Tag Archives: Art

Art and Artifact

Exploration of the relationship between artifact and sacrifice. Written by Matt Hecht for Jayel Aheram.

As a student of the classics I have always found myself drawn to the allure of mankind’s past achievements, those efforts and artifacts of “divine inspiration” or royal vanity which so defined much of what we know of ancient Egypt, classical Greece, and the Renaissance. Past artistic achievements which we still maintain define civilizations with systems of aesthetic value that seem far grander in scope than our own societies—with our advanced technology and global economies—can possibly muster.

It would seem that through the course of history, in abandoning old ways for the conveniences of modern life, we have confined much of our art to the space upon the perched and temporary canvas; there is little room remaining for the quintessential master, pouring his entire life into one masterpiece. Likewise, there is no longer a place for the monoliths of kingdoms. The question is: have we gained or lost in this exchange? Better still, is there any hope for the resurrection of the artifact in a middle class world which values convenience over quality?

In turning to the truly massive works of the old monarchies we see what initially existed not as art, but as testaments to the potency of a ruler’s power over his people; in many cases these were only delusions of divine providence. Achievements which today cannot be replicated, the Egyptian pyramids at Giza and the ziggurats of the Mesoamerican jungles represent the zenith of manpower pushed to its often fatal end. They remain particularly simplistic in their aesthetic appeal, yes, and yet it can be said that the sheer determination of their commissioners—often dedicating their entire reign to the construction of one immense monument—provides enough mythical origin to render these constructs art in their own right. The same stands for the more pleasing vistas provided when strolling before Notre Dame in France, or Bernini’s Piazza di Pietra before the Vatican. Unfortunately, we come upon our greatest challenge to the resurrection of these epic projects in perusing the sacrifices made to create them.

It was purely through the implementation of slave labor that Khufu built the largest pyramid at Giza, and surely the religious imperialism displayed by the cultures which built the latter monuments can be called into question as inhumane. Today we see a similar quality in the means by which certain nations construct their own monuments to power—the gargantuan structures rapidly cropping up in Dubai come to mind, here, with a desert populated almost entirely by underpaid and commonly mistreated foreign laborers. In this sense, it is not with regret that we have abandoned our aspirations to pierce the firmament with our tangible ambitions. While precious to the modern world, these classical epics remain monuments largely to those who died needlessly to create them; it is inarguable that abandoning wanton torment of a people to construct art is a benefit—rather than a loss—to mankind.

It is further notable that advances in technology have led to a slimming-down of the artistic process. Our pigments are no longer procured through the grinding of semi-precious stones, nor are our mighty blocks hauled from quarries by mules and bleeding men. The forward march of industry provides us with the mechanized tools to throw up an entire skyline in less time than it took Brunelleschi to engineer the dome on the Florence Cathedral. Famous print-makers no longer exist, as our printing is computerized and mass marketed.

Even in the arena of painting and illustration, it seems we sell the works of human imagination short simply because of the existence of digital alteration. There are too many opportunities for second chances without loss of quality in the revision process, and the spontaneity of the painter’s brush has been dimmed by a Photoshop cloning tool. And how many modern artists’ names are household in this day and age? Beyond Frank Lloyd Wright and Andy Warhol, we find a dearth of renowned talent beyond the 1970s, not because there is none about, but because these talented minds have been buried by the sheer proliferation of access—to tools, to ease of use, to information. The title of “artist” thus becomes no more significant than that of “office administrator,” making it nearly impossible to gather the adoration enjoyed in life by a da Vinci or a Picasso. Of course, this is not to suggest that there is anything less “artful” about a drawing colored with agonizing detail in Photoshop, but the ease with which these abilities and options proliferate is worth considering.

And yet, we turn to one final glint of hope for the artifact in art, the very inspiration for this article. It appeared in the news recently, in passing, a little human interest story to break up the monotony of the world’s natural and man-made miseries. It is a simple thing: an eleven-foot-long tapestry of golden yellow cloth with native Madagascan designs embroidered into its surface; one might think to see it at a roadside tourist trap in a down-and-out nation halfway across the world, though the needlework is rather exquisite. Of course, the origin is moreso: this unassuming tapestry was woven from golden silk pulled from the spinnerets of more than one million golden orb spiders, painstakingly milked by numerous laborers over the course of four years. They used only hand-operated machines developed over a century ago to extract the silk, and all of this for one piece of immaculate, absolutely unique cloth.

While magazines and newspapers may rail on about the special scientific qualities of the fabric, it is the nature of its creation that makes it among the greatest, true artistic artifacts this world has seen in quite some time (or, at least, the first to see so much daylight.) Its conceivers sought only to accomplish an astonishing feat, pouring in finances and manpower over a tremendous period of time to create something that will sit merely as a desirable piece of museum finery—it serves no other purpose. For this reason, moving beyond all the bloodshed of the past, and the flimsy needlessness of today, there is yet hope for a revival in the object as art. It requires only an altruistic kind of surrender.

It is in sacrifice—willing, honest, committed sacrifice—that an artistic artifact is born. It is in Michelangelo’s painstaking brush strokes on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, just as it is in the murals of London’s Banksy, who gives up identity for the sake of his work. It is in the manuscripts of Hemingway, who once said great writing required only that one “sit down at the typewriter and bleed,” and it is in the kissing art of Toni Garcia, who literally poisons herself for the sake of her portraits. With this understanding we can perhaps answer the questions asked at the beginning of this article. It is clear that mankind has only gained by disparaging the terrible monuments of the past, but we have not traded away our sense of artful significance—it has only taken to the shade in a crowded and capable world. It is up to the individual, as audience, to seek out artifacts, and for the artist to continue suffering for the sake of them.

Matt Hecht is a graduate in English literature from the University of Central Florida, with interests in fiction writing and editing. Follow him on Twitter at @Matt_Hecht.

Boss of Your Own Art

A best-selling author tell us to “be the boss of your own art.” Written by Linda Woods for Jayel Aheram.

Being a successful artist  or designer instead of a starving artist is a dream for many creative people. But, it takes more than just a dream and talent.  It takes effort, determination, the right attitude, and clients. Solo artists rarely have the budget for billboard ads or Super Bowl commercials, so we must be creative even in promoting ourselves to our clients.  When it comes to stepping out on your own and working for yourself,  it is up to you to generate your own buzz.

We’re all familiar with the idea that if you paint it, they will come, but it doesn’t really work that way unless they know how to get there. Lead the buyers to your art by spending time every day focusing on the business side of your  business.

You’re the boss of your art

Show your art in the best light. Use high quality photos of your art on your blog and in your promotional materials. Have a great portfolio ready.

You’re the boss of your image

You’ve got the look! Include a professional photo of yourself with your bio. Professional need not be boring, but a blurry photo where one eye is shut, your bra strap is showing, or your fly is open doesn’t scream success. Capture your creativity with a photo of your beautiful self facing forward, wearing bold colors or in an interesting setting. Save the wardrobe malfunctions and mug shots for the rock stars.

You’re the boss of your blog

The world is at your fingertips and that world needs art. Set up a blog, Facebook, Twitter, and Flickr accounts and start sharing your art with the masses. A blog or website is an easy and inexpensive way to show off your art and keep in touch with your fans and buyers. Regular updates about what is going on in your world keep readers coming back and give them a glimpse into the oh– so– exciting life of an artist.

You’re the boss of your sales

People won’t be able to buy your art if they can’t figure out how to. Make it easy for people to buy your art. Link to places it is for sale. If you sell your art or design services online, set up an online payment option (like PayPal) and research shipping options before you offer your art for sale. Link to your art for sale from your blog or website.

You’re the boss of your email

Stay sweet and keep in touch. Keep an email list of your buyers and potential buyers. When you have big news, special sales, or new pieces of art to show, email your list and let them know. Try to limit your mass emails to once a month so you don’t repel people.

You’re the boss of the business

Every business needs a business card. Be sure your business card, promotional postcards, and blog all have your current contact information on them. Keep business cards with you at all times. You never know who you will meet when!

You’re the boss of your schedule

Don’t be a flake. If you commit to a job, do it in a timely manner. Art directors, editors, and buyers don’t want to work with artists who are not reliable. They have schedules and deadlines, too. If you are over extended, be honest with potential clients and give realistic time frames. Don’t let the ego boost get in the way of smart business. Buy a calendar and use it.

You’re the boss of your attitude

Gallery owners, book and magazine editors, and buyers won’t know you exist unless you make an effort. Submit your art for publication, get out and meet people, and attend art events with an open mind. Your art will not be right for every publication or gallery and that’s OK. Say thank you to people who give you time, appreciate the feedback, and keep going.

Linda Woods is the co-author of the best-selling books JOURNAL REVOLUTION and Visual Chronicles. Her artwork, journals, photographs, and articles have been featured on The View, print, and exhibits worldwide.

Molds of Introspection

An artist introduces us to his creation. Written by Devin Swick for Jayel Aheram.

I am an artist of duality. My passions include culture and love; dreams and nightmares; death and fear. My work, Oriental Intension, is an image of imitation and appreciation of Japanese art. When I begin working on something, I usually don’t know what the final result will be. I watch the colors and shapes in my subconscious spring to life what I think needs to be said about myself. The rest of the world does not exist in these moments — I have to drag it in with me — and we become witnesses of creation, within isolation.

I started with a blank, white backdrop, and experimented with the colors of my mood at the time. I cannot say that blue equals sadness and that yellow equals happiness, it is just a color that feels right, and it’s never the same. Next, I stroked my digital brush to fill the spaces I felt needed to be filled, guiding it with emotion and maybe even psychological need. I brushed in one direction, copied it, and repeated the process. There was a collection of these before I was done, which I layered together in differing opacities.

What was left was a raw mold of introspective design. Trimming what needed to be trimmed, arranging what needed to be arranged, I came out with a shape resembling nothing less than a kanji symbol. I took a step back and considered how best to represent this revelation. Between contemporary simplicity and a love for ancient design, I had many choices. I decided with something much less current and had to then decide how to go about it. This was my first time doing anything like this, ever.

At a low opacity, I burned my way through areas of the backdrop, and, using Retouch, smudged colors together to create an illusion of paint and age. I placed an illumination of a sun to give a stronger presence of Japan in the image, and then wrapped it up in a sepia tone to further emphasize aging. After, I painted a line down the image to contrast over the yellow sun, in which I feel was successful. Now, I needed detail.

Smudging the black line to give the impression of “running paint” gave less balance over the consistency of detail in the image, so I looked online for texture and found one that felt appropriate. It was an aged paper texture with some ineligible writing on it. Then I created an overlay layer that blanketed over the entire image, and lowered the opacity quite a bit to fit it snugly into the backdrop. The intention was to give the illusion of a painting on aged paper. After layering a Gaussian blur and adjusting the contrast (for dramatic effect), before I knew it, I was finished.

What I enjoy about the piece is that while it is not presumptuous or pretentious, I can believe in it. Some have even had to ask me if it were digital or painted on canvas. To an aspiring artist like me, it has made me feel proud, and in some way, validated, over what people may think of when their eyes explore my work, and in essence, explore who I am: an isolated person being discovered — dragging the world with them.

Devin Swick is an artist currently living in Arizona.