There are many things to consider when hiring an artist to paint your vision, but first and foremost, choose an artist because you like the way they paint. It’s probably not the best idea to hire an artist who paints classical portraits for an impressionistic landscape. Some artists can paint in many different styles, but as a general rule, I would advise working with an artist where you can see strong examples of their work and hire them for that.
To protect both the artist and the client, there needs to be a clear contract outlining the expectations on both sides regarding size, medium, substrate, subject matter, colors, and style along with price, date of completion, and who is responsible to frame, transport, and install the art. I always ask for half up front and half upon completion. Now you can get to the fun part of creating!
It’s January—time to take a moment to reflect on the past year and create intentions for the next one. For freelance artists (painters, writers, musicians, etc.), New Year’s resolutions often merge with business ones as our personal well-being is intrinsically related to our work life. Since we don’t get employee “sick days,” self- care is paramount for an artist’s survival. So, at the top of the list are resolutions such as exercising more, giving up fast foods, and getting more sleep. After that, time structure is a top concern.
Artists need a great deal of time to make art, promote it, and sell it, which is very time-consuming and often creatively draining. When my artistic side suffers, I seek balance. To help release stress and keep my creative juices flowing—I have committed myself to the practice of Art Journaling. Each morning, before anything else happens (phone and laptop turned off), I devote thirty minutes to my sketchbook. This is an unedited time of play, exploration, and subconscious dumping of my feelings and thoughts (and their visual interpretations) onto a page. My purpose? To release through words and images what I’m processing in my mind, unclutter it, let go of pent-up worries, and clarify what is truly important. This unedited art play allows me to experiment and try new things (perfectionism has no place here), which can lead to unexpected new ideas and creative techniques that I can apply later to my studio work.
Sometimes as an artist I wonder, Why am I doing this? Does it mean anything to anyone other than me? In January, I submitted a proposal to the East Tennessee Children’s Hospital in Knoxville, (ETCH), for a public art project. The thought of creating art for parents and children who are dealing with frightening illnesses inspired me. If I could make my art ease someone’s worried mind, even for a few minutes, that would mean a great deal to me. I presented three proposals to the committee, and they chose the one I call Bunny World.
My idea began with a painting I sold of a bunny looking up at a cloud shaped like a bunny. It was whimsical, and it was that whimsy I wanted to capture. I designed a 4’ x 6’ panel, which acts as a “window” on the hospital wall. It looks out onto a field of bunnies who are observing a large bunny-shaped cloud in the sky and lake. To create context, I added the Smoky Mountains and the Knoxville skyline. And for more interest and depth, I sculpted bunnies who are climbing steps to peer at the bunny cloud, too. Bookending each side, overall-clad bunnies are busy painting the wall and Henry David Thoreau’s quote that reads, This world is but a canvas to our imaginations.
Traditionally, illustrations are meant to tell a story through art, whereas fine art is personal work created for the artist’s satisfaction. Illustrators are hired to create art, while fine artists paint “on spec,” unless they are commissioned. Michelangelo illustrated nine major biblical scenes from the book of Genesis for the Sistine Chapel, and his client, Pope Julius II, paid him to design and paint it. Does that make Michelangelo an illustrator?
I gave myself a great birthday present this year—a three-day workshop in cold wax medium. You may not know what that is and that’s okay. The point is, I drove from Nashville, Tennessee, to Asheville, North Carolina, and gave myself the gift of being an art student again. I got to forget about my deadlines and worries and work with materials I was uncomfortable using. When I felt frustrated and perfectionist issues popped up, I gave myself the same advice I dole out to my students—Think of this as an experiment that you’ll throw in the trash. Don’t worry about the outcome; enjoy the process—much easier said than done.
How many charity events have you attended where a surgeon has donated a hip replacement or a lawyer has donated fifteen hours of their expertise? I’ve never seen that. Most of the time you see artwork donated by artists, who, for the most part, make much less money than those in other professions. So, my question is, why do charities keep asking the lowest-paid freelancers with no health care, retirement plan, or benefits to donate their time and talents, and why do artists keep saying yes?
I have spoken with many artists on this topic, and it’s complicated to say the least. Some want to donate because they love the cause. Others believe they will get public exposure. Some feel that even if their $2,000 painting sells for only $100, it’s $100 more for the charity. Some artists refuse to donate at all because auctions are often not promoted or marketed correctly and their art sells for below market value, which ultimately hurts them, their dealers, their collectors, and the art market in general.
Published in the January 2017 issue of Nashville Arts Magazine in my column “And So it Goes.”
by Rachael McCampbell
How many times have you walked past an abstract painting without stopping because you simply didn’t get it? Or, perhaps a judgmental voice crept in—A kindergartener could have painted that! When you pick up your paints and try this yourself, you will understand how difficult this sort of painting actually is. For me, the reduction process of stripping away representational imagery to express thoughts or feelings is a struggle. I equate the difference between representational and abstract art to country versus classical music. With country, you can connect to a story and music, but with classical, it’s only the music. Without words, how do you know what the composer is trying to express? Not withstanding research into the artist’s intentions, you simply take the music in on a visceral level and feel it. This is a good approach to abstract art as well—only later getting more analytical.
I remember a day in my 20s when I was standing on the outskirts of Cortona, eating a nocciola gelato, overlooking miles of vineyards and olive groves. As I took in the smell of garlic and tomatoes simmering on a nearby stove, a group of Italian women passed by, arm in arm, chattering in their native tongue, and I thought, I wish I could take this all with me. And I have, so to speak, but there is no replacement for actually experiencing Italy firsthand.
Like many art students, I completed a college summer abroad program in Cortona—a medieval hilltop town in Tuscany made famous by the book/film Under the Tuscan Sun. After graduating, I worked in Florence and have returned many times since. In September, I took twelve guests to a villa in Cortona for eight nights of what I called a “transformational journey.”
I wish I could have a dollar for every time someone has said to me, “I can’t draw or paint.” I’d be rich! I don’t believe there is any truth to this statement, because most anyone can apply paint to a surface, but what is true is that a great many people don’t have the patience to paint. I have witnessed it time and time again. It’s like the child who whines in the back of the car on a road trip, “Are we there yet?” With the constant checking of the clock and odometer, stress levels rise and the journey becomes unbearable—no one can focus on the joy of traveling. It’s the same with art. My students often want to be at the end of the process before they have even committed an hour to it. They toss their brushes down and state, “I’m not good at this—I give up.”
Imagine being 10 years old, living happily in your home, your city—a place where you feel safe. Then suddenly you are ripped away, taken on a terrifying boat ride to a foreign land with nothing but the clothes on your back and told to live in a tent city with thousands of other internally displaced people surrounded by barbed wire. Shock and horror are two words that come to mind.
We are in the midst of an international refugee crisis right now. Wars have displaced approximately 46 million men, women, and children. How do these people, especially children, cope with this change?