sept 5, 2007 

Keep Your Word, July 25, 2007

A and B List Friends, July 8, 2007

Friends Help Friends, December 7, 2006 

Seeing the general public view my artwork was very gratifying.  "Buon Appetito!" as I’d hoped, had broad age-appeal. Young children, and their parents loved it!

So did caninekind!

Then there was what was written in my visitor book.  Certain entries in other languages—Italian?—could be figured out without translation, even with handwriting that was hard to read… Here are some examples:

• "Complimenti, fresco, colorato, diret, molto bello… can I eat it?!"
• "Your works taste good!  I love it!"
• "Colori, allegria e voglia di vivere!!"
• "SORRY  I’m on a diet…Very, very nice…"
• "From Canadian to Italian, you know how to communicate the contrast in what is real flavour and artificial flavour.  In Italy, little flavour need be enhanced.  Your paintings speak of the vitality in food here."
• "Une magie di colori, complimenti!"
• "Trionfs di colori.  Il motion artisco della quotidiannite.  Rapporto el publblico diretto basato su un patrimonio commune di sensezioni e percezioni.  Grazie!"
• "Thank you for the light!"

Feedback from other Biennale artists, viewing recent blog entries on this site, suggests the need for new Biennale recognition/prize categories: "artists’ choice" and "viewers’ choice" awards.  Perhaps "children’s" and "canine’s choices" wouldn’t be a bad idea too!  That way there might be more interesting (and fairer) outcomes.

You Tube video footage of my participaton at the Biennale was finally posted by the Biennale crew today, in three parts. I had no clue about what they were ultimately going to do, or editorial input. You’ll find me buried inside the footage if you’re patient—in parts one and two. Not in part three, as far as I can see…

part 1 http://it.youtube.com/watch?v=00Nr_2h52E4

part 2 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XEfKwVFiy_U&feature=related

part 3 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8nnl1xQZT8

 

An after-the-event Florence Biennale critique with judge Gregorio Luke was helpful. With perseverance and commercialism (of my imagery), he forecast, "new doors opening."  Luke stood out from other exhibition judges with his extra efforts to speak to as many Biennale participants as possible.  His general message was that it’s not what ciritcs say, it’s what you do as artist.  An expert on Frida Kahlo, he suggested using her approach as "model": communicating directly with the public.  In fact, during his official presentation, Luke stated, "Don’t try to go to a closed and elitist art establishment." (Image above, taken during Luke’s official presentation.)

Gilbert and George, honored with the Biennale’s "Lorenzo il Magnifico" career award, are quite different from Kahlo—in intention, appeal, and subject matter.  During Tim Marlowe’s Biennale interview with them, they insisted "Art has to be powerful or people pass it by…"  (Maybe they meant "shocking"?).  Their "Naked Shit" series (the title of which Marlowe repeated over and again in his questions) is just one example.  Gregorio Luke, the first time I introduced myself to him, stated,  "I don’t know your name, but I remember your art!"  Encouraging for work that’s not likely to be considered  "shocking"…

The evening before Gilbert and George’s interview, I ran into them by the Ponte Vecchia.  These "Men in suits" (a way, they claim to be have been able to sell themselves to dealers, from 1968 on) were now "men in overcoats," and a young Florentian was trying to take their picture with his cell phone camera.  I helped out, enabling him to be in the shot with them, then shared that I was a Florence Biennale artist hoping for feedback. Keeping the focus on themselves, the duo expressed surprise that I could have missed their enormous exhibit at the Tate (even though I told them that I don’t live in the UK). A conversation closer…

Another important man (in suit) who cut things short with me, last November, was Donald Trump.  In New York City, the week before leaving for the Biennale, I was meeting a friend at the Trump Tower cafeteria for lunch. By surprise, I noticed "the Donald" going up the escalator, and decided to approach him.  "Mr Trump" I braved, "May I please ask you a question?"  Thin and pale (without TV makeup), he turned in my direction, responding, "You’re a beautiful woman…  where are you from?"  The answer "Toronto," it appears, wasn’t a good one.  Hand up in the air after hearing this, he turned, elevator doors closing behind him.  Alas, no chance to pitch my Biennale exhibit series, "Buon Appetito!" to him.  Since climbing Kilimanjaro, I might have become a little more gusty—but there’s always need for help with closing a deal!

 

Interactions with other artists tended to involve those positioned at close proximity. But, quick wanderings around the exhibition gave an overall feel of atmosphere, energy, artwork, and personalities.  

12 artists I’d not met before, and spent time with during the Biennale are listed below (in alphabetical order). You might like to check out their work:

• Jeff Beier (sculpted painting)
• Joy Engelman (environmental painting)  
• Jim van Geet (figurative painting)  
• Pam Ingalls (Russian impressionist painting)   
• Olga Karpeisky (still life and portrait painting)
• Rian Kerrane (sculpture/installation)
• Janice Lawrence (joyful painting)  
• Charlotte Lugt (abstract painting)
• Mary Medrano (painting)  
• Miriam Pet-Jacobs (mixed media)  
• Danish Saroee (photography)  
• Mona Youseff (realist painting)  

12 artists I didn’t get to meet at the Biennale, but whose work I enjoyed viewing, are listed below (in alphabetical order):

• Ina Bartelds (floral painting)
• Karima Ben Otmen (painting with Arabian influences)
• Gina Blickenstaff (mother/child portraits)  
• Maria Catuogno (sculpture)  
• Cheri Christensen (Russian impressionist painting)
• Ann Dunbar (watercolour painting with embroidery) 
• Kimmo (Kimmo style painting)
• John van der Kolk (sculpture)
• Bria Kromm (painting with layers and symbols)  
• Nancy Lamb (figurative landscapes) 
• Maria Isabel Parra (multi-media artist)
• Sergei Zlenko (Russian figurative painting)

Some artists, attached to causes, were able to be more visible because of this:

• Pomm Hepner (watercolor painting) got extra wall exposure and mention due to her Artists for Human Rights membership. She is also a prominent Scientologist.
• Josie Taglienti (abstract pastels) promoted the Fine Art Registry, having been sponsored by them.

My Biennale display neighbors were two painters with very distinct styles and techniques:

• Denise Faegenburg  
• Amy Swartelé  

Having had a chance to review Biennale artists’ websites since the exhibition, I realize that while some had their best work on show there, others didn’t. The Biennale was, in many cases, an opportunity to sample a small piece from much larger pies and gain exposure.

Of course, there are many other artists I’d like to link in this blog entry, but that’s what the official catalogue is for, and where most participants were given equal space. Painter Nafisa Naomi, however, got a double-page spread—in advance of her winning first prize for her four canvas display, "Regeneration".  Unusual coincidence!  So did mixed media artist, Jackie Sleper—in advance of her winning first prize for her sculpture, "Modestia," given pride of place in the Biennale main foyer area (as shown here).

We don’t often know what will end up as an award winning work, or exactly why. A closer look at "Regeneration" (segment pasted below) may appear a tad disappointing—have viewers wondering how the canvases joined together (or whether they were supposed to).

Some nationalities weren’t as apparent at the Biennale as others. The Dutch had a huge contingent—97 (maybe).  840 artists from 76 countries were present, I believe.  There were also a lot of transplanted artists (those who found it hard to say which country they actually represented), like Plein Air Cottage artists, Helen Tilston and Violeta Shtumeyzen.  One evening, six of us went out for dinner, and found, by chance, that what we all had in common was being from one place but living in another.  Some had changed countries two or three times.  I could relate!  Is it the artistic spirit that encourages these moves, or modern day life?

 

Traditionally, if you search on-line, the Florence Biennale has had mixed reviews.  Having now participated, personally, I feel somewhat qualified to share pros and cons.  My You Tube video interview was filmed on Day 4, and focuses on the positive (though we are still waiting for the Biennale folks to post it).  This blog entry considers the whole picture (no pun intended).

Let’s stress the positive (in random order):

1.   Abundant networking opportunities between artists
2.   A live how-to guide for how to show your artwork (or not)
3.   A chance to discover what’s hot (possible) and what’s not, in art, and beyond
4.   An extended stay in Florence (and not as a tourist)
5.   Web presence enhancement (through participation)
6.   Time out from the studio—chance to taste "la dolce vita"
7.   General public’s feedback—international audience
8.   Connections made with viewers passing through
9.   Networking locally (in Florence)
10. Opportunities for commissions, sales, shows
11. International perspective and acknowledgment
12. Personal development opportunities

Familiar common complaints (in random order):

1.   Not enough visitors (likely not helped by time of year)
2.   Difficult layout and unfair allocation of display spaces
3.   Inadequate local publicity and attendance
4.   Most judges more aloof than approachable
5.   Select work given attention by judges, much of the rest ignored
6.   Certain presenters stood out, others had listeners walking out
7.   Environmental conditions challenging (heat, air, light…)
8.   Display equipment challenging (not flattering to artwork)
9.   Snack bar (food and service) not as expected for Italy
10. Many better works weren’t considered for prizes  
11. Too many artist-participant expenses and frustrating "administrivia"
12. Too much sitting around for artists who stayed on site

Those who go back again (participate in subsequent Biennales) demonstrate they’re not concerned with the glitches.  Those who don’t, have either been put off the first time, or simply can’t participate again for a myriad of other reasons.  In a world, and at a time, when fresh possibilities arise daily, pros, cons, and alternatives are reviewed carefully—as are first-hand accounts.  No matter what’s been considered disappointing about the Biennale, there’s still a lot of good to be said about it.  The opportunity to follow-through on the invitation to show at such an epic event comes to most of us only once.

In an ealier blog entry, I explained how preparing for the Biennale likely enabled me to complete the Kilimanjaro climb.  Now, having completed the Biennale, I realize that the Kilimanjaro climb might have helped me to make the most of participating at the Biennale.

Today is very special for those of us invited to show our artwork at the Florence Biennale (07 edition).  It’s taken over a year to prepare and it’s hard to believe this Olympics for artists is finally here.  But, if you look at the images below, you’ll see that it’s true.  This is the entrance to the Fortezza, with posters announcing the event.

 

And, here is my freshly uncrated exhibit, "Buon Appetito!" (with crates infront).

 

 

I arrived in Florence a few days ago, on a picture perfect morning, sunny but crisp, and had a magnificent view of the snow-filled Alps on the flight from Munich.  Not a big skier, but this snowscape made me want to be! 

 

 

And, it came after a spectacular sunrise.

 

 

Of course, photos taken at altitude throuh a plane window, don’t do justice to what’s seen live.  But, it’s always fun to share them.

While I’m a little preoccupied with this new chapter of the Biennale adventure, upcoming blog entries will reveal what has refreshed and empowered me since finishing painting "Buon Appetito!" in September—an extra special visit to Africa at the end of October.  The photo below provides a clue as to where.  (Please remember to click on the images to enlarge them.)

 

 

Art has value, and value isn’t always financial. Just as it is counterintuitive to put a price on human life, it can be the same with art.  Outsiders don’t really know what’s gone into a piece’s actualization—how much of the artist, him/herself, and how many hours of skill development and dedication.  Art’s value can be unquantifiable, but the market demands to know and set a price.  What does the market take into account?  Training, experience, reputations, originality, popularity, marketing buzz, or trends.  Much rests on possessing the right style at the right time for the right audience.  Talent and hard work might have little influence.  Those who get noticed and are in high demand might have the least to offer.  We’ve seen this in the entertainment and other (trend-setting) businesses.  Art that is precious to some might not be to others. Over time, art accrues sentimental and commercial value (that can be quite distinct from each other).  It becomes part of our homescape, and gets passed from generation to generation.  Many a time, art is able to be reproduced and gain mileage.  One piece volumized has more worth than could ever be imagined.  Sometimes, artists have the tools and ingenuity (or back-up team) to make this happen.  Most of the time, they don’t.  Alas, great art is usually recognized and acknowledged long after its creator is around to enjoy it.

Artistic creations are frequently private, but all the more interesting when shared.  The individual who makes them is often just a transmitter for the collective consciousness.  Whatever needs to be expressed, or seems to be going on in a particular environment, might appear in a painting.  If and when we’re ready to see it, we do.  Otherwise, the imagery might be enjoyed at face value.  Also, there may be nothing beneath the surface that needs to be looked into more.  Art is simple and art is complex, as are we.  We see what we want to and ignore what we don’t.  Or, we see more than we’re supposed to and make a fuss about what’s not important.  Interpretation is everything and interpretation is nothing.  Only the creator of a piece knows its real essence and intention.  Or, maybe he or she doesn’t… Anything others say about a piece can be projection.  Or, maybe they have insights that are objective.  Having some distance from the work under review—not knowing every brush stroke that’s gone into it—can enable the viewer/critic to see something the artist might have missed (or not realize is there).

For some, art can be infinite.  For others, it signals natural or man-made limitations.  Art takes money and time.  Some have a lot of both.  Most don’t, so vacillate and negotiate—try to obtain and balance the two.  Art takes money to create, it also takes money to buy.  Art takes time to create, and time costs money, as well as a whole lot more.  How much a painting costs might not be commensurate with the amount of work that’s gone into developing it.  The power to paint and the power to buy come from different sources, but are intertwined.  What’s fair and what’s not change according to who we are and what we need and can realize .  Awareness matters, as do tenacity and being able to go the distance.

Art is whatever you, as artist, or others, as viewers/critics, may want it to be—at the time of creation or afterwards.  All kinds of purposes can be served by what’s been made visible.  Whether metaphors and symbols are evident or not, various kinds of measures are made clear, from within and without—religious, political, idealistic, romantic, aesthetic, or?  Art has an unrivaled ability to give voice to secret yearnings, hidden agendas, and almost-forgotten dreams.  Art puts artist and viewer, alike, in places they might never travel in real life.  It wets the appetite and makes anything seem possible—at least in the moment.

Most artists create art because they yearn to do so.  It makes the unconscious conscious. It also has us realize that powers greater than us are at work when we least and most expect it.  The pieces we are gifted with (as creators or viewers/critics), result from creative processes that are part of a bigger picture (no pun intended) and plan.  They help put things in an out of perspective—enable us to dream, remember, wonder, forget, and more…

In order to be a professional artist these days, simply being able to make art isn’t enough.  You have to be a writer, marketer, networker, gallery aficianado—while having computer savvy too (24/7).  In addition, it’s beneficial if your resume lists formal training (from the right schools/with the right mentors).  This is aside from needing to be a handy(wo)man—knowing how to build and adjust the structures necessary for your artistic creations. Also, resources you might not be able to earn through just selling artwork can come in very handy too!

If it’s worth it, it’s going to take time—an indeterminate amount of time.  Nothing else has to matter except taking things to where they need to go, and have them feel right, or right enough.  And while it’s important to be prepared to put in as much time as needed, it’s also important to know when to stop—recognize when a piece might be finished, or have gone as far as it can go with the skills and experience that you have.  When a piece is rushed, it shows.  Every brush stroke that is deliberate reflects effort and care—respect for the work that is being accomplished.

A painting can be like a puzzle.  You don’t always know what’s going to be easy to solve and what’s not (speaking as artist, not viewer).  I try to learn from and remember every step along the way to know better for next time—have things flow more easily.  An area that seems daunting one day might not be the next.  Or, something that looked good one day, may not work out when other elements are added.  Constantly keeping the whole picture in mind may be a better way to proceed, but this can’t  always happen.  Sometimes, we get stuck on one part for no good reason.  The day goes by, and we feel no further ahead.  Then there’s the good days, when everything works, and you can’t explain why.  The brush is magic in your hands and the paint does exactly what you want it to do, or exceeds expectations.  You wonder, "Who’s painting this piece?" The same happens in writing and other expressive/creative arts.  These are moments to savor  because the times of struggle are usually a lot more familiar and frequent.  But, it’s only because of those struggles that we see the difference and appreciate what we never thought might be possible.  To understand happiness, we need to understand sadness, and so it goes with painting too.

So much of life is luck and timing—and the artist’s process can demonstrate this.  We’re fortunate if we’re able to choose what we paint, though our preferences and outcomes are usually influenced by what’s happening around us.  Painting for the Florence Biennale exhibit has given my work a purpose, focus, and appearance that it might not have had otherwise.  I was influenced by space requirements and deadlines.  I also had to be mindful of making imagery that could have universal appeal.  Then, I had to consider my repertoire—my skills, talents, history, and comfortable subject matter—what I may and may not be able to accomplish at this stage of my career.  Finally, there was the budget—an issue that I didn’t want to have prohibit the quality and dimension of my work.  But, it did.  Whether we like it or not, most artists need patronage of some sort.  Art is an expensive business and can’t be made properly without funds—especially where large public exhibits are concerned.

Being organized matters—even, and especially, as an artist.  Better painting happens for me when my desk is tidy:  correspondence caught up on and phone calls made.  Then, I can shut the door on the studio and just focus on the canvas—no distractions or rambling thoughts and preoccupations or interruptions.  Some days, I know from the start that I shouldn’t have attempted to paint at all.  There’s just too much else distracting.  Other days, I regret not carving out specific time to paint—unable to forget about everything else that has to be done and needs to take priority.  We all have different needs and obstacles and must find what works best for us individually.  For me, painting is a sacred act and privilege, something for which I need to enable quiet space and time in order to reap maximum rewards, experience-wise.  I want a piece to be as whole as possible, unpolluted by the vicissitudes of the hour.  Of course, this is an idealist attitude, but it’s nice to be able to dream and hope.  Painting is also interesting because it is influenced by surroundings and happenings, states of mind and energy levels.  Perhaps because I’ve spent some time practicing art therapy, I’m more concerned with art-making that’s product oriented than art-making connected to the exploration of emotions.  This, however, can prove more difficult when creating abstracts—or so I’ve found.

I wonder about prices a lot—what’ll be fair and what’s not, what works for me as the artist as well as for potential purchasers.  What’s value for money.  What’s value for time.  What’s value for originality and devotion—a piece of my spirit translated to and revealed on canvas.  I try not to think about the middle (wo)man—a gallery or dealer who could jump in and take 50% with an "easier sale."  It can be more prestigious to have that middle person—kind of like having an agent as a writer.  It means you’ve already been weeded out, approved, validated, or regulated and relegated—sometimes, even put your soul on the auction block.  But, just as there are iterary agents who will work with you and those that only have their own profit margins in mind, there are artists’ representatives who are like that too.  Everyone needs to make a living.  At the end of the day, consider who’s starving and who’s not.  These are thoughts constantly floating in my head, as I find it difficult to put energy into trying to get noticed, bought, and valued, while still trying to create.  This isn’t a hobby anymore!  Creating takes soooo much time and skill perfection.  Then, why do potential purchasers insist on bargaining down, like they were in a shuck haggling over a (mass-produced) souvenir memento? Do they realize the time, energy, and dedication put in to what’s been painted?  Could they ever have the skill, talent, or perseverance to make anything similar?  Do they know the real worth of the object created beyond what’s a good deal to them?   Do the bargainers respect the creations or take advantage of an artist’s need for cash to keep up the métier? Ironically, many potential buyers get paid 10 times the dollar rate for work that’s less demanding, and think nothing about submitting invoices to their clients to be paid in advance.  My rambling thoughts on this subject are not about bitterness or jealousy—they’re about others knowingly trying to take advantage.  Of course, there are some artists who let their comrades down by producing inferior work that secures higher prices, just because of hype.  This happens in fashion and other fields too.  Then there’s experience and earning your price point.  But, again, no set path is clear.  Look at Google and YouTube—how quickly they become major monetary successes.  The artist’s path is hard to juxtapose.  For some, networking is everything.  Others don’t have to network.  Regardless, most artists know when they’re doing a good job and the details don’t matter.  The work speaks for itself.  While it’s important for potential purchasers to be prepared to pay appropriate prices, it’s also important for artists to know and expect their true worth—not forget what went into the pieces they’ve made.  Those who slop things out and get big bucks for so-doing—no heart in their work—let down more serious folk.

Ironically, today, many who award grants might not really understand what the artist’s process is all about.  They’re just doing their job, and detached from the players involved.  Then there’s the peer review committees, made up of individuals who too often have their own interests and biases.  And, for those applying for grants, the competition is steep—anyone and everyone who wants to survive in an artistic field needs revenue.  If you can’t work a regular job while creating, what do you do?  Give up?  Many are forced to.  Others go into debt.  Those who keep on going, if they don’t have personal safety nets or private supporters, have to get creative with other fund raising strategies.  And, when you put your creativity into fund raising, you’re taking it out of artmaking.  There’s only so much creativity to be had.  Therefore, you have to hope for kind individuals who you can jump on board to help see you through—assisting with their business acumen to gather the necessary $$$.  Artmaking, when it’s not a hobby, but for public display and enjoyment, is a community service and gift.  An artist, in many ways, is just a transimtter—given opportunities and skills (from outside of him/herself) to put out what others might not be able to do.  Mix a little talent and energy with dedication, industry, and perseverance and a public servant is born, one who needs "patronage" (an old word seldom heard).  Yes, what happened to "patrons of the arts"—those who used to finance artists’ endeavors in front of and behind the scenes—a big reason why art history is so rich and extensive.  It’s only in the last few generations that these types of givers and doers seem to have diminished.  In an age when materialism and quick fixes appear more important than genuine hard work, creative struggle, and innovation, culture and the development and maintenance of "higher" (non-hightech) arts are in jeopardy.  The inability to find support—for the honing of skills that used to gain esteem as a matter of course—is a growing problem, not unique to artists’ predicaments.

JK Rowling discussed her sadness/loss as she completed the Harry Potter series.  Though my work isn’t of the same magnitude or duration as Rowling’s, her sentiments resonate with me.  My Biennale exhibit has been a year-long project—a huge part of my daily identity.  I’ve known such overwhelming expreriences before—for instance, after completing each one of my published (and unpublished) books and each one of my academic degrees (BA, MA, Ph.D., Fine Arts Diploma).  Even for the type of person who puts their all into what they do (professionally, academically, personally) build-up and pull-back can be immense.  They’re also a special gift to be treasured—sadly not in everyone’s reach.

Painting can be physically and mentally draining. It can also elate and energize.  When you put your whole self into your work, and concentrate hard for hours on end, don’t be surprised by how exhausted you might be by the end of a session.  Some days are easier than others, but we never know, in advance, which ones.  (Positive) attitude doesn’t always induce positive outcome.  Art-making is usually more random than formulaic (in my experience).  No matter the rituals that some painters try to set up and try to stick to, not everything can be predictable.  And, if you’re a perfectionist (like me), you’ll go on and on till things look exactly right.

My earlier paintings didn’t take me as long to complete as my later ones do.  A normal expectation would be to be speed up after gaining more experience.  Not at all.  For me, the reverse seems to be the case.  The more you know, the more nit-picking you get (at least in my case).  Standards elevate with a trained and practiced eye.  You see more and what to do even more.  You become critical and less tolerant of what might have slipped by previously.  Each and every detail matters.  Work cannot be "second-rate."  Even if no one else sees your model’s set-up, you have a responsibility for as accurate a rendering as possible (I believe).  You know what should and shouldn’t be there and want to stay true to that.  The pressure is huge, but you have to know when to back off, and learn what’s reasonable and what’s not.  Otherwise, the task becomes impossible.  Sometimes, the positioning isn’t perfect, but you consent and relent to adapt, discovering a slight divergence isn’t so bad after all.  Almost perfect is often better than completely, as you’d once hoped.  Knowing when to calm down and relax about the details is perhaps one of the hardest lessons (at least for me)—can make or break a painting.

My paintings aren’t slapdash.  That is they’re not the type of spontaneous "process pieces" that are dabbed down without thinking.  On the contrary. Surprisingly, thinking is a big part of what I do, as are feeling and intuiting.  Some painters, certain realists for example, might calculate and measure where each element goes and exactly how.  That’s not my way.  I do plan a lot—spend hours on set-up and composition, but still like to leave significant detailing to chance.  For instance, I won’t force a mood or color palette that’s not within my capabilities of the moment.  I also like to guesstimate—even embellish aspects that cry out to me for extra attention.  Consequently, my portraits have caricature-like tendencies and my still-lives are more whimsical than realist.  Then there’s my abstracts, a melange of freedom, control, and spontaneity—more representational than abstract and more abstract than representational.  We see and do what we need to at the time (usually without knowing it)—artist and viewer, alike.

Creative minds are frequently distracted.  An idea surfaces and it’s hard to rest until it can be recorded and/or realized.  My creative bursts come in words and images.  One day it’s words.  Another it’s images.  And, when I’m in the mindset for one the other fades. I can either write or paint, but find it hard to do both together. Over time, I’ve come to know when I’m "off’" or "on"—can be creative or not, and how.  And, I can’t always choose those times.  Some of them are very inconvenient, like today.  I really should be up in my studio painting, but have a word explosion I can’t contain. I need to finish writing this passage—express what’s on my mind while it’s still mulling.  It’s been active for a long time, every day while I’ve been painting.  The thoughts have been there, but the verbalization hadn’t reached a stage fit for sharing—until today. I need to get it out now!  Tomorrow, I’m hoping things will be different.  I have a deadline to meet with my paintings.  The day before yesterday was good with respect to staying focus on painting.  I painted, and painted, and painted, and didn’t get tired.  In fact, I couldn’t eat, drink, or speak on the phone, I was caught up in what I needed and wanted to do, energy growing with each technical difficulty overcome.  I love days like that!  Days with no time limits put you in another place. They’re rare and special, and one of the main secret gifts painting/artmaking/creativity can bestow on those prepared to go the distance—travel bumpy roads on routes you’re not sure can take you anywhere.

Painting takes time—more than you might have under normal circumstances. You need to be prepared to give up many other activities (and breaks) in order to paint seriously, proficiently, authentically, and optimally.  This means attempting to stay with the task by preventing (social) interruptions that may be detrimental to your process.  Vacations, weekends, evenings—times when others are relaxing—start to disappear.  Painting takes over and becomes all important—has to be all important.  It’s not a job like any other.  It’s a vocation, and something you can’t always do on command or within a set time frame.  You have to be prepared to go the distance, even when you’d prefer to be doing something else—not have to endure so much isolation.  That said, if you took time out, the ache of not being there to finish your painting may make other experiences less enjoyable.

How much stamina does it take in order to be a serious painter?  A lot!  Even if you sit down and don’t stand, there’s energy exerted—mental as well as physical.  You’re constantly engaged in your process, focusing and concentrating—stepping forward and back, planning and calculating, trying and retrying, doing and undoing.  Sometimes mental gymnastics exhaust. Other times, the sheer physical strain of keeping steady hands, stretching up and down, or twisting, turning and bending provide a work-out you weren’t anticipating.

Painters need to be resilient.  Not every piece will work out how you wish it to.  However, there’s no knowing others’ responses.  All you can be sure of, as artist, is that you have to keep on plugging away—no matter how you feel.  The more you practice, the better your work will become, even if you’re the only one who notices.  Putting your best effort into what you’re doing while you’re doing it is what counts.  Short cuts don’t get you to your destination any faster.  Slowly and surely provides more certain foundations and a better route guide.  Even without a teacher or lesson plan, progress is always possible.  We all learn from personal mistakes.  And, since we’re usually our own severest critics, it’s unlikely there won’t be any mistakes (or answers) found.

Artists/painters have qualities that are special to their vocation.  Others may identify with these, and have similar feelings about what they do and how they do it.  I’m curious to compare.  But, right now, I can only speak about my own day-to-day experience preparing the Florence Biennale exhibition collection (and everything associated with it, beyond its actual painting).  The reflections that follow are listed and recorded in the order they emerged:

1.  Endurance
2.  Stamina
3.  Sacrifice
4.  Creative Pressure/Release
5.  Strategic/Conscious Painting
6.  Noticing the Details
7.  Painter’s Fatigue
8.  "JK Rowling Syndrome"
9.  Support/Patronage/Grants
10. Prices
11. Organization
12. Serendipity
13. Puzzle
14. Time
15. Artist Plus
16. (Special)Gift(s)
17. Message(s)
18. Limitations
19. Sharing
20. Preciousness/Value

The next 20 blog postings will each display a different "Buon Appetito!" painting with a reflection following (in the order listed above).  The "Buon Appetito!" paintings will be displayed alphabetically.  Bananas, Beans (Mixed), Blueberries, Cherries (Red), Chocolate Truffles, Dried Fruit and Nuts, Grapes (Green), Grapes (Red), Jelly Beans, Kumquats, Licorice Allsorts, Olives, Onions, Pasta, Peppers, Raspberries and Blackberries, Rice Snacks, Strawberries Sweethearts, Tomatoes.  Each reflection will follow the order shown in the list above and doesn’t have a specific relationship with the image that it follows.

Looking for fun "stocking stuffers," Chanukah ideas, house-warmers, and shower, kicthen, or "just because" gifts?

Please be aware that souvenir reproductions of "Buon Appetito!’s"’ twenty images are being sold by the Good Neighbours’ Fund (mangaged by TD Waterhouse, Yonge/St. Clair branch).  This is to help support Buon Appetito! showing at the Florence Biennale.

Please contact the Good Neighbours’ Fund, directly, if you would like to purchase few-of-a-kind souvenir reproductions of "Buon Appetito!" Your interest is much appreciated.

Items being offered currently are listed below. Please click on the image included here, as guide, or go to the "Buon Appetito!" exhibit page to see more.

 
• Five-card greeting card packs are $20 (Fruit-y, Sweet-ie, Vegg-ie, and Fun-ky).

• Individual greeting cards are $4.50 each.

• Bookmarks (with four images) are $2.00 each (Berrries, Fruit+Veg, Sweets, Italian, Tropical).

• Ceramic fridge magnets (measuring 2.5" square) are $10 each.

• 12" unframed prints are $15 each.

• Decorative ceramic tiles are, per tile: 3"—$15, 4"—$20, 6"—$30, 8"—$40.

• Decorative marble tiles are, per tile: 4"—$20, 6" —$35, 8"—$45.

p.s.  DocSusan’s exhibit overview page is now posted on the Biennale’s World Fine Artists’ Site 

Here is a party picture from the October 11 Grano/Florence Biennale party. (Others are posted in the DocSusan’s Website Visual Diary.)

 

Hon Dr. Carolyn Bennett, MP holds her thank-you portrait with award winning film maker husband, Peter O’Brian.  Artist (DocSusan) looks on and Biennale artwork, "Buon Appetito!" hangs behind.

Last night, the newly launched Yonge/St. Clair Good Neighbours’ Fund held its first community celebration/fundraiser at Grano, which from all reports in was a great success.  The event was on behalf of my Florence Biennale exhibit.

Here are some quotes included in the Good Neighbours’ Fund brochure: 

"St. Clair to ArtWalk and the new Wychwood Barns project, to the recent success with Luminato, we have a great deal to be proud of here in Toronto. I am proud to be part of a small effort to make up for the misguided cancellation of the Public Diplomacy Program which used to help fund artists to show their works abroad.   We are truly blessed to have such a talented artist in Susan Makin living and working in our Riding of St. Paul’s.” 
CAROLYN BENNETT
Member of Parliament
St. Paul’s, Toronto

"I have always felt that all arts (and crafts) benefit by rubbing elbows with one another, so I am happy to see food and the visual arts doing just that at The Good Neighbours’ Fund Celebration.  Congratulations on your launch!  Having had significant support from my own community over my life, I am a firm believer in initiatives like this one.  There’s no better place to discover and
support talent than close to home. Very best of luck to you!"
LAURA CALDER
French Food at Home
Food Network, Canada

(Earlier related blog entries include:  Toronto Preview—Florence Biennale Exhibit, Yonge/St. Clair Innovation—The Good Neighbours’ Fund, and Why Canadian Talent Moves Away from Canada.)

Instead of giving a thank-you speech, I read the poem that follows—written especially for the event.  For those who weren’t able to make it to the event, and those who’d like to know more about it, I thought this was the best place to share what I said:

From Boston, to Toronto, to Florence—and Back?

Painting happily in Boston
An invitation arrived

You’ve been chosen by an International Committee of Judges
The President of the Biennale wrote

Which country will you represent?  he needed to know

Canada, of course!  No hesitation

I was ready to come "home"

26 years ago, I settled here
And, to me, this place has become very dear

But, in order to succeed, as many do
A forée across the border broadened my scope
Prompted opportunities
Enabled fresh hope

Thus my work began
To make Canada proud, or so I thought
To become an "emerging Canadian artist," or so I wished

Alas, barely started, I nearly stopped
The painting was my passion, but not the expense
The painting was my vocation, but not the run-around

After close to ten months of rejections
A thousand e-mails and phone calls unanswered
I’m still here to tell the tale
and say THANK YOU

I don’t give up easily
And nor do you!

From one little lead
There got planted a valuable seed
When all else fails, neighbors can be there to help you out
Hear you shout
Stand by your side
Protect another Canadian hyde

An idea for a celebration/fundraiser came into being
Thank you Dr. Carolyn Bennett, MP for St. Paul’s

That idea for a celebration connected to a venue
Thank you Roberto Martella, proprietor of Grano

Next, a committee formed
Thank you David, Danny, Graham, Peter, Ryan and Saverio
My men in shining armour, who’ve enabled this happening

Thank you also to all the business keepers, friends, and acquaintances
who understood the plight

I aplologize if anyone is missed
Please don’t be that little word that rhymes—P-I-S-S-E-D

From those who donated prizes
to those who provided rereshments
to those who volunteered time and energy before and on this night
to those who displayed and forwarded posters and invitations
put up with me…and more

An Academy Awards Speech this is not, but to remember there’s a lot

Off to Florence my precious collection will go
And in six weeks, I will join them

For now, that’s all we know

Looking to the future, no one really can predict what’s ahead

Long live the Good Neighbors’ Fund
For whatever assistance it can provide
Nurture the dreams of other talented Canadians
that they stay in Canada
Not feel forced in other countries to reside.

Tonight’s the big night!  Our Yonge/St. Clair Good Neighbours’ Fund celebration/fundraiser is happening at Grano—on behalf of my Florence Biennale exhibit.  Please join us—from 7pm, 2035 Yonge Street.  Also, please check out the Florence Biennale website for updates about what will be happening in Italy in December.

There are many people to thank—and prizes and suprises.  Since this has been a real community/team effort, I wanted to list and acknowledge who’s been involved and how:

SPECIAL GUESTS
• Hon. Dr. Carolyn Bennett, MP for St. Paul’s
• Kim McBrien, New Director, Visual Arts Ontario
• Yonge/St. Clair neighbours and friends

SPECIAL THANKS
• Hon. Dr. Carolyn Bennett, MP:  suggesting such a celebration
• Roberto Martella:  hosting the celebration at Grano
• TD Waterhouse (Yonge/St. Clair Branch):  staff/logistical support
• The Town Crier:  making this a "local news story"
• Neighbours, friends, and businesses (Eglinton to Bloor and beyond):  publicity assistance
• Laura Calder, Food Network Canada for her terrific endorsement (for the Fund brochure)

SPECIAL DONATIONS
• Grano (2035 Yonge Street):  the venue and refreshments
• World Class Bakers (690 St. Clair Ave. W.):  refreshments
• $300 fund kick-off cheque:  an "anonymous friend"
• Pansies painting for silent auction: Susan Makin

DOOR AND RAFFLE PRIZES
• Alexia Von Beck (1228 Yonge St.)
• All The Best Fine Foods (1101 Yonge St.)
• Dimmi Bar and Trattoria (140 Cumberland St.)
• Home Hardware (1420 Yonge St.)
• Indoors and Out ( 2045 Yonge St.)
• Jivamukti Yoga (5 Shuter Street, 3rd floor)
• Laywine’s Pens and Organizers (25 Bellair St.)
• Petplan Insurance (Winnipeg, Manitoba)
• Picture Me (128 Cumberland St.)
• Printziples Fine Art (1470 Yonge St.)
• Spa - Nails (1244 Yonge St.)
• The Spice Room (55 Avenue Rd.)
• TDWaterhouse (Yonge/St. Clair Branch)

TALENT/EXPERTISE
• Product Photo,technical/practical support (productphoto.on.ca)
• Lindsay Goldman, photography
• Armor Media, product development (armormedia.com)
• Gary Wiseman, magic

TIME, ENERGY, AND PATIENCE
• Ryan and Sonia Shapiro, Armor Media
• David Bernstein, Product Photo
• The Good Neighbours’ Fund Executive
(Ryan Green, Graham Kennedy, Susan Makin,
Peter Paz, Danny Pivnick, Saverio Veltri)