Contemporary Artistic Practice: Can You See the Freak on the Screen?

Every week when one of these prompts comes along, I freak.

“What am I going to do with this?”

Then I think of an idea. And then I freak about how to pull off my cockamamie idea. Usually I feel so pressed by the Tuesday, 6pm, deadline, that procrastination never feels like a viable option. Have I mentioned that I love deadlines?

This time, even though the format leapt to my mind tout-de-suite, I was invoking every avoidance technique in order to evade execution. Cleaning, health-insurance forms, shopbop, you name it.

What would I say that wouldn’t sound stupid? Trite, silly, boring, old, mid-life-crisisey?

Or, what if I have nothing to say at all? I just learned the French phrase for writer’s block, and it’s as terrifying a phrase as ours but, as one would expect from the French, with a perfectly conjured visual component:

“L’angoisse de la page blanche.”

The anxiety of the white page.

Equally applicable to computers and paper. This time, I was using paper. So refreshing.

When I read Kerstin Bratsch’s list of an artist’s statement, I knew that mine needed to follow the format of Mark Lombardi’s wonderfully subversive “Narrative Structures” pencil diagrams, mapping out the personal and business connections of individuals involved in highly public political and financial scandals like Iran-Contra.

Although I found Lombardi’s work as exciting as everybody else did when his career took off in the late ‘90s, in his late 40s, I don’t recall having seen his work anytime since. (Lombardi hanged himself soon after attaining prominence.) The one reason that comes to mind is that it is the rare example of word art that I connected to immediately and viscerally, and because of Bratsch’s list format and energy, this feels like a text-art assignment to me. Not surprisingly, Lombardi's work is heavy on narrative, my constant drumbeat.

My between-me-and-me visual differs in a million ways from Lombardi’s but there are two especially that stand out. First, his are meticulously plotted and laid out with perfect symmetry. They convey serious thought that results in stunning visual pleasure. Second, Lombardi tells true stories, ripped from the headlines. My between-me-and-me is neither of these things.

When I finally made myself go for it, it was Sunday, midnight, with a looming French exam pushing me to have it out. On my kitchen windowsill, I keep an Ikea roll of paper, about a foot-and-a-half wide and just right for this project. I am attracted to the Jack Kerouac-ness of the scroll and yet, I was relieved to find a page ripped off already for a different project, by another person, about Israel, the Jews and the bible. (Surely you have similar projects strewn about your home, no?)

Oh well, this sheet was perfect for me. The less deliberation, the better. I had no idea what was going to come out of me, out of the friendly friction of my yellow lead-pencil, my preferred writing implement.

Well, you can see where this is going. It flew out of me in minutes. One of those creation moments that I have read about that has never happened to me, at least not that I remember. I don’t struggle, typically, but nothing flies out and feels complete so quickly, so effortlessly. Then again, 22 hours later, I can’t look at it closely either. It feels too embarrassing, too revelatory. But that’s what we’re here for, right? Creating isn’t about others. It’s all me me me me me.

Admittedly, my between-me-and-me isn’t screen-worthy. I can’t bring myself to make it so, nor do I want to, likely because it isn’t meant to be. The screen is too perfect, too exacting, not just for this particular – work? that feels way too formal, too big a credit; so I am declaring it a – thought process; but also for me and the way I operate.

This past summer, I spent a couple weeks in Jerusalem on a fellowship. On the penultimate day of the program, we each wrote a letter to ourselves that would be mailed to our homes in three months time. Mine arrived a couple weeks ago, and I still haven’t the guts to open it. I remember making lots of promises to do lots of things, like ambulance work with the Magen David, the Jewish and Israeli (and uncorrupt) version of the Red Cross (Magen David means “Star of David”). When I got home, I discovered I am too old for the Magen David. Defeat.

What else was in there? One day I will find out.

Meanwhile, my between-me-and-me is about my life now. No grandiose promises but lots of hopes about what I want my work to be, which basically means what I want my life to be.

So here goes, a big-picture picture that is totally illegible, and a few choice close-ups.

Mary: I can show you the original in person.

Not pretty but lots of heart.

Here are more:

At the bottom, I quote Rav Yaacov Palanik: "Don't be so open-minded that your brains fall out." I exhort myself, "Open! More! More! Bigger! Bigger! More. I am shaking out my brains." This is about having an open mind about myself, my work.

At the center of my diagram is "Eye & Idea."See the heart? Beating at the center? Ha.