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Public art carries a weight that gallery walls rarely impose. Stripped of admission fees, guards, and velvet ropes, it exists in the open, asserting itself into the daily rhythms of civic life. Because of this placement, public monuments do not merely capture individual aesthetic vision. In their attempt to speak to, for, and about society, they carry the burden of symbolism. They are physical declarations of what a society values, remembers, or chooses to elevate.
As time moves on and values evolve, friction becomes inevitable. Debates over public monuments can feel raw, painful, and often disturbing, precisely because this art sits in the space of the perception of history, identity, and community memories. It can be shocking to realize that “our” story has flaws, but it can be even more painful to encounter reminders of cultural alienation on a daily basis. While national headlines often fixate on political rhetoric surrounding monuments, the true conversations happen locally. In Boston, a city that is home to over 350 memorials dating back to the Bunker Hill Monument in 1825, the evolution of public sculpture offers a window into how our collective values can shift with the changing times. To evaluate these works thoughtfully, we must hold two truths at once: we need to understand the historical context in which a monument was conceived, and we must truly listen to how all people in the community experience that work today. Emancipation: The Limits of Intent In 1879, Boston erected a copy of Thomas Ball’s Emancipation, an 1876 bronze depicting Abraham Lincoln standing with an outstretched arm above a kneeling, newly uncuffed African American man. The original still stands in Washington, D.C. and was paid for with funds raised from emancipated slaves. The work was intended to celebrate liberation and honor the Proclamation. Yet its visual hierarchy sparked critique from the very beginning. After seeing the D.C. original, Frederick Douglass openly observed that the statue "did not tell the whole truth" of emancipation. Decades passed, but the image remained static. Following the murder of George Floyd in 2020, widespread racial justice demonstrations brought renewed scrutiny to symbols across the nation. In Boston, public testimony regarding Ball's work revealed a profound emotional disconnect. Parents submitted comments describing young children who looked at the kneeling figure and saw themselves or their fathers, but not as active participants in history, instead as perpetually subservient. Activist Tory Bullock captured the fundamental issue during a 2020 Boston Art Commission hearing: "This is a frozen picture. This man is kneeling. He will never stand up... This image is problematic because it feeds into a narrative that Black people need to be led and freed... Why is our trauma so glorified?" Hearing that perspective was transformative for me. I recalled standing before the statue years earlier with my young daughter, feeling an uneasy discomfort I couldn't quite articulate at the time. Bullock’s critique gave that feeling a name. The kneeling figure can never gain agency, frozen forever in a stance of deference. Recognizing that an explanatory plaque could not undo the immediate emotional impact of the bronze form, the Boston Art Commission voted unanimously in late 2020 to remove the statue. The 54th Regiment Memorial: Individual Dignity in Relief Just across Boston Common, standing before the State House, Augustus Saint-Gaudens’ 1897 Robert Gould Shaw and the 54th Regiment Memorial offers a striking contrast in artistic choice. Rather than relying on generic or stylized figures typical of 19th-century military monuments, Saint-Gaudens created individual facial features for each Black soldier marching alongside Shaw. By honoring the humanity, strength, and resolve of these men, Saint-Gaudens pushed the boundaries of traditional memorial sculpture. The work captures both history and a forward-looking vision of individual dignity and collective purpose. It is a potent reminder that free black men could take action to end slavery and save the Union. Standing before the bronze relief, we do not look down on a passive figure; instead we march alongside men actively shaping their own destiny. Boston Women’s Memorial: Breaking the Plinth Moving into the 21st century, Meredith Bergman’s 2003 Boston Women’s Memorial on Commonwealth Avenue rejects traditional 19th-century monumental tropes altogether. Depicting the poet, Phillis Wheatley, the First Lady, Abigail Adams, and the abolitionist, Lucy Stone, Bergman removes her subjects from lofty granite pedestals to ground level. The bronze figures use their plinths as benches and workspaces, inviting passersby to sit beside them. There is an approachable, energetic quality to the sculpture. Free from the cold, idealized serenity of traditional civic memorials, these three women exude activity and energy, ready to engage in conversation and work. While in their circle, we encounter them not as distant icons, but as lived presences in an ongoing struggle for equal rights. The Embrace: Form, Gesture, and Universality On Boston Common stands Hank Willis Thomas’s 2023 sculpture, The Embrace, dedicated to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Coretta Scott King. Forged from bronze and standing twenty feet tall, the work marries the figurative with the conceptual. Inspired by a photograph of the Kings embracing after Dr. King was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964, Thomas isolates the embrace of their arms and hands, in a composition that seems to float above the plaza. While some viewers struggle with its abstract quality, the removal of traditional portraiture shifts the focus from an idealized "Great Man" figure to the greater power of a connected humanity. The open space beneath and around the arms frames the surrounding park, the sky, and the people moving through it. In my view, a private moment of love becomes so much more as it is transformed into a public monument to solidarity, empathy, and movement-building building, all features of Dr. King’s work. Framing the Path ForwardWhen viewed chronologically, these four Boston monuments reveal a clear evolution in how we conceptualize freedom and agency: [1876] Emancipation where Freedom is seen a gift bestowed from above [1897] Shaw 54th Memorial where Freedom is an active, dignified collective effort [2003] Women's Memorial where Freedom is a quest propelled by accessible, ground-level civic work [2023] The Embrace where Freedom is an interconnected, empathetic movement open to all Monuments are snapshots of the era that commissioned them. As a result this type of public art will always carry the reflections of past funding, political climates, and dominant cultural narratives. But public space belongs to the living. As our collective understanding deepens, evaluating public art requires us to respect historical context without becoming captive to it. Rather than seeing history as frozen in time, we must make room for new voices and ideas as we continue to shape our shared landscape and our cultural future.
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How do you stay cool in the city during a heatwave? Visit an art museum.
Escaping the summer heat led me straight to one of my favorite spaces at the Museum of Fine Arts: the Center for Netherlandish Art. I’ve long been drawn to the Golden Age of Dutch painting. I have always loved the still lifes overflowing with spices, exotic woods, silver, porcelain, fruits, and nuts alongside familiar herring and oysters. These genre paintings render elegant silks and Middle Eastern carpets with astonishing realism. It is a world of marvels, but beauty is only half the story. This era was defined by unprecedented prosperity fueled by global trade, early corporations, and the birth of the stock market. A rising class of merchants sought art for their homes, prompting artists to specialize in daily scenes, vibrant landscapes, and seascapes. Yet there is a dark side to this legacy. The exotic goods brought home by Dutch ships were rooted in slavery and colonial exploitation. The MFA now includes direct commentary and maps detailing this asymmetrical exchange. This is a level of historical transparency I had never seen so explicitly displayed in these galleries. Moving forward two centuries, I entered a world of color and light: French Impressionism. Painting en plein air, the Impressionists broke with academic tradition, aided by modern chemistry that brought new pigments and portable paint tubes. Just as 17th-century Holland was shaped by global trade, 19th-century France was transformed by the Industrial Revolution. The Impressionists embraced the modern world of train stations, dance halls, theaters, and boating parties as their subject. But they didn't idealize it. Monet’s London series captures the fog-choked Thames, where dense, heavy brushmarks carry the tangible weight of industrial soot. Similarly, Edgar Degas depicted women at work, the milliners, launderers, and dancers, with an unerring, unromanticized realism. These were the working-class women whose labor made upper-class life possible, painted in intense colors that further disrupted academic norms. Pushing into the late 20th century and contemporary work, the exhibit Ebb and Flow centers on movement created without traditional representation. Here, color, brushwork, and material replace form. El Anatsui’s wall sculpture, Black River, crafted from discarded bottle caps and foil labels, forms soft, cloud-like puffs that belie its metallic nature. Debris from a colonial past is transformed into an artwork that simultaneously critiques colonialism and celebrates native ingenuity. Although not included in Ebb and Flow, in a nearby gallery, Steve Locke’s Homage to the Auction Block brings this thread front and center. His deceptively simple painting of colored squares recalls Josef Albers, but Locke intentionally links modern American wealth and modernist aesthetics directly to the legacy of chattel slavery: "You don’t have the modernist development of culture without enslavement. And to try to pretend otherwise is kind of crazy." — Steve Locke Globalism and colonization are not relic concepts; they dwell in our past and continuously evolve alongside technology. I do not usually leave an art museum carrying the heavy weight of European history, but art is elastic. It is always filtered through evolving personal experience. On any given day it is possible to discover a new way of looking. Acknowledging the ties between trade, labor, and art in the Dutch galleries colored my experience for the rest of the visit. It proved to be an excellent reminder that everything is connected. Art is not some pristine form of creativity untouched by the everyday world. I often tell people that creating art requires far more than skill or innate talent. Drawing and painting are skills, much like writing, playing an instrument, or serving a tennis ball. Like any discipline, the techniques of art can be taught, learned, and honed over time through practice. I have drawn and painted for most of my life, and I suspect I will spend the rest of it working to get better. So if talent is merely the starting line, what actually transforms someone into an artist? 1. Permission: Stepping onto an Unpaved PathThe first step isn't technical. It's actually psychological. You have to give yourself permission to dedicate your life to an uncertain path. Being an artist means taking a risk: creating something that no one has asked for. An artist must begin working long before gaining recognition or income, creating without the security of an audience, let alone prospective buyers. And yet, artists work anyway. The drive to create feels less like a choice and more like a necessity. We don't sit around waiting for a bolt of inspiration or the "perfect" idea. Instead, we train, formally, informally, or both. Over years of steady practice, raw talent evolves into a cohesive, recognizable visual voice. This evolution takes time. I worked quietly for years until a close friend asked me a simple question: “When are you going to start selling your work?” Until that moment, it hadn't even occurred to me that I might be ready. That question gave me the nudge to take the next step. 2. Thought Process: Art as an Intellectual LanguageArt is not just a visual medium; it is a way of thinking. Over time, an artist builds a personal visual language to express how they see the world—and why it matters. Deciding to make art is only the beginning. It's a bit like deciding to become a lawyer: once that choice is made, you still have to select your specific area of practice. What type of landscape? Which medium? What emotional tone? A painter's vocabulary is built from foundational elements: color, texture, shape, value, and medium. We develop this language by spending countless hours at the easel and studying the masters who came before us. For example, while the radical shifts in perspective and color application developed by the French Impressionists frequently occupies my thoughts, my own focus leans toward still life rather than plein air landscapes. I use those historical influences to inform my work, even as I carve out my own quiet space. A painter’s chosen language dictates the emotional weight of their work. Concern over environmental degradation calls for a certain palette and style; celebrating the quiet majesty of nature demands another. 3. Observation: Finding the Spark in the EverydayThrough close, sustained observation, artists discover tiny moments of magic and translate them onto canvas for others to share. This isn't about waiting for a muse. When you practice the act of truly looking, you begin to see beyond obvious shapes and colors. You notice how light hits an ordinary object, or how subtle color shifts create rhythm across a surface. Much like poetry, a painting conveys both obvious themes and quiet, layered messages:
The Unseen Value Behind the Canvas Are permission, thought process, and observation everything it takes? Not quite, but they are the bedrock of an artist’s mindset. As an art lover or prospective collector, keeping these unseen elements in mind changes how you experience a gallery or studio. The journey from initial desire to mastery is long and quiet. Not unlike a musician performing on stage or a writer publishing a book, an artist’s years of trial, error, and refinement happen entirely out of sight. When you feel that unmistakable frisson, a spark of connection with a piece of art, remember that countless hours of unseen thought, observation, and discipline brought that moment to life. It is precisely that invisible effort that creates the joy, curiosity, and awe that stops you in your tracks... and invites you to bring the story home to your own walls. The Marketplace is Broader Than You Might Think
Art has always been an essential part of the human experience. Long before the first brush met a canvas, our ancestors were decorating their spaces, creating objects, and expressing themselves using art. As the centuries progressed, art evolved alongside technology, broadening the scope of work in increasingly sophisticated manners . Today, art is more accessible than ever. Once reserved exclusively for the ultra-wealthy or public religious spaces, original art can now live in any home. Thanks to the digital age, we can discover an incredible artist living just down the street—or halfway across the world—with a single click. Although exciting, this instant access to a global market can feel incredibly overwhelming. In a world of infinite possibilities, how do you find the piece that truly speaks to you? Fortunately, navigating the art market doesn't have to be daunting. With a few simple guideposts, you can confidently transition from an art lover to an art collector. Let’s look at the primary avenues for discovering original art and what to expect from each. 1. Art Galleries: Curated Experiences Galleries are commercial or non-profit spaces dedicated to showcasing and selling art. However, they aren't all created equal. Understanding the different types can help you find the right environment for your taste and budget:
Pro Tip: A gallery’s website is the best way to gauge its aesthetic philosophy. Don't hesitate to reach out online or in person; gallerists love introducing new collectors to their artists. 2. Art Fairs: The High-Energy Showcase Art fairs bring many artists and galleries under one roof. They are fantastic for exposing yourself to a massive variety of styles in a single weekend.
Note: Art fairs are bustling and high-energy. They aren't designed for quiet contemplation, but they are unparalleled for spotting trends and discovering what styles naturally draw your eye. Think of the art fair as an event for exploration and making connections . Art-Collecting.com provides an extensive list of major art fairs all over the world. 3. Open Studios: The Ultimate Insider Access An Open Studio event is a curated weekend where local artists open their private workspaces to the public. Equipped with a neighborhood map, you can wander into the very rooms where the magic happens. This is arguably the most intimate way to buy art. You get to see the artist’s process, ask questions about their inspiration, and buy directly from the source. If you find a piece you love but aren't quite ready to pull the trigger, walk away and see how you feel. If you are still thinking about that canvas three days later, the work has truly resonated with you. As an artist myself, I can tell you there is nothing more rewarding than when a collector reaches out days after an event to say a piece made such an impact they simply have to own it. 4. Independent Brokers and Art Advisors: If you value your time and want a highly tailored experience, an independent broker or art advisor is an excellent investment. Because they don't operate a physical gallery, these experts spend their time scouting studios, attending auctions, and building relationships across the industry. They act as a sophisticated matchmaker, aligning your personal taste, home aesthetic, and budget with the perfect piece. An advisor can help you build a cohesive collection over time, handle the logistics of framing and delivery, and even negotiate private sales on the secondary market. 5. Auctions: The Thrill of the Bid While evening sales at Sotheby’s or Christie’s make global headlines for breaking records, the auction world is actually incredibly varied. Regional auction houses regularly handle beautiful estate collections that include fine art at a range of price points. Additionally, charity auctions and benefit galas are excellent venues for modern art lovers. Artists often donate artwork to support causes, and while the bidding can occasionally get fierce, you stand a great chance of taking home something deeply special while supporting a good cause. Your Next Step Today, the possibilities for discovering art are entirely limitless. Whether you prefer to research quietly online, partner with an advisor, or dive into the energy of a bustling art fair, the journey is entirely yours to shape. Don't be afraid to get your feet wet. The art world is waiting, and your perfect piece is out there. Have you ever heard someone say there are no new ideas, or that nothing is truly original anymore? Instinctively, statements like that annoy me. Yet, at the most basic level, there is a fundamental truth to them. Naturally, creative people want to view themselves as entirely original. And in many ways, we are; no two people are exactly alike. But creativity does not exist in a vacuum. We learn from, and are inspired by, those who walked the path before us. Our sources of inspiration grow as our exposure to the world expands. We might find inspiration in the natural world, popular culture, or current events, possibly even all three simultaneously. But the work of other artists, both past and present, certainly shapes how we see and interpret the world around us. As a painter, I have studied an immense amount of art from various cultures and eras. Early on, I was drawn to the European "Old Masters," largely due to a modest collection of art books in my parents' library. I was utterly fascinated by how 16th and 17th-century painters could create such vibrant, living pictures. That fascination kept me drawing; I wanted to learn how to create that kind of magic myself. As my education and practice deepened, my horizons expanded to include ancient art, contemporary works, and everything in between. I have learned to appreciate artistic processes I will never personally use. Looking at the world through the eyes of others has allowed me to think far beyond my own personal experiences. While many artists have shaped my philosophy, I want to share four representational painters who are constantly on my mind. Each has deeply inspired some aspect of my studio practice, and each left an undeniable mark on the broader art world. Paul Cézanne (1839–1906) The Structure of Moments Cézanne is a complex figure whose paintings deeply influenced the 20th century’s modern art. While he belonged to the same generation as the Impressionists, he never quite fit into their Parisian circles. He rejected traditional academic styles just as they did, but Cézanne wasn’t interested in capturing fleeting moments of light. Instead, he was consumed by the form and structure of his subjects. Cezanne married traditional composition with the vibrant color principles of Impressionism, inadvertently carving out a singular path that would later inspire Cubism. His work was groundbreaking, heavily criticized, and slow to find an audience. Even today, it remains beautifully challenging because nothing about a Cézanne painting is designed to put the viewer at ease. His compositions are complex, his colors can seem muted or earthy, and his planes and angles routinely defy traditional perspective. Two elements of his work completely captivate me: his humble still-life arrangements and his ability to meld multiple sightlines into a single canvas. He populated his canvases with ordinary, recurring objects: apples, pears, textiles, a ginger jar, or simple earthenware. Nothing is romanticized or theatrical; everything is just there. Yet, his considered brushstrokes reveal an artist exploring the world as if for the first time. When I look at a Cézanne still life, I feel an intense intimacy. Our minds can become wonderfully disorientated by his defiance of perspective. Awkward, raking angles make it look as though fruit should be rolling right off the tabletop. His paintings demand active looking rather than passive enjoyment. The eye is continuously guided along shifting pathways; resting is not really an option. Why do his table edges fail to line up? I believe Cézanne was painting the truth of time and physical movement. As he worked, his head shifted, his angle changed, and he chose not to edit out the resulting visual oddities. He painted what his eyes actually saw from moment to moment. I like to think of Cézanne as a cartographer charting a territory; the result may not be objectively accurate, but it holds the authentic experience of a moment. Lois Dodd (B. 1927) The Poetry of the Immediate Lois Dodd is a representational painter who came of age in post-WWII New York, right as Abstract Expressionism was taking over the art world. Rather than joining the avant-garde trend, Dodd chose a quieter independent path: she painted what she saw. Dodd has built a notable career out of celebrating the ordinary, whether painting rural landscapes or domestic interiors. Her works, especially her smaller canvases, are typically completed on-location in a single sitting. She doesn't carefully stage her subjects. If something catches her eye while she is moving through the world, she stops and paints it as she experiences it. Dodd is a master at conveying the joy of spontaneous discovery during an ordinary day. She typically begins by locking in the structure of light and shadow. By establishing this immediately, she anchors the time of day, allowing her to concentrate on the forms while ignoring the inevitable shifting of light. She applies the same philosophy indoors, painting her environment exactly as she finds it without theatrical lighting or precious arrangements. Because her paintings are completed so quickly, the paint is often thinly and decisively applied, giving her work a remarkably fresh, breathing quality. Her landscapes often feel utterly sun-drenched because her colors remain clean and unworked. I deeply admire the light, airy quality that comes from such confident, rapid decision-making. Antonio López García (B. 1930) Beguiling Observation Antonio López García is a Spanish master celebrated for his breathtaking realism. He is a phenomenal draftsman, but his art is born from combining that technical skill with an almost devotional intensity of observation. His paintings can take years to complete as he meticulously documents the subtle shifts in his environment. In lesser hands, this level of scrutiny could result in a stiff, academic exercise. With López García, it yields pure poetry. His intense observation creates a profound sense of intimacy, inviting us to step directly into his sensory world. His colors are wonderfully quiet, and the air itself feels palpable. Yet, when you step close to the canvas, the tight, microscopic detail you expect to find actually dissolves. Instead, you discover that it is his masterful handling of subtle color shifts that tricks our eyes into perceiving flawless detail from a distance. Like Dodd and Cézanne, López García finds his muse in the mundane. His massive cityscapes of Madrid bypass famous monuments instead favoring views of Madrid’s typical commercial avenues. Many of his most powerful works focus on the domestic sphere:
Janet Fish (1938–2025) The Symphony of Light Of the painters in this group, Janet Fish is perhaps the most visible influence on my own work. As a still-life painter, she was captivated by transparency and the complex ways light refracts, bounces, and dances through objects. Fish launched her career in the 1960s, a decade of radical experimentation. Abstract Expressionism was waning, minimal and conceptual art were rising, and many critics declared that painting was dead. A small contingent of artists defied this narrative by doubling down on realism. Many of her peers used photographs, creating what would become known as Photorealism. Instead, Fish turned to painting from life. She ignored still life tradition by discarding the dark, staged arrangements of art history. Instead, she assembled eclectic, brightly colored groupings of objects that bore no obvious narrative connection:
Unlike traditional studio painters who use controlled, artificial spotlights, Fish embraced the unpredictable nature of real-world environment. She often placed her objects near windows, working dynamically with the shifting daylight. She also utilized higher, downward angles that created sweeping, energetic pathways for the viewer's eyes to follow. Wandering through a Janet Fish painting is a joyous experience. While the entire canvas reads as a cohesive, glowing ecosystem, looking closely reveals delightful, unexpected vignettes—micro-stories told through a gentle reflection or a splash of vibrant color. The Lessons of the Masters While I often study these four artists individually, they share a collective philosophy that I deeply admire and aspire to in my own practice:
Art is one of the most universal languages we possess. Long before there was written language, humans were already using images to convey ideas. Early cave paintings discovered all over the world predate written language, serving as a testament to the human need for expression. We may never know exactly why these ancient paintings were created, but it is safe to guess that they were of great importance. Our ancestors took the time to find places safe from the elements to ensure preservation, and over time generation after generation continued to add more to the record. Art is Culture; Culture is Art As these groups evolved into societies they developed rules, customs, languages, and religion that gave their units identity and structure. These distinct features form a culture, and at its broadest level, art is a physical expression of a culture. Culture encompasses all aspects of a society’s expression from “high art” to everyday “folk.” Whether a sacred hymn, a classic oil painting, a comic book, or pop song these art forms provide a snap shot of a society’s values at any given moment in time. While we categorize and rank these from “high art” to low or popular culture, more ephemeral items like newspapers, letters, and street music are just as important in telling a society’s story. Culture is not set in stone; it is ever changeable and alive as humanity itself. The Great Communicator Throughout history art has served as a channel for communication, especially when the vast majority of people were illiterate. For centuries the great epic poems, The Iliad and The Odyssey were relayed by bards long before being written down. In a similar fashion, Christian art was not just a beautiful expression of devotion, such art also explained important aspects of religion visually to a population who could not have read or understood Latin. Beyond religion, imagery and sculpture were also used by the state. Rome is filled with monuments created to reinforce the power of a long vanished empire. Included in the collections of our museums are art and artefacts from other cultures, often plundered by conquerors and explorers. From the Political to the Personal Art also captures the intimate shifts in the human experience. In late 19th century France, the Impressionist movement depicted the rapid changes taking place in an increasingly industrial society. Today artists continue to push boundaries, making art about everything from global politics to concepts that challenge society’s established values and priorities. Take the music of Bruce Springsteen for instance. While his hit song, “Born in the USA,” is often mistaken for a patriotic anthem due to its upbeat tempo and refrain, the lyrics speak of the ache of working class Americans who are losing their chance at the American dream. Phrases like “dead man’s town,” “Nowhere to run, nowhere to go,” communicate the ache of dreams forever out of reach. This theme is also central to John Steinbeck’s writing and the gritty urban scenes painted by the Ashcan School. Whether the message is a grand political statement or a more personal reflection, art ensures diverse perspectives can reach a broad audience. In a democratic society, this prevents taste from being dictated entirely by a small group of “arbitrators” and allows for the growth of both ideas and society. The Evolution of Expression: The Dutch Golden Age As societies stabilize and prosper, creativity plays a part in all aspects of life and culture. Innovation often layers itself onto tradition, creating entirely new genres. We see this clearly in the movement from religious art to more secular imagery in 16th and 17th century Europe. In western Europe religious art, history painting, and portraiture dominated artistic output through the 16th century. However artists began to explore other subjects, sometimes adding a bit of still life or genre scene to a religious painting by adding a kitchen scene to The Last Supper. After Northern Europe began to separate from the Catholic Church, demand for religious art vanished. To distance themselves from the old church, the newly formed Protestant sects eschewed the elaborate decorations and art of Catholic churches. In order to support themselves, artists needed to find new subject matter. They began to focus on the formerly minor elements in the grand religious paintings, like still life, flower painting, and genre scenes. These became particularly popular in the Netherlands where a successful merchant class provided an expanded market for personal artwork. The Netherlands was a country that long focused on trade, whether in wool from England or exotic spices from the far east, the country was prosperous, and more open to new ideas whether in science or art. Increased wealth and a more secular and mobile population provided room for creativity, exploration, learning and discovery. Individuals had the opportunity to carve out new specialties in science and art. This was not by chance. These advancements were responses to a changing cultural landscape. A Vibrant, Evolving World In the modern era the focus has shifted even further toward individuality. Claude Monet broke new ground by capturing the most fleeting expressions of light, work that prioritized visual sensation rather than narrative. Henri Matisse, combined pattern, stylized imagery, and references to objects from other cultures to create a visual language that was uniquely his. Today personal expression is everywhere. Tattoos and piercings, once associated with specific subcultures like sailors and bikers, are now used by everyone from super models to college students to signal identity. While such rapid cultural shifts can feel uncomfortable, it is through exposure to different ideas that we grow and develop. Creativity, connection, and expression are the threads that weave our world together. As long as we welcome our ability to evolve, the dialog will never fall silent.  This is not the topic I had planned for this month, but a recent experience in New York City resulted in a change of topic.
Last weekend I found myself in the city for the first time in several years. I immersed myself in art. From the classic works in the Metropolitan Museum of Art to an intimate gallery show in Chelsea, I saw some wonderful art. My primary reason for the trip, however, was professional: I was fortunate enough to be showing my own work at the Affordable Art Fair. With ninety galleries representing hundreds of perspectives, this fair offered a vibrant cross section of contemporary art. As I moved through the fair, one body of work caught my eye. I was not personally drawn to it, yet it planted itself in the back of my mind. I cannot recall the gallery or even tell you the artist’s name, but its theme, irony, stayed with me. An Era of Sincere Irony Irony was an underlying current of the 1980s. As someone who came of age in this era, I remember its unique friction. It was a time of neon optimism and relentless consumerism. It was an era of “big,” big hair, big jewellery, and big aspirations, juxtaposed against the grim realities of the Cold War and the burgeoning AIDS crisis. As teenagers in our suburban bubble, we navigated these tensions with a curious detachment. We believed we could bounce through life in Calvin Klein jeans to a sound track by the B-52s, or Talking Heads, and everything would somehow untangle by the credits. Like the John Hughes movies that defined our suburban world, we believed that a bit of grit and our desire could paper over any rising social insecurity. We understood the irony of our “carefree” lives, but we leaned into the allure of the facade. A “Formula” for Success At the fair I saw several riffs on art created during the 1980s. One series, in particular, caught my eye: a series of “how-to manuals” scrawled on an enlarged lined paper surface suggesting that successful art is merely the result of a formula. One illustration read, “If all else fails, make a giant toy,” accompanied by an image of Jeff Koons’s Balloon Dog. This critique feels timely, yet it misses the mark on why Koons’s work actually functions. Last month I did not delve into the concepts of his work (link here), but it’s worth noting that Koons emerged in the 1980s, not as a toy maker, but as a commentator on America’s consumer culture. In his series, New Hoover Convertibles, he placed vacuum cleaners inside plexiglass cases. In doing so, Koons deftly altered the vacuum cleaners’ status from product to object of culture. Whether or not these objects are art is immaterial. I think it is fair to say that vacuum cleaners are not considered to be fine art. I’m not even sure if the vacuum cleaner itself is important; it may be the ability of advertising to create status and desire that is on display in those cases. In an ironic twist, a mundane cleaning product moves from an advertisement to the status of art. Actually, not unlike Andy Warhol’s Brillo Boxes from the 1960s, which Warhol did actually make. In this Koons echoed Warhol’s examination of advertising’s power in post war America. The Weight of Light While Balloon Dog was not created until 1994, it is a great eaxmple of Koons’s play with irony. He took a simple, ephemeral, and inexpensive child’s party toy and exploded it into a massive, hard, and incredibly expensive sculpture. Larger and more permanent than any party clown’s favor, the sculpture also wrangled with the idea of what can be art. Balloon Dog may have been inspired by a lowly object, but its scale and high shine mesmerized viewers. Its brilliance lies in the physical challenge it presents to the viewer: you must hold two contradictory ideas in your mind simultaneously. Balloon Dog is a familiar toy, but it is made of several tons of colorful highly polished steel. Only the bulbous shaped body parts and the tell tale knotted nose remind viewers that this is “simply” a balloon animal, a small child’s party favor meant to bring joy. You see a kitschy object, but you stand before a surface so highly polished that it mirrors your surroundings back at you, demanding the same reverence we give to a classic monument. The Ultimate Irony: Koons Endures The “How-to Manual’s” artist at the fair clearly saw Koons as a symbol of Art World pretentiousness, a man who uses a “formula” rather than artistic skill to achieve fame and fortune. This is the ultimate irony: Koons, once the commentator, has now become the subject of commentary. To this artist, he is no longer a purveyor of concepts; he is simply an icon of the market place. However, the “formula” critique falls short because, while Koons’s work appears simplistic, surely anyone could come up with these ideas, is it really that easy? How many people could look at an actual balloon dog and envision a sculpture so singularly enormous, hard, and reflective? These properties create something similar to, yet so completely beyond the humble toy that its very title becomes the height of ironic absurdity. It may seem easy to take a toy and turn it into a sculpture, but it is not that simple. In fact, Koons created a whole series of balloon objects, known as his Celebration series. While several have garnered attention, only Balloon Dog has gained iconic status. Here, Koons navigates the complexities of conceptual art with great success. Where other conceptual works are bogged down by academic titles and esoteric jargon, Koons is refreshingly literal. Balloon Dog is, quite simply, a balloon dog. By eschewing the dense language of the gallery world, he makes his work accessible to lay people as well as aficionados. Joyous, yet Unyielding Whether viewed as a celebration of childhood joy or a cynical play on traditional monuments, Koons pushed the boundaries of what we consider “Art” to be. Balloon Dog is more than a toy masquerading as a sculpture; it is a mirror, quite literally, revealing our own desires, our culture, and our enduring fascination with the new. It remains joyous and unyielding, a perfect symbol for the complex irony of the late 20th century.
Balloon Dog (Blue) New Hoover Convertible, Green, Blue; Doubledecker 1994-2000, Jeff Koons 1981 - 1987, copyright Jeff Koons The Broad, Los Angeles Whitney Museum of American Art I sometimes find myself wandering through a museum or gallery with a friend. We’ve been having a great time, but as we round a corner, my companion just stops. The look on their face changes. A shake of the head followed by that classic line, “I don’t get it. What makes this good?” It’s a fair question. The variety of ways to create art and the issues artists explore have grown and evolved in tandem with the development of today’s complicated world. There are undeniable benefits and challenges of living in this era. In today’s world, an artist’s work is limited mostly by their imagination and resources. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of almost limitless creativity is work that challenges traditional ideas of what can be called Art. I often think of my husband and father at the Whitney Museum of American Art staring at Jeff Koons’ New Convertibles, Red Green, Blue; Doubledecker. To this day it remains their prime evidence that the art world is playing a giant practical joke. “How is this art?” they ask. “Did he even make it? Does this require any actual skill?” Their reaction highlights exactly how complicated this world can be. But here is the truth: the idea that art can be categorized objectively as “good” or “bad” is a myth.. The Myth of Objectivity Categorizing things is part of human nature; it’s a survival mechanism. We learn that running into the road is bad because it’s dangerous. However, if we see a child’s toy in the street or someone who needs help, we pause, look, and realize the context has changed. We step into the road. Art, not unlike many of life’s daily events, deserves the same pause. While artists, critics, gallery owners, art historians, and collectors will happily declare the merits of a piece, those judgements are not objective truths. They are opinions shaped by a specific lens and they have no bearing on your personal taste. It is important to let go of the idea of good and bad in art because “good” and “bad” are moving targets. They depend on culture, tradition, and “rules” of an era. Throughout history the world has become more and more connected. Certain visionary artists, scientists, philosophers and businessmen began to experiment with concepts discovered through progress and exploration. Art can create new means of expression by adapting novel styles and concepts into its current language. These new ideas have often challenged cultural norms and created hostility from the public and experts alike. Whether something is “visionary” or merely “disruptive” usually depends on who you ask. How you perceive a piece of art depends upon a variety of factors. Age, cultural background, knowledge, and even mood on a given day can impact how you might view, understand and feel about a piece of art. Add in your profession, income, aspirations, trust of expertise, political views, the flexibility of your mind set, well the list is endless. So, how can you possibly look at any art objectively? Realistically, is it even possible for Art World insiders to be truly objective? No. The Art World is really no different than other groups. These are people, who by virtue of age, education, experience, and perhaps track record, are considered the leaders whose insights and opinions guide the field. They are professionals who have spent countless hours studying and working in the particular area. Reasons for championing certain work over others are as complicated as in any other business. Politics, reputations, etc. are as present in the Art World as in any other field. So how do you, the viewer, and perhaps fledging art enthusiast, navigate this landscape riddled with experts who declare winners and losers and guard their positions with the vehemence of a miser hoarding his treasure? Why the Concept of “Good” Keeps Shifting If you dive into art history, you will see the term “Master” applied to many artists. And there are Masters without a doubt. But even the status of “Master” is changeable. Take the 17th-century Dutch giants, Rembrandt and Vermeer.
It can be stated without controversy that each man was a master of his craft.
The Night Watch, 1642 The Milkmaid, 1657-8 Rembrant va Rijn Johannes Vermeer Rijkmuseum Rijksmuseum What changed? Not the paintings. The brushstrokes remained exactly as they were in the 1600s. What changed were people’s tastes. Rembrandt’s drama is timeless and his broad oeuvre ensures that something will always find favor. But Vermeer was a specialist, and his quiet, contemplative interiors fell out of fashion until the world was ready to appreciate them again. Simply put, trends changed. Even Impressionism, so popular today, was ridiculed well into the 20th century. Its success is thanks to a few persistent dealers who kept the work in the public eye until the world’s "eye" finally adapted. First Look, Pause, and Then Think When you are out looking at art remember that, like everything else, art is subject to trends and fashion. As with any other trend, you can decide if you wish to take part or not. So the next time youIf you find yourself face to face with a piece of art that feels alien, try this: Don’t worry about captions or catalog copy. Don’t worry about what the experts say. Simply look and ask yourself this: What do I feel? What do I see? Your reaction does not need to be an intellectual thesis. Simply take stock of what the piece makes you feel: joy, sorrow, anger, annoyance, serenity, even a vague sense of boredom. And they are all perfectly acceptable. There is no single way in which to view a work of art. The second step is to ask: Why? Maybe you don’t “get” abstract art, but a certain color makes your skin tingle. You may still see the earlier Koons as “just vacuum cleaners” but standing in front of Balloon Dog and you may find yourself thinking, “Wow, this is kind of fun and cool, and sooo shiny and big…” because it’s fun. As I have already said art does not have any single group of standards. Each person brings their own personal ideas, emotions, and experiences with them as they look at art. As a painter I work with my perceptions of the world, but I believe that there must be a point of entry for viewers. If a viewer has space to enter the canvas and find something, which may be entirely alien to my intent, who am I to say their thoughts are invalid? They simply connect with the image through their own experiences. If you find yourself liking a particular style or individual artist, look at more work. You will not necessarily like every example you see, but it can help clarify your feelings. Simply spending time exploring can help you develop an authentic appreciation of art based on your connection to the work. Trust your feelings, rather than Art World valuations, and you will select work that will resonate for years to come. How to Navigate the Gallery: Leave It, Appreciate It, Love It To avoid “overwhelm,” you can divide everything you see into three buckets: Leave It: You do not like it, you do not understand it, or both. This is personal. Just because a friend likes something, great. But you don’t have to. Just walk away. Appreciate It: You recognize the skill or historical importance, but would not want to live with it. This work just doesn’t speak to you in any way. You are the buyer, and it is your desires that matter. You may appreciate an artist’s skills, but the subject matter or ideas don’t resonate with you. Maybe it will not work with your decorating style. This is perfectly okay. Love It: This is that sweet spot where everything aligns. The style, the subject, the feeling. This work resonates. You can’t wait to see it in your home. Even if you can’t afford a “Love It” piece right now, let that feeling guide you to a more affordable piece with a similar spirit. The Bottom Line
First, don’t think about art as an investment; think of it as a connection. Comedian and seasoned art collector, Steve Martin, bought his first picture when he was young. At $300.00 it was a big purchase for him. Decades later, that painting’s market value remains about $300.00. But Martin still enjoys the painting as much as the “more important” works in his collection. To Martin it is the personal feelings that matter, not the monetary value. Art is an expression of one person’s thoughts and feelings, and you are an individual with your own. You do not have to connect with everything out there. You only need to find that sweet spot where the work speaks to you. The art world is vast, and there is something out there for everyone. So, get out there and explore—on your own terms.  "Summer, Blue and Ochre" Pastel on Watercolor Paper As I consider my plans for the coming year, I find myself drawn to my older work in pastel. For fifteen years I worked almost exclusively in pastel on heavy watercolor paper. There is a sheer, tactile delight in laying marks of such highly pigmented color onto a textured surface. While many categorize pastel as a form of painting, I have always viewed it differently. To me it is drawing with color. Beyond the “Preliminary” Sketch In the art world, works on paper are often overlooked. Collectors, guided by tradition, can sometimes dismiss them as preparation for “important” oil paintings. However, a drawing or a painted sketch often possesses a fresh lively quality that can vanish from the highly polished finished work. To look at a series of drawings is to watch an artist’s mind at work. Akin to becoming acquainted with a subject, it is a process of discovery through experimentation with line and shadow. Beyond their beauty, these smaller works are often more accessible to a buyer on a budget. A Legacy of Line Why is drawing so often relegated to a lesser status? Historically, drawing plays an important part in the education of artists whose works are in the collections of museums around the world. In the age of apprenticeships, a student began by grinding pigments to make paint, preparing surfaces, such as wood panels, canvas, and walls for painting, and also creating the designs, known as cartoons, for large scale murals found in churches and public buildings. These would-be artists would already have skills in drawing, but under a master the study of drawing would continue. Students would fill notebooks as they learned proportion and perspective. Even after training was complete, artists did not stop drawing. A look through Leonardo’s notebooks reveals the faces of the apostles in his The Last Supper. Later, formal Ateliers would take the place of apprenticeship and formalize an artist’s training. The foundation was that essential stepping stone, drawing. Students mastered spheres and cubes before progressing to plaster casts, and later a live model. This rigorous training created the masters of proportion and perspective and proportion rooted in classical Greece and the high Renaissance. Even “rule breakers” like Degas and Manet received such a foundation. By the mid-20th century, artists had largely abandoned this academic training. With the move away from realism, and in some cases, representational work altogether, drawing became less integral to the creative process. Even when representational work regained popularity, artists did not necessarily use drawing as a part of their process. The Photorealists often projected slides onto the canvas (creating a modern cartoon), and the artist, Janet Fish, considered the arrangement of her still life subjects to be her “drawing.” However, drawing would not be lost. By the early 21st century, the rebirth of the Atelier brought drawing into prominence once again. Today there are ateliers across the United States and in Europe offering the traditional training in painting and drawing. Developing a Personal Language While I did not attend an atelier, my art education was informed by this tradition. I spent more time drawing than painting in my early years, and this remains central to my practice. Whether I am using a brush or a pastel stick, my work is a compilation of hours spent in observation. My process follows a specific progression: Observation: Capturing general shapes and forms to build a composition. Discovery: Identifying what exactly caught my eye in the arrangement. Mark Making: Using a linear language to convey that interest. I’ve always found lines more dynamic than soft shading; they are the structure of my work. Even when painting, I find myself using a pencil to make changes and corrections. Lines carry weight and create form through their thickness, their value (from light to dark), and their density in a given space. The Power of the Mark Each mark communicates something unique. A heavy line creates a boundary or a path for the eye to follow, while a single sharp stroke can be incredibly emphatic. I am particularly fond of layering lines, a technique based on traditional cross-hatching. In pastel, this allows colors to become deeper and more vibrant as they sit atop one another. These active, textured areas are then balanced by the quiet of empty space. I have never aimed for high realism of the ateliers. Working representationally allows me to create art centered on found objects I love, whether they come from nature or human hands. Inspired by the creativity and skill of others, I honor their work even as I explore the links of past and present. These layers of cultural creativity are echoed in the layers of mark making. This work expresses my vision of creativity, while offering viewers space to discover their own worlds. After all, since no two people perceive reality exactly the same way, no single vision can be “correct”. Only authentic. The Art of the Unscripted Experience The first time I visited Italy I was eighteen. For nearly ten years I had poured over art books, particularly those focused on the Renaissance. Now, at last, I would see these paintings, frescoes, and sculptures in situ. While books and reproductions had opened the door, the sheer magic of seeing the art and being in the cities where it was created was irreplaceable. Yet unexpectedly, a portion of that magic emerged through the simple act of wandering. The stonework of an ordinary building could catch my eye as easily as the winter sunlight bouncing off the marble facade of the Duomo. These small fleeting moments become as special as standing before glorious masterpieces. When everything is clickable, why leave home? Today, a simple click can provide information about virtually anything. A variety of perspectives, from the scholarly to the irreverent, opens new avenues of exploration instantly. So, why would we ever leave the comforts of home? While I could offer a catalog of reasons for travel (and probably about as many not to), I wish to focus on just one - the experience. There’s that word, experience. For many years now it has supplanted the acquisition of things. The paradigm has shifted. Instead of buying a throw pillow for the sofa or a beautiful set of dishes, we choose to trek through the Andes snapping selfies amidst the ruins of Machpichu. I am a champion of experiences. Get out there and see the Eiffel Tower of the Grand Canyon. Visit the great museums of the world or that acclaimed restaurant. But what exactly do we mean by experience? It is more than a consumable, packaged with photos to check off a list. Are we sacrificing something as we stand among strangers orchestrating that perfect photo along the Amalfi Coast or the Great Wall of China. Experience is also a powerful verb encompassing the actions of exploration, discovery, and learning. To grant your surroundings your fullest attention is to experience the world in a fundamentally deeper way. Each Time Reveals Something New Thinking of the eighteen year old in Italy, or even the more seasoned traveler, that I am today, how should I approach Florence? Lose the list, wander the city. Pause and breathe. What textures do you see? What scents and sounds fill the air? What memories do they awaken? How does the low winter sun slice across buildings that are centuries old? How does this moment in this space make you feel? Each time I visit Florence a new aspect of the city reveals itself to me. At eighteen I absorbed the art, architecture and geography of the city. Postcards of Art and trinkets from market stalls filled my bags when I came home. Photographs and videos can capture a mere instant. While you will always have that picture, it can never convey the visceral triumph of reaching the tops and gazing out over Florence’s sunlit, terracotta rooftops. Each time I return to Florence, a new aspect of its spirit is revealed. At eighteen I absorbed the art, the architecture, and the geography, returning home laden with postcards and trinkets. That first trip was also marked by an unseasonal cold snap and even snow. As a New Englander, watching the Florentines attempt to clear the streets passable using cardboard, boiling water, and even pick was a memorable, slightly comical spectacle. My return years later in August, found buildings shimmering in a scorching heat. Piazzas were flooded with light, but shadows provided a welcome respite in the narrow streets. Wandering these narrow side streets, revealed new quadrants of the city. Each turn of a corner brought the fragrant promise of hidden enotecas, bustling restaurants, and gelateiras. Mid afternoon often found our family engaged in a now essential ritual of sampling yet another flavor. After all, is there anything better than cold ice cream on a sweltering August day? Now, during the shortened days of December, Florence reveals yet another aspect of itself. With temperatures in the forties and fifties, the Italians are bundled up for winter, but poinsettias and cyclamen brighten the streets in front of shops. As dusk settles, twinkling light displays twinkling emerge overhead festooning one neighborhood after another with glowing warmth. Although it is December, the rich scent of leather spills from open doorways and beckons shoppers. As we wander in and out of these shops, we chat with artisans and sales people happy to share their rich heritage. While some of these stores are firmly planted in traditions of generations of skill, others offer contemporary styles created with the same care and artistry. Become a Wanderer You can never predict what you will discover by stepping off the well worn path. By choosing the back streets over the main thoroughfare, you can glean a richer understanding of an area than any tourist spots can provide. Once, while in search of a specific shop, we were enveloped by the most enticing scent. Suddenly,the pursuit of the shop vanished; all that mattered was locating the source of that glorious aroma. We soon found ourselves standing before an unassuming restaurant securing a dinner reservation. That spontaneous discovery and the subsequent meal remain one of our most treasured travel memories. We have recommended the place ever since. Oh, and that original store? We never did get there. But the trip was all the richer for the unexpected detour. Traveling with Children: an Opportunity for Unscripted Moments Children are fundamentally wired for adventures, but weaving them into an adult itinerary need not be painful. When my daughter was ten we visited Italy, and her singular focus - thanks to Percy Jackson - was the Coliseum and the Roman Forum. While the Vatican failed to captivate her, the numerous fountains of Rome did. In the summer heat, we were constantly grateful the ancient Roman waterworks were still in working order. Traversing the city became a perpetual hunt for the next spectacular fountain. Photo opportunities and the necessity of refilling our water bottles became our daily rhythm. Every evening we made a point of stopping at a particular fountain adorned with stone lions before returning to the hotel. Years later when my daughter returned to Rome on her own, she searched for and found that same lion fountain. The unscripted moment had become a ritual. Wait a Minute, Isn’t This Supposed to Be About Art? Of course. But what, truly, is art? It is an act of creation, a way to convey ideas, feelings, and experiences that transcend words. Every moment, good, challenging, and even seemingly mundane, impacts. The crucial difference lies in how we assimilate these adventures. Experiences can remain a cold checklist of photo-ops, broadcast for all and sundry. Or they can be so much more. They can be exhilarating as we reach a mountain summit, or quietly reflective as we sit in the timeless presence of a painting within an ancient church. Perhaps the experience is the simple comfort of smelling freshly baked bread or the rich sensory memory evoked by the scent of leather and paper, even as a new journey begins. As much as I love high art and culture, the unscripted moments are as essential to my memory as seeing the Sistine Chapel, Monet’s Water Lilies, or any other masterpiece. It is those unexpected, off-book experiences that you will remember and recount years later. Each of my four trips to Florence is held distinct in my mind by singular memories of light, color, sound, and scent. Every day presents an opportunity for discovery. It is easy to see that when everything feels new and exotic, but the unexpected can be found in more ordinary places as well. The Daily Magic of Home As I sit here writing this, I find my eyes wandering to a certain corner of my dining room. On this early December day, sun and clouds are in a perpetual struggle, and winter’s presence is undeniable. There is something, indefinable yet persistent, that tugs at my awareness. So, I simply stop, sit, and look. After all, you don’t need to travel far and wide to cultivate experience. Sometimes there is an abundance of magic to be found right at home. |
AuthorAs an artist, I draw upon countless hours looking and thinking about art, architecture, and design. Here are personal thoughts about creativity and culture. Archives
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