Beatriz Milhazes. Sinfonia Nordestina, 2008; acrylic on canvas; 96 7/8 X 144 7/8 inches

I’ve been accepted to an MFA program that begins this September. As the month approaches, I find myself getting increasingly nervous and anxious (as I always do on the first day of school). It’s been a few years since I’ve participated in group critiques, and while I’m excited about this program, I also feel very vulnerable right now. Can you offer any advice to new MFA students? I wonder what former students “wish they’d known” before going into a program.

There are so many things I wish I’d known before I started my graduate program that I could answer your question with a book. Work hard, show up for everything, and say thank you are timeless tips, of course, but you’re looking for other suggestions calibrated to the specifics of the MFA. First, make friends with the Graduate Program Manager (or whatever they call the initial line of defense in your grad office). This individual will be your conduit to advisor selection, the assignment of teaching assistantships, and much more; woe betide the student who cops an attitude and treats the manager rudely. Second (and this is related to the above), the most bureaucratic rules only apply to students who don’t apply themselves. I’m not suggesting that you engage in risky behavior, but all fences have gates. If you are kind and polite and work diligently, someone may show you where they are. Also, if you are moving to attend school, consider staying in that city for a few years after graduation. You will make a lot of friends and contacts in two years, but if you move away immediately, you will lose them. (This last piece of advice was given to me by a colleague who still regrets that he moved away a week after receiving his degree.) Finally, stay away from drama queens, bastards, and bullies, even the ones who are powerful and who seem to hold the potential for your future professional advancement. If I were dying right now and had to give counsel with my last breath, it would be this: Assholes only ever help themselves.

Read the full article here.

This Summer Session we’re talking about celebrity, and today we bring you Bean Gilsdorf’s Help Desk arts-advice column and a question about fame. With the art world, the art market, and celebrity so deeply intertwined, what is the difference between being a famous artist and a successful artist, and can it be described by the similarities between Thomas Kinkade and Damien Hirst? This column was originally published on April 16, 2012. 

How do you become a famous artist? I am an artist and make lots of art (performance, paintings, drawings, etc.) but I never went to art school. What should I do to slowly but surely become better known in the art world?

Fame, huh? Without a doubt, you must already know that there is no way to “surely” become “better known in the art world,” especially if you are going to do it slowly. Fame strikes like lightning, white hot and irrefutably blinding to those in its immediate path. If fame is your goal, why bother trying to climb the ladder, rung by greasy rung? Why not charter a helicopter and get airlifted to the top? Since my job as an advice columnist is to answer the queries set before me, here is a short list of actions that others have tried in pursuit of fame:

• Kiss (with lipstick on) the museum-hung artwork of an already-renowned artist. When you are arrested, explain to the press and the jury that it was a form of homage and that you were simply overcome by the power of the art. Alternately, if you are the fighter-not-a-lover type, you could punch, kick, stab, or otherwise wound an artwork you find objectionable or offensive.

• Sleep with someone powerful. It’s pretty well tested as a means to gain recognition, so why not give your favorite rock star/politician/A-list dealer a bounce? And then he or she can give your career a boost in return.

• Make a complete spectacle of yourself: do buckets of drugs while making art, have sex in the gallery, don’t bathe, etc. Be the wild and crazy guy who publicly justifies all the stereotypes of the tortured artist. Bonus points if you are a.) attractive and b.) from an old-money family.

Two words: reality show.

Read the full article here.

I’ve been accepted to an MFA program that begins this September. As the month approaches, I find myself getting increasingly nervous and anxious (as I always do on the first day of school). It’s been a few years since I’ve participated in group critiques, and while I’m excited about this program, I also feel very vulnerable right now. Can you offer any advice to new MFA students? I wonder what former students “wish they’d known” before going into a program.

Beatriz Milhazes. Sinfonia Nordestina, 2008; acrylic on canvas; 96 7/8 x 144 7/8 in.

There are so many things I wish I’d known before I started my graduate program that I could answer your question with a book. Work hard, show up for everything, and say thank you are timeless tips, of course, but you’re looking for other suggestions calibrated to the specifics of the MFA. First, make friends with the Graduate Program Manager (or whatever they call the initial line of defense in your grad office). This individual will be your conduit to advisor selection, the assignment of teaching assistantships, and much more; woe betide the student who cops an attitude and treats the manager rudely. Second (and this is related to the above), the most bureaucratic rules only apply to students who don’t apply themselves. I’m not suggesting that you engage in risky behavior, but all fences have gates. If you are kind and polite and work diligently, someone may show you where they are. Also, if you are moving to attend school, consider staying in that city for a few years after graduation. You will make a lot of friends and contacts in two years, but if you move away immediately, you will lose them. (This last piece of advice was given to me by a colleague who still regrets that he moved away a week after receiving his degree.) Finally, stay away from drama queens, bastards, and bullies, even the ones who are powerful and who seem to hold the potential for your future professional advancement. If I were dying right now and had to give counsel with my last breath, it would be this: Assholes only ever help themselves.

Now that we’ve gotten the more cheerful part of this Q&A wrapped up, let’s move on to studio critiques in specific. I reached out to artist and instructor Whitney Lynn, and she said, “My advice to new MFA students is always to recognize that your time in the program is incredibly short. Blink and it’s over. So make lots of new work, meet as many people as you can, and take advantage of everything the program offers.”

Lynn continued: “In terms of being nervous about critiques, you should recognize that most people (myself included) feel anxiety when thrown into new situations where there is pressure to perform. The graduate critique seminar is a place where a whole room is going to focus on, analyze, and debate your work’s intentions and execution. It’s also a place where you will sharpen your ability to talk about—and sometimes defend—your work. This is a precious opportunity and it will never happen again, so don’t waste it. Come to critiques prepared, not only with new work, but also questions about your work and points of conversation you want to raise. Take control of your critiques and you’ll feel less nervous.”

“And if there’s a jerk in the seminar? Think of it as training for the rest of your career as an artist. There’s always going to be jerks, or just people who don’t like and/or understand your work. The task of the person leading the seminar is to keep things relatively objective, and your job is to take everyone’s comments—negative or positive—with a grain of salt. Begin the process of defining your own measures of success, your audience, and the appropriate context for your work. Everything is not for everyone—and that’s okay. With that said, it’s equally important to understand the difference between defending your work, when necessary, and being defensive. You’re in school because you wanted to challenge yourself and your work; if you already have it all figured out, don’t waste your time and money. You’re going to have to learn how to balance being open to criticism and not being overly persuaded/affected by others’ opinions.”

Lynn concluded her advice with, “It’s also important to keep in mind that once you go through [the MFA], you don’t need it anymore. It’s expected that you might enter feeling nervous, vulnerable, and unsure about the direction of your work. It’s also expected that by the time you graduate you feel more confident, secure, and ready to make that next step into your career as an artist. Last but not least, I highly recommend watching Howard Fried’s Burghers of Fort Worth before your first critique.”

I also asked artist Rhonda Holberton to weigh in, and she said, “Be generous in critique. Listen to your peers and take notes, even if you don’t agree with the opinions offered at the time. Recognize that whatever the contribution, it is a generous thing for someone to expend energy really looking and thinking and speaking about your work. Learn how to answer questions about the work without defensiveness and how to say ‘I don’t know’ with confidence. You are expected to experiment, to be unsure. Allow yourself that. As much as you can, detach your ego from the work and learn how to ask questions that give you the answers you need. I took part in more than one critique where insights were buried by ego and defensiveness, and conversations were derailed by minutiae. There will always be politics and gossip, but ultimately the whole thing is for you and your work. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Let’s wrap up with some fast-and-dirty tips:

— You must record your critiques, because in the moment of the meeting, you will be full of adrenaline and trying to track four different comment threads at once. Playing back a critique a day or two later when you are calmer will help you really hear what was said.

— Don’t be afraid to ask commenters to explain or rephrase; not everyone is a great communicator. I once had a peer tell me flatly, “This work is boring”—and yet once I asked her to flesh her comment out a bit, her criticism turned out to be very constructive.

— On crit days, make sure you have a bar/jogging/karaoke buddy lined up for after. Whether it’s a great session or a terrible one, you’ll need to blow off steam with a pal.

— Whether you are first in the day’s lineup or last, serve snacks, because no one in the history of art school ever got a useful critique from a group with low blood sugar. Good luck!

Help Desk is where I answer your queries about making, exhibiting, finding, marketing, buying, selling–or any other activity related to contemporary art. Submit your questions anonymously here. All submissions become the property of Daily Serving.

I’ve been accepted to an MFA program that begins this September. As the month approaches, I find myself getting increasingly nervous and anxious (as I always do on the first day of school). It’s been a few years since I’ve participated in group critiques, and while I’m excited about this program, I also feel very vulnerable right now. Can you offer any advice to new MFA students? I wonder what former students “wish they’d known” before going into a program.

Beatriz Milhazes. Sinfonia Nordestina, 2008; acrylic on canvas; 96 7/8 x 144 7/8 in.

There are so many things I wish I’d known before I started my graduate program that I could answer your question with a book. Work hard, show up for everything, and say thank you are timeless tips, of course, but you’re looking for other suggestions calibrated to the specifics of the MFA. First, make friends with the Graduate Program Manager (or whatever they call the initial line of defense in your grad office). This individual will be your conduit to advisor selection, the assignment of teaching assistantships, and much more; woe betide the student who cops an attitude and treats the manager rudely. Second (and this is related to the above), the most bureaucratic rules only apply to students who don’t apply themselves. I’m not suggesting that you engage in risky behavior, but all fences have gates. If you are kind and polite and work diligently, someone may show you where they are. Also, if you are moving to attend school, consider staying in that city for a few years after graduation. You will make a lot of friends and contacts in two years, but if you move away immediately, you will lose them. (This last piece of advice was given to me by a colleague who still regrets that he moved away a week after receiving his degree.) Finally, stay away from drama queens, bastards, and bullies, even the ones who are powerful and who seem to hold the potential for your future professional advancement. If I were dying right now and had to give counsel with my last breath, it would be this: Assholes only ever help themselves.

Beatriz Milhazes. Sal (Salt), 2009; diptych: woodblock and screenprint; 31.5 x 31.5 in. and 31.5 x 39.5 in. respectively; edition of 40.

Now that we’ve gotten the more cheerful part of this Q&A wrapped up, let’s move on to studio critiques in specific. I reached out to artist and instructor Whitney Lynn, and she said, “My advice to new MFA students is always to recognize that your time in the program is incredibly short. Blink and it’s over. So make lots of new work, meet as many people as you can, and take advantage of everything the program offers.”

Lynn continued: “In terms of being nervous about critiques, you should recognize that most people (myself included) feel anxiety when thrown into new situations where there is pressure to perform. The graduate critique seminar is a place where a whole room is going to focus on, analyze, and debate your work’s intentions and execution. It’s also a place where you will sharpen your ability to talk about—and sometimes defend—your work. This is a precious opportunity and it will never happen again, so don’t waste it. Come to critiques prepared, not only with new work, but also questions about your work and points of conversation you want to raise. Take control of your critiques and you’ll feel less nervous.”

“And if there’s a jerk in the seminar? Think of it as training for the rest of your career as an artist. There’s always going to be jerks, or just people who don’t like and/or understand your work. The task of the person leading the seminar is to keep things relatively objective, and your job is to take everyone’s comments—negative or positive—with a grain of salt. Begin the process of defining your own measures of success, your audience, and the appropriate context for your work. Everything is not for everyone—and that’s okay. With that said, it’s equally important to understand the difference between defending your work, when necessary, and being defensive. You’re in school because you wanted to challenge yourself and your work; if you already have it all figured out, don’t waste your time and money. You’re going to have to learn how to balance being open to criticism and not being overly persuaded/affected by others’ opinions.”

Lynn concluded her advice with, “It’s also important to keep in mind that once you go through [the MFA], you don’t need it anymore. It’s expected that you might enter feeling nervous, vulnerable, and unsure about the direction of your work. It’s also expected that by the time you graduate you feel more confident, secure, and ready to make that next step into your career as an artist. Last but not least, I highly recommend watching Howard Fried’s Burghers of Fort Worth before your first critique.”

Beatriz Milhazes. Mariposa, 2004; acrylic on canvas; 98 x 98 in.

I also asked artist Rhonda Holberton to weigh in, and she said, “Be generous in critique. Listen to your peers and take notes, even if you don’t agree with the opinions offered at the time. Recognize that whatever the contribution, it is a generous thing for someone to expend energy really looking and thinking and speaking about your work. Learn how to answer questions about the work without defensiveness and how to say ‘I don’t know’ with confidence. You are expected to experiment, to be unsure. Allow yourself that. As much as you can, detach your ego from the work and learn how to ask questions that give you the answers you need. I took part in more than one critique where insights were buried by ego and defensiveness, and conversations were derailed by minutiae. There will always be politics and gossip, but ultimately the whole thing is for you and your work. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Let’s wrap up with some fast-and-dirty tips:

— You must record your critiques, because in the moment of the meeting, you will be full of adrenaline and trying to track four different comment threads at once. Playing back a critique a day or two later when you are calmer will help you really hear what was said.
 
— Don’t be afraid to ask commenters to explain or rephrase; not everyone is a great communicator. I once had a peer tell me simply, “This work is boring”—and yet once I asked her to flesh it out a bit, her criticism was very constructive.
 
— On crit days, make sure you have a bar/jogging/karaoke buddy lined up for after. Whether it’s a great session or a terrible one, you’ll need to blow off steam with a pal.
 
— Whether you are first in the day’s lineup or last, serve snacks, because no one in the history of art school ever got a useful critique from a group with low blood sugar. Good luck!

How do you become a famous artist? I am an artist and make lots of art (performance, paintings, drawings, etc.) but I never went to art school. What should I do to slowly but surely become better known in the art world?

Fame, huh? Without a doubt, you must already know that there is no way to “surely” become “better known in the art world,” especially if you are going to do it slowly. Fame strikes like lightening, white hot and irrefutably blinding those in its immediate path. If fame is your goal, why bother trying to climb the ladder rung by greasy rung? Why not charter a helicopter and get airlifted to the top? Since my job as an advice columnist is to answer the queries set before me, here is a short list of actions that others have tried in pursuit of fame:

-Kiss (with lipstick on) the museum-hung artwork of an already-renowned artist. When you are arrested, explain to the press and the jury that it was a form of homage and that you were simply overcome by the power of the art. Alternately, if you are the fighter-not-a-lover type, you could punch, kick, stab, or otherwise wound an artwork you find objectionable or offensive.
-Sleep with someone powerful. It’s pretty well tested as a means to gain recognition, so why not give your favorite rock star/politician/A-list dealer a bounce? And then he or she can give your career a boost in return.
-Make a complete spectacle of yourself: do buckets of drugs while making art, have sex in the gallery, don’t bathe, etc. Be the wild and crazy guy who publicly justifies all the stereotypes of the tortured artist. Bonus points if you are a.) attractive and b.) from an old-money family.
-Two words: reality show.

Not pretty, is it? Okay, now that I’ve rinsed the snark from my bloodstream—sorry, the Kinkade thing always riles me up—it’s on to the real advice, and here it is: if you want to become better known in the art world, make great work. Yes, it’s really that simple, and yes, it’s really really hard. It might take you a lifetime. It might happen tomorrow, or never.

From the tone of your question, I’m concerned that you would put something as fleeting as fame ahead of your integrity (see photo, above). Like all but the most saintly among us, I’d be lying if I said that some of the same thoughts never once occurred to me. Nevertheless, your question makes me wince. Wouldn’t it be better to make solid work that no one ever sees than to put renown above all? What do you think might happen to your sense of self-worth if you favor the path to notoriety over building a career by making great work—especially if you fail? The truth is, there are no steps that guarantee success. And since that is certainly true, why not focus on the one thing that you can control: your work.

Maybe I’m naïve, or a dinosaur, but I believe that artmaking should be its own reward (that’s not to say you shouldn’t be compensated fairly for your work, but that’s a topic for another day). Don’t let your quest for public prominence take away your dignity or interfere with the enjoyment of making your work. Let’s put the gratification and pleasure back into hard work and creativity, because to focus only on fame is to miss the point. To quote Erma Bombeck, “Don’t confuse fame with success. Madonna is one; Helen Keller is the other.”

*           *           *

What are your thoughts on Thomas Kinkade?

Since this question was written to me before the maestro died, I’m going to answer it aside from the issues that have been raised since his untimely demise. My thoughts on Kinkade are quite simple: I feel that in many ways he is no different from Damien Hirst and that it’s a useful exercise to see exactly where the two artists overlap. The main similarity, of course, is that they both make market-driven work that simultaneously panders and condescends to their respective audiences, but I think they also have a whiff of the totalitarian to them.

Of course, I’m not the only one who finds either artist’s output objectionable. On the face of it, Kinkade’s main sin was peddling pablum: hyper-sentimental paintings of garden cottages executed by assistants in saleable colors and hangable dimensions that never challenged the ability of their owners to display above the front hall console or the living room couch. We could argue that Hirst does more or less the same thing from the other end of the professional artist spectrum, provided that the loft walls of his über-rich collectors are large enough. His incredibly un-provocative dot canvases are painted by a squadron of rent-hungry MFAs and are designed to be, if not beautiful or thought-provoking, at least reassuringly easy to identify in terms of market value. The two artists concentrated on creating a trafficable commercial product, though one is placed in the galleria and the other you can find at Sotheby’s. Aside from the base distinctions of high and low, if Kinkade’s paintings insist on a revisionist bucolic America that—for his spiritually-certain followers—reinforce a sense of nostalgia for a time that never existed, then Hirst’s “spin paintings” must bring a similar peace of mind to their investment-savvy owners.

In terms of oeuvre, both Kinkade’s and Hirst’s formulaic work evokes the monolithic and oppressive. Even though stylistically they are worlds apart, they are steadfast in the assertion of their belief systems. Kinkade’s ideologically-loaded work creates an unyielding, emotionally sanitized vision of the home territory, while Hirst’s aesthetics are simplistic to the point of vapidity. Both bodies of work are so defined by sheer economics that they surpass any concern for the defining principles of art and satisfy only the cynical dictatorial control exercised by the free market.

Mildly related anecdote: http://wonkette.com/469282/the-time-worlds-most-collected-painter-thomas-kinkade-who-is-dead-now-lied-to-us-about-the-nea