–Neue Rollen, painting by Neo Rauch, 2005, image from the David Zwirner gallery website, http://www.davidzwirner.com
If I could be someone other than me, I’d be artist Neo Rauch. Rauch was born in 1960 in the former East Germany. His large canvas paintings (see a collection at the David Zwirner gallery website) are vibrant and peculiar, a sort of pop Surrealism. If he were a writer, he might be Milan Kundera meets Gabriel Garcia Marquez meets Aldous Huxley.
Seeing Rauch’s work makes me realize why it is I have always loved Surrealism. Back when I was a student at the university taking art classes outside my degree program, our drawing teacher told us to do a pencil drawing in the style of a favorite artist. I picked Rene Magritte. One of my drawings was of an abandoned house with wood plank floors and holes in the walls. A bathtub sat in the room closest to the viewer, and next to the tub a severed arm. The arm repeated in each of the next two rooms as you moved back through the house. Another drawing was men’s dress shoes floating past a cinder block window.
There are many reasons, too many to talk about in this post, why I didn’t pursue fine arts. I didn’t pick up my pens and pencils and paints again until only recently, and I’m still working on believing in myself as an artist. I’m not sure I’d know what to do with a large blank canvas.
So, instead, I lust after artists. I covet their works and their lives. I make a game of it. When I see a brilliant artist (I do the same thing with brilliant writers), I say “I want to be him.” And since I can’t really be him, I then walk down the ladder of my own version of Maslov’s heirarchy of needs: I paint like him. I’m married to him. I had his exact childhood experiences (except in the case of Rauch, whose parents died in a train wreck when he was an infant).
Finally, I land on a plausible fantasy: I own a piece of his art. I fill in the details of how I could have come to own such a painting. I came across him many years ago when I went back to Spain; he was unknown and I bought his painting for almost nothing.
Except, of course, I didn’t. I don’t own a Rauch, and I can’t afford him now. The best I can hope for is to find a reason to be in New York before his exhibit at the Met ends October 14 (to learn more about that exhibit, read this article in the June 4, 2007 issue of The New Yorker).
And if I can’t do that, all I ask is that one of you who does make it to New York go there and see the exhibit and then tell me that Rauch is as great as I think he is and that my fantasy life is worth the trouble.
ybonesy,
If I could be an artist, I would be you. I would be able to make pencil drawings like this one.
I leave for my annual retreat to South Dakota in a few days, a state with many, many abandoned farmsteads. I make a point of going onto them, listening and imagining the life once there. I see a lot of rooms like the one you’ve drawn.
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LOL. Bless your heart!
Well, we’ve had some back and forth in other comments about my fear of big, empty houses, but I would love to walk into those South Dakota farmsteads and just sit there and listen to what they tell me.
I’m drawn to abandoned spaces, too, although I like having someone come with me to explore them.
I’m curious: do you ever take photos? Or do you ever sit and do a writing practice while you’re in there?
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ybonesy: “There are many reasons why I didn’t pursue…” could be a great writing topic.
Well, I certainly believe in you as an artist. I am very glad that you are finding your way back to it. Last year, when we were focused on writing practice, I began doing a lot more photography. As I slowed down and looked more closely at things, I just wanted to capture some of those images in words and pictures. Maybe you have slowed down enough to get back to your artwork.
Someday, maybe you will illustrate your own book…or write your own book about your life as a famous artist.
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ybonesy,
I want you to illustrate my paleontology book for children. 🙂 I’ll talk to you about my idea this summer.
BTW my favorite artist is Henri Toulouse-Lautrec.
MM
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ybonesy,
In the past, in the farmhouses, I’ve had no interest in anything except to sit still and listen. I’m in a very different place this year, however, and will have paper and camera in my car should I be so moved. Why do you like to explore abandoned houses with a friend?
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Mostly because I’m scared of whatever spirits might be in the abandoned house (and so I prefer exploring with someone else and not alone). I don’t know if it’s because I’m sensitive to those things or whether I was overly influenced by all the scary TV shows and movies my older siblings watched (and so did I) growing up. But for whatever reason, I’ve always had a certain macabre orientation.
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breathepeace – you’re right. That is a good topic for a writing practice. And I appreciate so much that you believe in me as an artist. I think deep down I believe in me, too, but it’s like writing. I always hesitate before I say these words: I’m a writer. Like I’m actually only pretending, and soon I’ll get found out.
I’d love to illustrate and write a book. MM: we should work on our projects together – you start your book and start mine, and we check in with one another as we’re going. We can even blog about it.
Here is a link on Toulouse-Lautrec. I especially like his art nouveau illustrations. I guess because there is a side of me that was interested in graphic art, I am especially fond of paintings and works that have a sort of modern, graphic quality to them.
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If I could, I would spirit you away to Rauch’s exhibit at the Met as a way of saying thanks for a terrific, stimulating post. It yanked all of my art and wanting-to-be-an-artist chains.
Let’s be clear, ybonesy. You are an artist. Great artists are people who find a way to be themselves in their art, and sweet pea, you are so UTTERLY you. You are a curious, eyes-wide-open soul and the more I read your stuff (and quoinmonkey’s), the more I want to kick myself for not getting to know you better all those days and nights I wrote with you. You are an artist after my own heart. I love your fantasies, the thread of your rationalizations about not picking up the brush (though you do). Also, you care about community; issues of social justice. Compared to denizens of the New York Art World (and I’ve been to some receptions), you are a truer artist. “In order to be an artist, one must be deeply rooted in the society,” de Beauvoir said. And you are — raising beautiful children, creating red Ravine so other writers and artists have a forum for expressing themselves. You are doing the work of an artist.
Open your writing practice book and read some of your writes. Like this post, they are what a Rauch painting might look like if it could be translated into words. All art deals with the absurd and aims at the simple. Read that sentence again: all art deals with the absured and aims at the simple. Keep aiming — that’s what makes you an artist; one I admire.
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…the more I read your stuff (and quoinmonkey’s), the more I want to kick myself for not getting to know you better all those days and nights I wrote with you.
I read this line and think, how could we have? We couldn’t talk. And then I think, Wait a second, because we didn’t talk we know one another so intimately, it’s absurd.
I’ve never known people the way I know you.
I have this mantra I recite, which I stole from a writing friend of mine who lives in my town: Art is arrogant. Now I have “All art deals with the absurd and aims at the simple.” I’ll sit with that one for a while, Sharonimo.
You’re a true friend.
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It is so easy to be your friend. Your spirit is so expansive, like the Met. People around you can walk into any of your rooms and just sit for a while. Look. Take you in.
And you are right/write, of course, about how much we got to know each other by not talking. Yeah, it’s one of those absurd, but simple things. Glad we both took aim at that target.
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ybonesy, I have more to add to my comments. But I’m on the fly. So for now I want to say I have no doubt you are an artist. In talent and in spirit. And the Spirit part of being an artist is where the grit and grime and gold is.
And the part about the intimacy of those of us who sat together last year in silence – strangely real. We can’t even explain it. But we know each other in ways that we know no one else.
In my humble opinion, art, like writing, is really about knowing who we are and being willing to go to the places we need to go to find out. Both art and writing are about risking intimacy. You are there.
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That reminds me, I always ask people at work, in a corporate setting, mind you, what it is that brings about creativity? Creativity is huge for any company that wants to innovate, but the challenge is how to nurture it inside what can be a bureaucratic and dull setting.
Tell me, what is the primary ingredient to creativity?, I’ll say. Whoever I’m talking to will almost always say the same thing: Talent.
No, the main ingredient is Risk. Being vulnerable. Walking out on a limb again and again.
Artists and writers are rewarded for taking risks. As it should be. But also people who work in other fields. They, too, need to be rewarded for taking risks. Too often I see people get shut down in a corporate setting.
Anyway, just my thoughts as I get ready to head out to my day job.
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Yes, I saw that all the time, too, when I worked my corporate job. There is not much recognition or reward for those who are thinking and acting creatively – taking risks. Good point about applying all this to the work life in all settings.
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As a creative director who works in the corporate world, I agree with ybonesey that the primary ingredient is risk and vulnerability — and the way to do both is to have the courage to be yourself. The corporate world — like its language — has become homogenous and dehumanizing. To be yourself is difficult, and worse, could threaten your job. We don’t “connect with each other,” we have “strategic alliances.” We don’t have “tasks,” we have “action items.” We don’t have “great ideas.” We have synergistic, customer-centric, upsell-driven, churn-reducing, outside the box, customizable, strategically tactical, best-of-breed, seamlessly integrated, multi-channel thought leadership.”
Let’s fly it up the flagpole and see where the push back is.
Someone please hand me a mallet. I once confronted the Chief Communications Officer of a company about why, in a press release, the CEO “didn’t tell the truth.” She replied, “He wants to tell the truth. He just doesn’t want to communicate it.” Tell the truth, but don’t communicate it. Be yourself, but not around here.
Two summers ago, another CEO (of a software company) rejected a draft of brochure copy I had written (that everyone lower on the food chained loved) with this comment, written in large black letters on the draft: “This copy is too human and friendly. This is not how we interact with our clients!”
We must unite to change the language of corporate America! Yes, let’s get started . . . er, I mean, let’s initiate a holistic project action plan top down going forward toward a paradigm shift!
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Sharonimo, did that really happen? He actually wrote in big black letters – “This copy is too human and friendly. This is not how we interact with our clients!” Unbelievable. I think it’s even worse out there than I’d imagined.
ybonesy, I thought of the other thing I was going to say about this post. Remember when we were at the D.H. Lawrence Ranch last year when we were in Taos and we found out that Dorothy Brett’s typewriter had a connection to Aldous Huxley who had stayed there at one time?
I can’t remember if he owned the typewriter or used it when he was there to write. Do you remember?
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Sinclair, did you leave for your retreat in South Dakota yet? Take a lot of photos of the abandoned farms. Are you going to check in from the road? Would love to hear how your writing goes on the trip.
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QuoinMonkey — Yes, it really happened. I saved the actual draft and looked it up this morning. I was wrong about the specifics of what he wrote. Following is precisely what the CEO wrote: “This copy is too simple and friendly. It sounds like a human being said it. This is not how we communicate with our clients!” That is an EXACT QUOTE, which included the exclamation point.
I have a file filled with crap like this from corporate America. I’m thinking of writing a long article or book called, “Tell the Truth, But Don’t Communicate It: Lessons Learned Behind the Scenes of Corporate America.” What do you think?
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The book would be a number one seller. I think even a short story or published article on it would do quite well. I don’t know why I’m so surprised when I hear things like this. I saw it all the time, too. But I tended to bring the human element into management, a lonely place.
I did learn many great skills in that environment that I use all the time in the management and organization of all branches of my writing. But, overall, I think the environment kind of breeds “not communicating like a human being said it.” Thanks for sharing. Let me know when you publish your article!
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I agree! The exact quote, btw, is even better than what you recalled. It sounds like a human being said it???!!!
Write the article and/or book! I’ll read it and share it with my our Communications group.
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QM,
Yes, back from South Dakota. No, didn’t check in from the road. I spent little time at the abandoned farms, but lots of time at the bona fide historic sites. It just happened that way. Today I was at a site called Jeffer’s Petroglyphs, a holy place for Native People with carvings in rock dated 9,000 years ago. I know that sounds impossible, but I heard it straight from the tour guide’s mouth. Anyway, I was able to be alone a lot there, and grateful for knowing how to “anchor my mind with my ears.” The meadowlarks made lovely meditation companions.
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Sinclair, glad you had a good trip to South Dakota – 9,000 years is a lot of ground to cover. As soon as you said “anchor my mind with the ears” I had a visual of sitting in the zendo in Taos, listening. Just listening.
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Ditto. Welcome back. It’s nice to have a change of pace when you go somewhere you visit a lot. Like the first time I went to the DH Lawrence Ranch with QM after going to Taos all those many years. It made Taos seem new all over again.
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Amazing drawings you made which I prefer to much junk art out there being massproduced.
Im currently engaged in remanufacturing very well done copies of Neo Rauch for a fraction ca 1% of original amount.
Its a comment on the originalty, the nature, the value and position of art nowadays.
Would be pleased if you have time for a look.
RT
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I checked out your website, RT, but didn’t see anything on the copies of Neo Rauch. Great looking website — I love the “This Page Left Intentionally Blank.” How healthy is the art industry in Europe nowadays?
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[…] Sue Coe, Louise Bourgeois, Neo Rauch, Anselm Kiefer, Thomas Hirschhorn, Lee Bontecou. Unfortunately, there are many more dead artists […]
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I like the paintings of Mr. Neo Rauch very much. In my mind, he is one of this best painters in abstract paintings. I am learning from his paintings recently.
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