Praising and Challenging A Dog Figurines Artist

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Praising and Challenging A Dog Figurines Artist

Be careful raising the touchy subject of price. After several decades, painter Joyce Korotkin still remembers the potential buyer who inquired about the cost of her drawings. “$30?” the buyer huffed. “For $30 I can buy a pocketbook!”

Similarly, stifle the urge to compare the artist’s work with your own yearnings to paint or draw. “When I retire, I’m going to learn to paint” is not a remark many artists appreciate hearing. The implication is that art is a hobby—an implication that particularly rankles women. “People sometimes don’t take you seriously because they think art is something women do in their spare time,” says fiber artist Jean Bass.

Intonation is critical in a conversation with an artist. “Iiiinteresting” can mean one thing; “Interesting!” another. And an “interesting” flung at a piece in careless afterthought can feel as disparaging as describing a blind date as having a “good personality.”

Resist the urge to fixate on materials or method; while the way artists communicate their ideas is indeed important, the ideas themselves are their central concern. Just ask sculptor Haim Steinbach, who combines everyday objects in his “shelf sculptures” in order to tweak perceptions about language and cultural customs. The only question one viewer could summon was: “How did you make those plastic goblets?”

And never ask artists how long it took to make a work of art. “No matter what your response, you can’t win,” says Rogers. “If you admit to completing the piece in just a few hours, your questioner is filled with suspicion about your ability to explore a subject with any depth, build up a rich surface, or justify the price. If you say it took months, they worry for you because you are so slow.”

Remember that artists invest a great deal of themselves in their work; try to respect that effort, even if you can’t admire the work itself. Installation artist Bethany Bristow was celebrating the opening of the exhibition “Greater New York” at New York’s P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center when she saw a visitor kicking at one of her fragile assemblages of glass, feathers, and corn syrup, tucked into various corners of the building. “That’s my work!” she shrieked. “Really?” the culprit asked. “I thought it was junk.”

But false praise can feel as damning as outright criticism. Painter Rochelle Feinstein noticed that people mystified by her pictures tended to conclude studio visits with the same pronouncement: “I love your work.” She eventually funneled her frustration into a series of eight large Love Vibe paintings on which “love your work” was scrawled backward.

So now you’re even more nervous than ever about talking to artists. So what do you say? First, realize that even the experts—dealers, curators, other artists—make their own faux pas. Painter Michelle Stuart was visited a number of years ago by a dealer who “buzzed around my studio and told me, ‘I have two sensitives already.’ Then he left!” A Chelsea dealer asked Shari Mendelson during a recent visit to her sculpture studio, “So can you tell me the social, historical, and political implications of your work?” And Rick Briggs vividly recalls another artist commenting that his own work was “about ideas”—in contrast, supposedly, to Briggs’s abstract paintings.

Often, being quiet in front of a work is the best response; it indicates that you’re looking carefully and are thinking about what you’re seeing. When you consider that it can take weeks, months—even years—to make an art object, looking hard is a respectful thing to do. “I appreciate people who have obviously been moved by my work and just want to get a sense for who I am,” says painter Art Zoller-Wagner. “Sometimes they don’t ask a question; they’re just relating.”

Open-ended questions are also welcomed: Who influences you? Why do you work at this scale? Why did you start painting patterns? are questions painter Vicki Behm likes to hear. Joanne Mattera prefers such queries as, How do you know when a series is finished? She says, “the question lets me talk about, in general, why I work in series, and, in particular, how a series developed from painting to painting and what catalyzed its completion.” And Rachel Willis adds that a simple “‘How did you make that?’ would be fine too.”

Feinstein’s favorite comment came from a viewer contemplating her in-your-face “love your work” installation. “I love your work,” offered the viewer—who then caught herself and exclaimed, “Oh, no. Now I can’t say that, can I?” She completely understood the intent of the pictures, Feinstein realized: “That I really appreciated.”

Gallery partner Jenny Liu, of New York’s The Project, notes that artists tend to fall into two camps: “creative originators who are inspired to make original and authentic sculpture/painting/drawing” and those who consider themselves “art producers along more intellectual lines.” To artists of the first category, a thoughtful visitor might say, “Your work is so passionate/emotional/sad. Where does that come from?” To the second: “Your work is so rigorous/difficult/challenging. What are you hoping to accomplish?”

Technology-based artist Patrick Lichty appreciates audiences that challenge his ideas. “Where do you get off?” is a question he likes. “I believe that learning often happens through disagreement,” he says. Conceptual artist Rachel Perry Welty agrees: “The best question would be one that helps me think more deeply about the work and makes me see connections I hadn’t, or puts it into a broader context. I wish someone would dare ask me, ‘Why do you do what you do?’” And for some, such as installation artist Ann Hamilton, the same question can qualify as both worst and best. “What does the horsehair mean?” is one that she has long remembered.

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Be careful raising the touchy subject of price. After several decades, painter Joyce Korotkin still remembers the potential buyer who inquired about the cost of her drawings. “$30?” the buyer huffed. “For $30 I can buy a pocketbook!”

Similarly, stifle the urge to compare the artist’s work with your own yearnings to paint or draw. “When I retire, I’m going to learn to paint” is not a remark many artists appreciate hearing. The implication is that art is a hobby—an implication that particularly rankles women. “People sometimes don’t take you seriously because they think art is something women do in their spare time,” says fiber artist Jean Bass.

Intonation is critical in a conversation with an artist. “Iiiinteresting” can mean one thing; “Interesting!” another. And an “interesting” flung at a piece in careless afterthought can feel as disparaging as describing a blind date as having a “good personality.”

Resist the urge to fixate on materials or method; while the way artists communicate their ideas is indeed important, the ideas themselves are their central concern. Just ask sculptor Haim Steinbach, who combines everyday objects in his “shelf sculptures” in order to tweak perceptions about language and cultural customs. The only question one viewer could summon was: “How did you make those plastic goblets?”

And never ask artists how long it took to make a work of art. “No matter what your response, you can’t win,” says Rogers. “If you admit to completing the piece in just a few hours, your questioner is filled with suspicion about your ability to explore a subject with any depth, build up a rich surface, or justify the price. If you say it took months, they worry for you because you are so slow.”

Remember that artists invest a great deal of themselves in their work; try to respect that effort, even if you can’t admire the work itself. Installation artist Bethany Bristow was celebrating the opening of the exhibition “Greater New York” at New York’s P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center when she saw a visitor kicking at one of her fragile assemblages of glass, feathers, and corn syrup, tucked into various corners of the building. “That’s my work!” she shrieked. “Really?” the culprit asked. “I thought it was junk.”

But false praise can feel as damning as outright criticism. Painter Rochelle Feinstein noticed that people mystified by her pictures tended to conclude studio visits with the same pronouncement: “I love your work.” She eventually funneled her frustration into a series of eight large Love Vibe paintings on which “love your work” was scrawled backward.

So now you’re even more nervous than ever about talking to artists. So what do you say? First, realize that even the experts—dealers, curators, other artists—make their own faux pas. Painter Michelle Stuart was visited a number of years ago by a dealer who “buzzed around my studio and told me, ‘I have two sensitives already.’ Then he left!” A Chelsea dealer asked Shari Mendelson during a recent visit to her sculpture studio, “So can you tell me the social, historical, and political implications of your work?” And Rick Briggs vividly recalls another artist commenting that his own work was “about ideas”—in contrast, supposedly, to Briggs’s abstract paintings.

Often, being quiet in front of a work is the best response; it indicates that you’re looking carefully and are thinking about what you’re seeing. When you consider that it can take weeks, months—even years—to make an art object, looking hard is a respectful thing to do. “I appreciate people who have obviously been moved by my work and just want to get a sense for who I am,” says painter Art Zoller-Wagner. “Sometimes they don’t ask a question; they’re just relating.”

Open-ended questions are also welcomed: Who influences you? Why do you work at this scale? Why did you start painting patterns? are questions painter Vicki Behm likes to hear. Joanne Mattera prefers such queries as, How do you know when a series is finished? She says, “the question lets me talk about, in general, why I work in series, and, in particular, how a series developed from painting to painting and what catalyzed its completion.” And Rachel Willis adds that a simple “‘How did you make that?’ would be fine too.”

Feinstein’s favorite comment came from a viewer contemplating her in-your-face “love your work” installation. “I love your work,” offered the viewer—who then caught herself and exclaimed, “Oh, no. Now I can’t say that, can I?” She completely understood the intent of the pictures, Feinstein realized: “That I really appreciated.”

Gallery partner Jenny Liu, of New York’s The Project, notes that artists tend to fall into two camps: “creative originators who are inspired to make original and authentic sculpture/painting/drawing” and those who consider themselves “art producers along more intellectual lines.” To artists of the first category, a thoughtful visitor might say, “Your work is so passionate/emotional/sad. Where does that come from?” To the second: “Your work is so rigorous/difficult/challenging. What are you hoping to accomplish?”

Technology-based artist Patrick Lichty appreciates audiences that challenge his ideas. “Where do you get off?” is a question he likes. “I believe that learning often happens through disagreement,” he says. Conceptual artist Rachel Perry Welty agrees: “The best question would be one that helps me think more deeply about the work and makes me see connections I hadn’t, or puts it into a broader context. I wish someone would dare ask me, ‘Why do you do what you do?’” And for some, such as installation artist Ann Hamilton, the same question can qualify as both worst and best. “What does the horsehair mean?” is one that she has long remembered.

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