gremlin
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May 21, 2024
hi everyone, have been posting some essays over on twitter and thought it'd be fun to post some essays here. in anticipation of doing a lot of writing about art, i thought it'd be fun to talk about why that's important. enjoy!!
On Writing About Art
How should artists talk about their work, and should they even talk at all? This is a question facing the world of art at the moment. As I embark on the mission of writing about my art, it is also one that weighs heavy on my mind. A wise person once said that it’s important for artists to know how to talk about their art properly, which includes discussing the references and inspirations that went into a specific piece. I tend to agree, but let us discuss the situation in more depth.
One camp would say that the art should speak for itself. Factoring in ideas such as memetics and the fast-twitch muscles one uses scrolling through social media, they argue that art that requires an explanation to be understood fails at the missive directed by the conditions of 21st century society. Simply put, tldr next.
There is some truth to this line of thought. In the traditional art world, it’s become fashionable to have the thesis encompass the art. In this case, the aesthetics of a piece matter very little, if at all. Sometimes there is no physical art piece and it is just the thesis. I think this approach to art-making is stupid and defeats the point. God gave us eyes and ears to interact with art, and mouths to say “Jesus Christ this sucks.”
While I remain open to the idea that the thesis isn’t the most important part of a work, some would take this theory further to suggest that the art doesn’t even matter: In this space, the percentage return on a collection happens first and the narratives around what the art is and what it means come afterwards. This means that if a green candle doesn’t accompany your collection release, then the piece fails to gain significance in the space. If one is to approach the crypto-specific medium of digital art, this green candle then indicates a piece’s idiomatic success within the medium.
Without cynicism, I believe all these things are true. I think having the thesis hold up aesthetic weakness in your work is wrong and that one should provide a pop facade with which their audience engages with. Additionally, I think understanding how one can potentially manufacture “green candle situations” goes hand and hand with art-making, both here and in the wider world. However, I still believe the thesis should exist.
The first reason is that narratives tend to follow green candles. If there’s no writing or insight accompanying your work, then people will just invent things. While this could be a fun experiment with interesting results, most artists would like some degree of control over the public’s understanding of what a piece is and why they made it. Yeah, people will make shit up even in the presence of an existing narrative, but making information around your work widely available increases the likelihood that some threadoors propagate your narrative.
Additionally, depth brings passion. While some people may initially come in contact with your work by way of green candling or pop facade enjoyment, if they really like a piece they might want to learn more about it. In this case, providing information turns a like into a passion and can turn casual collectors into diehard fans. We like diehard fans because they stick around after the froth subsides.
Therefore, one could make the argument that while theses can be extremely dumb, providing some level of deeper engagement with the work benefits the artist in multiple ways. This means the wise person is correct (in my opinion): It is important for artists of the 21st century to be able to think deeply about their inspirations and references and communicate those thoughts to an audience.
In preparing for my next collection, I spent a good time researching my material and focusing on how I structured my internal narratives around the art. At times I worried about putting the thesis before the horse (the art) and whether any of this labor even mattered. I debated about writing about the collection with the fear that doing so would make me look desperate or like I was attempting to cover up my failures of aesthetic realization.
In reconciling these fears, I thought of a debate I had had with my favorite music history professor over program notes at concerts. I argued that program notes served no purpose, and if the audience member didn’t connect with a piece then they were stupid or the piece was bad. His argument was that program notes allowed people new to the experience of enjoying music an entry into understanding. Additionally, program notes could provide depth and context to a specific concert experience that would enrich the performance. After many years, I see the wisdom in what he said.
This is all to say, I create to ignite passion, not passiveness. Therefore, I will continue to write about my art and plant narratives for future green candles to water. Hopefully someday they’ll turn into crops I can eat.
thanks for reading, chat soon :)
love,
gremlin
On Writing About Art
How should artists talk about their work, and should they even talk at all? This is a question facing the world of art at the moment. As I embark on the mission of writing about my art, it is also one that weighs heavy on my mind. A wise person once said that it’s important for artists to know how to talk about their art properly, which includes discussing the references and inspirations that went into a specific piece. I tend to agree, but let us discuss the situation in more depth.
One camp would say that the art should speak for itself. Factoring in ideas such as memetics and the fast-twitch muscles one uses scrolling through social media, they argue that art that requires an explanation to be understood fails at the missive directed by the conditions of 21st century society. Simply put, tldr next.
There is some truth to this line of thought. In the traditional art world, it’s become fashionable to have the thesis encompass the art. In this case, the aesthetics of a piece matter very little, if at all. Sometimes there is no physical art piece and it is just the thesis. I think this approach to art-making is stupid and defeats the point. God gave us eyes and ears to interact with art, and mouths to say “Jesus Christ this sucks.”
While I remain open to the idea that the thesis isn’t the most important part of a work, some would take this theory further to suggest that the art doesn’t even matter: In this space, the percentage return on a collection happens first and the narratives around what the art is and what it means come afterwards. This means that if a green candle doesn’t accompany your collection release, then the piece fails to gain significance in the space. If one is to approach the crypto-specific medium of digital art, this green candle then indicates a piece’s idiomatic success within the medium.
Without cynicism, I believe all these things are true. I think having the thesis hold up aesthetic weakness in your work is wrong and that one should provide a pop facade with which their audience engages with. Additionally, I think understanding how one can potentially manufacture “green candle situations” goes hand and hand with art-making, both here and in the wider world. However, I still believe the thesis should exist.
The first reason is that narratives tend to follow green candles. If there’s no writing or insight accompanying your work, then people will just invent things. While this could be a fun experiment with interesting results, most artists would like some degree of control over the public’s understanding of what a piece is and why they made it. Yeah, people will make shit up even in the presence of an existing narrative, but making information around your work widely available increases the likelihood that some threadoors propagate your narrative.
Additionally, depth brings passion. While some people may initially come in contact with your work by way of green candling or pop facade enjoyment, if they really like a piece they might want to learn more about it. In this case, providing information turns a like into a passion and can turn casual collectors into diehard fans. We like diehard fans because they stick around after the froth subsides.
Therefore, one could make the argument that while theses can be extremely dumb, providing some level of deeper engagement with the work benefits the artist in multiple ways. This means the wise person is correct (in my opinion): It is important for artists of the 21st century to be able to think deeply about their inspirations and references and communicate those thoughts to an audience.
In preparing for my next collection, I spent a good time researching my material and focusing on how I structured my internal narratives around the art. At times I worried about putting the thesis before the horse (the art) and whether any of this labor even mattered. I debated about writing about the collection with the fear that doing so would make me look desperate or like I was attempting to cover up my failures of aesthetic realization.
In reconciling these fears, I thought of a debate I had had with my favorite music history professor over program notes at concerts. I argued that program notes served no purpose, and if the audience member didn’t connect with a piece then they were stupid or the piece was bad. His argument was that program notes allowed people new to the experience of enjoying music an entry into understanding. Additionally, program notes could provide depth and context to a specific concert experience that would enrich the performance. After many years, I see the wisdom in what he said.
This is all to say, I create to ignite passion, not passiveness. Therefore, I will continue to write about my art and plant narratives for future green candles to water. Hopefully someday they’ll turn into crops I can eat.
thanks for reading, chat soon :)
love,
gremlin