I Can't Please Everyone

Does the viewer’s experience change mine?

Jerry Saltz

Dear reader,

I dreamt I hung Suntide, the big drawing, on the wall in my bedroom before the opening. I dreamt I left the heater on all night and through the vent, hot air crept until all of the pigment on the drawing had flaked off. The show was imminent. Suddenly without a car and limited to traveling on foot, my task was to reach the art store in time and find the right pencils to cover up the damage done. This piece, this piece, this big, beautiful piece.

The following night, I dreamt that the gallery was run by three women who failed to keep their promises regarding how they’d hang the art. I arrived on the opening night to find Suntide hanging by the door, the first thing visitors would see as they entered the space. My concern, I explained, was that showcasing this piece so immediately would set the expectations of the viewer too high, leaving them disappointed when they realized none of the other work was as large or as impressive. Better to put the big piece somewhere it can be a hidden jewel, I protested. A surprise, perhaps towards the back of the gallery.

In this dream, my task was to convince the gallery owners to move the piece, and to navigate the weight of defeat when I realized they weren’t going to budge. Why did I care so much where the drawing was?

At the root of this dream is my attempt to control how others perceive the work — how others perceive me. It is an impossible task. At the root of this dream is also the fear of disappointing others, a futile activity of the mind.

I awoke with the curiosity to challenge my beliefs and preferences regarding the work. What if I hang the show in a way that rattles me, I wondered. Pressing further: What if I allowed myself to believe that it actually made no difference?

Let’s assume that how art unfolds in a space does make a difference, and let’s say that people’s experience with the work really is better when the best piece is saved for last. Does the viewer’s experience looking at the work change my relationship to making it? Does it change my relationship to my practice?

I care about the viewer, but a line must be drawn. I could loop over other people’s concerns indefinitely, and why do so when no two viewers are alike? I can’t please everyone, and so why bother trying to please anyone? Anyone besides myself, I mean.

There’s a Ram Dass quote that says, “You can do it like it’s a great weight on you, or you can do it like a dance”. This little art show, my third, at a small, very green gallery in Cambria, should be nothing but a dance. I tell myself that there should be zero stress in my attitude about this show. Alas, there is some stress. No matter what Ram Dass says, there is an element of soft agony in attempting anything for the first time, even if it is the third time.

I have not been able to think about anything else for months. Any attempts to try and do so are perhaps part of a larger personal practice of creating a work/life balance. Today I don’t think balance is possible for artists. Art is not an endeavor that can be approached in little bites. As Jerry Saltz reminded us last week, there is no in-between time. That’s showbiz baby? Maybe I’ll feel differently next week.

Be sure to check out Monday’s letter, Diary of an Artist, for an inside look at my process. I love reading your comments so much. Thank you for writing them.

1. This essay by Haley Nahman. "…we’re surrounded by and integrated with technology that forces us perpetually out of ourselves and into the role of narrating our lives through digital artifacts. And to what end? At what cost? When digital photography replaced film, we swapped problems of arguable virtue—intention, discernment, patience—and replaced them with unmitigated paranoia, disassociation, and self-interest. These are more existential concerns.”

2. At long last, Marlee Grace has a podcast called Common Shapes, and it is delightful.

3. This gut-wrenching essay by Joy Newell on broken hearts and the end of a relationships. “This is why we pick fights before an ending, and why we sometimes drag people we once declared the love of our life through the mud and into the town square where our friends can throw sticks and stones at them too.” Joy also wrote an essay about the two days we spent taking photographs together for the ARQ feature. Again, the way they write about heartache! “One of the most difficult aspects of loss is returning to all that remains and seeing it as enough.” Read “The one about Anna Fusco” here, and not just because it’s about me.

   

   Photos by Joy Newell

4. Mel Robbins on the Almost 30 podcast saying everything I needed to hear about procrastination and impostor syndrome.

5. This “flier” for my show, which opens tonight:

   

Contact Charlie charles@cruisecontrolcambria.com if you want to see the work ;)