I have some art stuff from the late sixties that I haven’t thrown away. Two decent sketches of some friends I had in Ottawa. Also within the sketch book were a number of jewelry designs for the sort of things I was carving at the end of the nineteen sixties, some pen and ink studies of architecture, and a self-portrait in pen and ink. I was kind of shocked at the find.
The sketches were puzzling for me. I’d never done anything like that before or since. I had returned to the States, missed my friends tons, and somehow found the skill to do those little sketches. Maybe I should have taken them as evidence that with enough motivation, I could do portrait work?
Instead, within months of getting back to Boston, I was almost killed, got my act together, and started college nights. Not only are those other stories, but almost another world. The sketch book was put aside until I accidentally opened it a few months ago while tossing junk away. I’ve saved it.
What I do now bears little resemblance to the track I was on in 1969. I honestly don’t think you’d draw a line between me now and me then. The maritime work I’ve done since about 1995 is totally unconnected from that late sixties craft work.
It set me to wondering if other people in the arts and crafts have had comebacks after long dead spells, and come back as different sorts of creators?
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Oh Lou — I guess I could (maybe have?) write a whole post on this topic. I never stopped but in a way the whole thing had to be “under ground” so to speak. I think coming back as “different sorts of creators” is only reasonable, especially for people who haven’t built a successful career in their artistic genre. I think of Goethe who had crazy success with his first novel, The Sorrows of Young Werther, and spent the rest of his life trying NOT to be that writer in the eyes of others. He evolved; the expectations of his “fans” couldn’t keep up. I think artists who achieve success run the risk of becoming frozen in the expectation of others AND a bunch of fears they might have of not doing well if they branch out, fear of failure which you don’t have to have if you never “succeed” in some external way. My work now is different from when I started back at it in the late 2000s after I ejected the Evil X and built a shed to use as an exclusive space. I never admitted before that I am what I am, even though I had a great space in my garage in San Diego. Even now when someone gets my calendar and is very pleased with a painting I did a long time ago I think, “Wow I’m not that good any more.” Maybe not, maybe so, but for sure I’m not the same and I don’t want to be. I’m grateful now to have the liberty to chase wild tangents like making my own paint. Why do that? Only because I want to. To me that’s success.
Martha, I suppose you’re right. I just hadn’t thought about it, and I hadn’t seen the stuff for ages. It just shocked me.
I know what you mean — my paintings from my first show in 1981 look like someone else did them, but I did them.
Definitely, I feel like I’ve gone through many incarnations as a writer and artist.
I guess I have too. But this one was a glance into the past that I wasn’t prepared for.
Love that eagle!