The Importance of Having Secondary Art Forms

Finding your art is as important as, and quite possibly an extension of, finding your God.

It's an outlet, a source of psychological and spiritual alchemy, a life-line. A boon.

“Art is God’s original medicine for humanity.  ”

Art is God's original medicine for humanity.  

I have found it vital in my own life to find my God and find my art. I also think that God is so abundant that, although we are each given primary art forms, we are also given secondary art forms. For me, my various art forms are painting, writing poetry and books, cooking, exercise and photography.

What is art except assigning meaning to something that other people may not think matters or makes sense?

Trisha Wiles

“What is art except assigning meaning to something that other people may not think matters or makes sense?”

A dilapidated wall of an abandoned building in Aruba becomes a vibrant reminder that brilliant composition is everywhere. And when it's so perfect as it is, I stood convinced that no attempt to paint it could ever improve it. So I may as well simply capture it, in itself. 

“If lived properly, all of life can be art.”

An aged subway platform reminds me of the great Anselm Keifer's technique of allowing nature to do for the artist what the artist simply cannot. He frequently speaks of burying paintings and setting them out in the rain to allow nature to finish the creation of the piece. The weathering process in nature is remarkable. 

I believe that having more than one art form is important because, if done properly, they can feed and inspire each other. 

The colors and patterning of a silver bowl of vegetables and fruit on a marble counter top inspired my very first still life painting, "Still-Life (Abstract)" in 2017. I was struck by its composition and, like a fiend, I felt a deep compulsion within in me to pursue that. Honor it. Paint it. Enjoy it even more by immersing myself in it. Become it. Submerse my consciousness so wholly in its inadvertent perfect design that it becomes something holy. It became my prayer. 

“Still-Life (Abstact)” 2017.

If lived properly, all of life can be art- cooking, eating, moving, breathing, dressing, kissing, laughing, walking, being.

Art's secondary forms in my life has taught me about these tiny moments of life which deserve drinking in. A composition here. A color there. A hug, a feeling, a sunset.

So I guess the point is not to achieve simply "secondary" art forms, but to grow toward the fruition of all other art forms.

May you find the beauty of art in every aspect of your life, knowing that- always- where beauty is, there is your God.

TRISHA WILES

The Painting in My Head vs. The Finished Product

Last evening, I sat down to create "The Way The World Is." 

An ambitious title, well-suited to a painting meant to express a deep truth I've come to learn.

But what the painting started as- a vision in my brain, a day or two prior- bares vague resemblance to the finished, titled piece that was created.

Why is this?

Is it because I'm not a good artist and cannot replicate? Or is it something else?

It's something else.

Along the way from the original idea to the finished piece, each painting of mine undergoes a creative process where more ideas spring to mind. With each brushstroke comes another idea for a different one, one that wasn't accounted for in my original vision of the piece.

“I have seen, time and time again, something begin as an elementary idea in my mind transform into a complex and eye-catching piece, that is, in its own way, somehow simple.”

Often, the original vision that comes to mind for a painting is very simple. Typically it's too simple for my personal liking, but I embark upon the journey of creating it nonetheless and after seeing what happens next a few times, have come to entirely trust this process. I have seen, time and time again, something begin as an elementary idea in my mind transform into a complex and eye-catching piece, that is, in its own way, somehow simple.

And I do not criticize the original vision, because if I did that, I would never start it.

“I do not criticize the original vision, because if I did that, I would never start it.”

The original vision for the piece is but the first idea for the piece. More ideas follow in a steady stream once I have a paintbrush in-hand, as the true vision begins to crystallize on my canvas.

Being an artist is a lot like being an archaeologist- interestingly, another career that I wanted to pursue as a child. It's digging away at a piece that you don't know exists. When a vision for a painting strikes, it's as though I'm digging in the sand and suddenly my brush hits something. You continue digging- and painting- in order to discover what the rest of your find has in store.

“Being an artist is a lot like being an archaeologist... When a vision for a painting strikes, it’s as though I’m digging in the sand and suddenly my brush hits something. You continue digging- and painting- in order to discover what the rest of your find has in store.”

Another painting that this process was very evident in was "Juice." "Juice" was one that was inspired by the man I love. (LINK TO PREVIOUS BLOG)

What began as a simple idea for a single orange ball on a solid black background became something else entirely and way better than what my mind could have ever dreamt up.

This is a profound process in art and I know of two of my favorite artists who have explained this very same process with accuracy, Anselm Kiefer and Pablo Picasso.

I was a relatively new artist when I discovered these snippets by two of my heroes. I took both of them as extreme validation and reassurance that I was on the right path.

“Surely, if my process unknowingly mirrored the greats, I wasn’t far off from where I should be.”

Surely, if my process unknowingly mirrored the greats, I wasn't far off from where I should be.

Not that art should ever be a basis of comparison. It's not for that. It's for the simple validation that the methods and processes that I was employing to execute my art were, without knowing it, similar in fashion to those whose art I have admired most in my life.

I don't count anything a coincidence, and I don't think I'd be an impactful artist if I did.

Learning that other great artists' works underwent this same transformation from the "original" paintings in their heads to the "finished" ones hung on walls was a vote cast for me. I took it as a nod from the Universe. 

"Keep going."

“I don’t count anything a coincidence, and I don’t think I’d be an impactful artist if I did.”

So if you are an artist who is reading this and you are questioning (or even slightly curious) if what you are doing is "right" when you produce something that is 99% foreign to what you set out to create, I have no answer for you except: you are in relatively good company.

And keep going.

TRISHA WILES

Perfectionism is a convenient excuse for laziness.

I hear it all the time.

"I'm a perfectionist."

Hell, I used to say it.

Not coincidentally, it was during a period of my life when I wasn't producing much. 

“To say that you’re a perfectionist and that is why you refuse to get started is simply you putting a bow on your own laziness.”

To say that you're a perfectionist and that is why you refuse to get started is simply you putting a bow on your own laziness.

To say that you're a perfectionist and that's why you're never happy with how your ventures are going is simply you putting a bow on a crappy, unrealistic attitude.

Honestly, I'm not quite sure which is worse.

But trust me, I've tried both approaches so I know from experience. I'm writing this in the hopes of saving you time that I have wasted in the past.

I participated in an art show recently. It was the kind of art show where the attendees didn't really know much about art. They seemingly just wanted to get dressed up, carry a drink around and take photos in front of a signs reading "local art" for their Instagram pages.

And that's fine.

Honestly, any interest in art for any reason, I think, is a great thing.

I didn't take it personally. I still don't. I don't care why they were there or why anybody's anywhere for that matter. (But that's a different blog post entirely.)

“Had I said ‘My work needs to be perfect or else I won’t show up,’ I never would have been there. So I worked with what I had and I showed up.”

My point is this: had I let either of those two "perfectionist" types of excuses sink in, I never would have done the show at all.

I never would have attended to begin with because my paintings were not wired to be hung. They weren't really "ready" to be displayed. Had I said "My work needs to be perfect or else I won't show up," I never would have been there. So I worked with what I had and I showed up.

Then, once there, had I said "My work needs to respected and honored in the way I deem worthy otherwise I'm leaving," I would have left near the start of the show.

I would have wrapped up my pieces and left when the event's hired photographer kept hitting my pieces with his bookbag, despite my alerting him that his bookbag kept knocking into my paintings.

When he failed to adjust his bookbag to avoid hitting my paintings, I didn't blow up at him citing how many thousands of dollars my paintings sell for.

“I thanked him. Sincerely. Even if through gritted teeth.”

I didn't call him an idiot.

I didn't make a scene.

I tried to change the situation as best I could, by telling him about his bookbag knocking into my paintings, and then when the situation didn't change, I accepted it.

In full disclosure and to confirm that I'm no saint, I did, however, turn and make irate comments to my fiance about how I was "about ready to lose it" (to which he replied that I clearly already had).

But, more than any of that, I shook it off and smiled politely as that same photographer came to take photos of me at my booth, with my work. And when he was done, I thanked him. Sincerely. Even if through gritted teeth.

Yes, I had a small meltdown.

No, I didn't walk out and leave because things weren't "perfect."

The fact is: if you're waiting for the perfect time or perfect circumstances to live a dream, you're gonna die waiting.

“If you’re waiting for the perfect time or perfect circumstances to live a dream, you’re gonna die waiting.”

Your work may never be perfect.

Your website may never be perfect.

The environment and your audience may never be perfect.

And you will certainly never be perfect.

So you might as well get started and keep going regardless.

And there's perfection in the imperfection. There's beauty in the process of striving toward the goal.

It's an odd spiritual balancing act between skill and grace.

But if I've learned one thing in life, it is this: No one scores if they don't show up to the game.

“If I’ve learned one thing in life, it is this: No one scores if they don’t show up to the game.”

So table your laziness and your shitty attitude- those are all just excuses for your inaction anyhow- and show up. 

I'm pretty convinced that some of the greatest musicians, artists and authors in the world died broke, uninspired and completely unknown because they hid behind "perfectionism" and never risked anything enough to get started.

TRISHA WILES

Great Artist Highlight: Jennie C. Jones

In a new blog series I am calling "Great Artist Highlight," I will be highlighting some of my all-time favorite and great, exciting artists.

Let's start with Jennie C. Jones because great living artists are so exciting! 

(Not to mention she has the name of a great old show I used to watch and is a fellow Ohio native!)

I stumbled across Jones' work the day after I had the idea to begin a technique I refer to as "canvas-mounting."

As if on cue, the Universe introduced me to Jones' work the very next day where she plays with three-dimensional canvases and does so with such ease and perfection. 

"Sustained Black with Broken Time and Undertone," 2011.

"Emanating Hum," 2016.

Her work was completely novel and new to my eyes. Her use of canvas to ascribe depth to a piece, revolutionary.

For all the museums I'd ever been in, I've never seen anything like her work before. 

It was different, modern and- to my eyes- exquisitely perfect.

Her work was striking, but not overbearing. Subtle, but powerful. Balanced, but perfectly asymetrical.

Not to mention, Jones' incorporation of music into her work struck a chord with me, on a personal level.

Her jazz-inspired drawings are minimal, but impactful, created with a focus and clarity that resonates through them. They transport me into her world and the musical notes which she sought to express.

As an artist out of Brooklyn, Jones' work is heavily influenced by jazz in particular, and while I'm, admittedly, not even remotely well-versed in sound art, she works in that medium as well. 

Jones' drawing depict musical scores and notes

I don't know as much about Jennie C. Jones as I do other great artists. After all, I came across her work relatively recently compared to other artists whom I have admired for years and even decades. 

I've been a fan of Dali, Warhol and Picasso since I was child. Of course I am going to know more about them.

What I love most about Jones' work are all of the ways, small and large, in which she conveys her messages and the continuity of her style.

You look at a piece of hers, and you can tell that it is hers.

That's part of what makes a great artist great.

I look at a Picasso, and I know it's a Picasso.

I look at at a Van Gogh, and I know that it is a Van Gogh.

I look at a Jones, and I can guess that it's a Jones. (Again, the possible margin for error is my own, as I haven't been obsessed with her work for long enough.)

Jennie C. Jones contributes to the world stunning artwork from a novel perspective.

If you haven't checked out her artwork before, do so now! You'd be doing yourself a serious favor.

TRISHA WILES

Jennie C. Jones

Why I Love Kiefer's "Occupations"

It was provocative. It was forbidden. It was poignant and well thought-out.

It was great art.

I'm speaking of course about Anselm Kiefer's piece "Occupations," in which he tackled the post-Holocaust censorship in his native country of Germany.

The photos, some of which shown here were taken in the late 1960s, were not seen by the public until 1975.

The Holocaust was one of the most horrifying events in human history, without doubt. A mass of people had been rallied behind a psychotic leader to execute millions. 

In its wake, the emotional turmoil and recovery of Germany and its people is, frankly, unimaginable. 

But Kiefer saw one thing he disagreed with.

In the aftermath of the Holocaust, the nation of Germany outlawed the sieg heil salute. They wanted no vestiges of Nazism left in their country to exist, or worse- grow again.

Stamp it out, and keep it out. 

And most of us, knowing what we know about the Holocaust, can totally understand that human reaction.

But while a young Kiefer was quick to admit that the Holocaust was, indeed, the embodiment of horror, he saw outlawing and banning the famous Nazi salute as a step in the wrong direction.

He argued, through the 18 black and white photos of "Occupations," that by censoring actions and banning them, it would be easy for the current population to forget, gloss over and allow the horrors of their own history to drift far back into their collective memory, so as to potentially disappear and remain dormant forever.

Human atrocity needs to be spoken about, he argued. It needs to be remembered and discussed, no matter how uncomfortable it may make us.

Like a drug addict who has been clean and then starts thinking "It wasn't that bad," and then relapses.

Hate is the drug of humanity that we must recover from.

We cannot minimize the horror of humanity's history through the anesthetizing effects of silence.

The horrors and prejudices and hate crimes of the past need to be spoken about, lest a new generation come along and learning nothing from the past they inherited but do not know, and end of repeating them.

In "Occupations," he embodied the adage: Those who do not know history are condemned to repeat it.

Nothing is too horrifying to censor, he argued. No conversation around history should be censored. We are not protecting people from anything- after all, it was people who made the Holocaust possible. 

And, more optimistically, people who brought it to an end.

But censorship is, in its essence, controlling information, and thus, controlling a people.

We do not need to be censored from learning about what we, ourselves, are capable of. We need to be educated. We need to stand on the ready, with full knowledge, to squash any semblance of hate that may arise within each one of us. If we don't know where hate has led people in the past, it's easy to excuse away small acts of our own hatred today.

Only when armed with the full truth about what we, humans, are capable of can we rightly head off the negative forces that exist in each individual and in each nation's collective consciousness.

A nation that knows not its own history is simply a group of fools heading toward their next catastrophe.

Let us be brave enough to never censor the past. Because by censoring it in any way, and in even the smallest of forms, we prevent humanity from learning from it. We, also, tacitly permit another future generation to repeat it, simply because we think that censorship makes for a cleaner system of operating in the present. 

Censorship is a clean solution. It's still a popular solution. But it's a selfish solution.

It prevents some problems for the current generations at the expense of future generations. (Not to mention the pure arrogance of censorship, in general...)

Let us face our problems head-on. Let us see the full truth and confront it. Let us be adults.

That is what Anselm Kiefer argues in this piece. And that is why it is mind-bendingly great art.

Interestingly enough, nobody, except one lone professor of his, liked the work. They thought it was appalling. They thought it was crass. They thought it was juvenile and stupid and needless and senseless and hurtful.

But one professor saw its pure genius.

There are many other dynamics and messagings that Kiefer expresses through "Occupations," but his dialogue in it of censorship is the one that jumps out most to me, especially in the current time in American history which we find ourselves in.

TRISHA WILES

Why I love Warhol's "Marilyn Diptych"

Warhol was a genius.

If you disagree, you just don't know enough about Warhol.

The first time I saw his piece "Marilyn Diptych," I was in the only Art course I took while at university. It was Art History.

I loved that class. I looked forward to it. I paid attention in it. I mean, I, of course, sat in the back. But I loved that class.

The professor projected a slide of "Marilyn Diptych" onto the screen. I was captivated first by colors, then by the image repetition, then by the message the professor told us.

The piece was Warhol created in the four months that followed Marilyn Monroe's death in 1962.

The professor told us that it was a piece on the dehumanizing aspects of fame, the cult of celebrity and the deadening of our, the normal population's, senses.

When we see something long enough, it loses its meaning to us and becomes superficial.

When we see a celebrity long enough, they become not-human. They become a product. An image. An idea. 

“When we see something long enough, it loses its meaning to us and becomes superficial. When we see a celebrity long enough, they become not-human. They become a product. An image. An idea. ”

But they become less human. And we, in turn, become less sensitive. Less aware. We make remarks about them that we would never make about other people. 

We gossip and delight in their pain because these celebrities are stories, not people.

We cut them down and criticize them, because they are a reminder of what we think we lack. They are not people.

This class and discussion was right in the window when Britney Spears was having her infamous meltdown. (No, I'm not linking out to anything there. Not on this post. Not while discussing this topic. And, frankly, not ever.)

It was right as Kim Kardashian was on her rise to fame.

Celebrity and fame are things that deep down many of us think that we want. We want attention, approval... ultimately it's power that we want. 

But we never look at the other side of celebrity. The blog posts mocking their body parts. The internet comments criticizing their children. The articles publicizing their failed or struggling relationships.

“We need to stop poisoning our culture by tearing down those that we, in some way, envy.”

These people who are celebrities are not our ideas of what they are. They are people. 

If they make you feel a certain way about yourself, you have work to do internally. On your own. And for the love of God, do it quietly.

We need to stop poisoning our culture by tearing down those that we, in some way, envy.

If everyone stopped paying attention to celebrities, our culture would be less violent, less sex-saturated, less loud. More peaceful. More grounded. More humble. 

We, as a nation, would listen more and speak less.

This painting reminds me that our realized dreams sometimes turn into our nightmares. Alanis Morissette speaks of this.

Think of your average famous person. Think of what people say about them. Now imagine that you're them. 

“That’s what this painting does. It introduces us to the poison of fame.”

That's what this painting does. 

It introduces us to the poison of fame.

The slow murder of the humanity of each celebrity.

It introduces us to parts of ourselves that need work.

Warhol is a genius. 

TRISHA WILES

In Defense of Barnett Newman

His work is the kind that people stand in front of and ask "Is this really art?" 

"Day One" Barnett Newman

I know this because a friend of mine laughed incredulously in front of Newman's works at The Whitney over the weekend while I stood in awe.

"Somewhere," my friend theorized, "I envision a room full of artists who are in on the joke, laughing at what a bunch of suckers the art world is to buy this and display it in a museum."

I laughed. His comment was humorous, and the visual, even better. I am an artist and I know artists- he's not wrong that that's ultimately the kind of people that we are.

“Barnett Newman is a genius of art.”

But he's incorrect about Newman.

Barnett Newman is a genius of art. He compares a person meeting a painting to a person meeting another person. When you first see another person, your reaction to their presence is immediate. It's visceral.

It doesn't have anything to do with their religion, or politics, or their character. You know none of that yet. You have only just seen them, but yet, you have a reaction.

Standing in front of Newman's "Day One" over the weekend, I experienced a strange sensation. As the red paint loomed over me, I felt an odd mix of physical and emotional vibration happening inside of me. It was almost as if the painting was pulsing into me. (Sidenote: A "pulsing" sensation is also the feeling many people experience with Rothko paintings.)

I felt its presence. It was as if the painting were another person in the room. But a big person. A giant. The painting was a giant living being in the room which made me forget all of the normal-sized people in the room, except for a few fleeting thoughts wondering if I've been standing in front of this painting for too long and if my friend was ready to move on already.

(Note to reader: Sharing in art is great, but try to go view art alone more often than not or, at the very least, with people who will leave you alone if that's what you want at a certain point.)

Thankfully, my friend did that. He continued to meander through the exhibit and waited until the ungodly amount of time I spent in front of the Newmans had expired. True to form, too much time in front of these paintings was still not enough, which if you recall, is the mark of great art.

“It was as if the painting were another person in the room. But a big person. A giant. ”

The painting had an aliveness I don't often see. There was a life about it that I see in great works. A presence. A purpose. A message. A voice.

Without hearing a thing, it spoke to me and told me its importance. And I felt it. Vibrating. Looming. Towering. Bellowing.

It was ominous, but seductive. Powerful, but funny... because I knew that most people look at a painting such as this and see a color. But it's so much more. 

And I'm not saying this to sound pretentious, or bougie, or contrarian. I get it- it looks absurd in a museum. It looks funny. But it's not the paint that makes paintings like those...

It's the intense energy the artist poured into its creation that is now vibrating its way into me, here, all of these years later.

It's great art.

It's why I immerse myself as deeply as possible in the vibrational energy that I possess while painting. It's meditative.

“It’s not the paint that makes paintings like those. It’s the intense energy the artist poured into its creation that is now vibrating its way into me, here, all of these years later.”

Newman's is the kind of art that photos flatten and kill.

"The Promise" Barnett Newman

A photo of his work is far worse than never seeing his work at all. Honestly.

Photos can't translate the vibration. They can't recall the pulsing. They're unable to replicate the aliveness of his works.

I moved on to "The Promise" of Newman's. And again, felt struck. Felt in awe. Felt sucked in, in a way that was positive, but also a little scary. Felt pulled apart and conflicted, but also somehow unified.

His paintings affected me with their presence, like a person who walks into a room with that X Factor. That je ne sais quoi.

And in that way, when taken into account with how Newman views how a painting should affect a person wordlessly, without introduction and immediately, it makes sense.

His paintings make sense.

He's a genius.

No matter how many memes people make of his work.

TRISHA WILES

What makes a great piece of art?

I'm a strong believer that movement is key.

“Nothing is quite as deflated and uninspiring as a piece that an art-loving viewer walks up to and away from within seconds. ”

Movement in a painting and movement of a viewer's stare.

I know that a piece is good if my eyes keep moving as I'm looking at it.

First to one part, and then Ooh! What's that over there? And then Look at those brushstrokes down at the bottom! ...Look how different they are from these up here on the top! ...Look at the dots over here and the shadow on the side here!

Nothing is quite as deflated and uninspiring as a piece that an art-loving viewer walks up to and away from within seconds. 

When I walk up to a piece that I believe to be truly great, time is rendered still. I stand, without realizing for how long I've been standing. I look until whoever I am at the museum or exhibition with has to physically grab my arm and pull me out.

Great art naturally evokes a desire to stare at it for as long as you can.

“Great art naturally evokes a desire to stare at it for as long as you can.”

I know when a viewer thinks my art is great when they stand in front of it for awhile, when their eyes are darting all around to different points on the canvas. 

So to determine what constitutes "great art," I have only two criteria:

1. Are your eyes moving a lot when you're looking at it?

“A captivating piece of art is always great art.”

2. Can you look at it for a long time and remain interested in it?

A captivating piece of art is always great art.

Pretty simple. All the best things are.

TRISHA WILES

My 6 Favorite Artists

I select my favorite artists based on who they are and what they say, followed in importance by the physical work that they produce.

"Marilyn Diptych" Andy Warhol

I love a great, beautiful, striking work, but I am obsessed with a great, beautiful, striking work that has a great, humbling and profound message. An interesting and new perspective.

Some people are formalists. In full candor, those people tend to be too rigid for my liking.

It's the reaction that occurs between message and method that creates true art.

Then again, while the message is important, so is the piece's ability to stand on its own. So it's both, really.

I agree with Pablo and Marina, it is important for art to simply be art: be beautiful, be striking, be whatever the viewer needs it to be, but I also believe at the same time that the story of a piece makes a difference, too. The story of the piece, for me, is a part of the piece. It's a component, even though it isn't a brushstroke or wash.

“It’s the reaction that occurs between message and method that creates true art.”

The story is a brushstroke for the mind. The brushstroke is a story for the soul. 

A piece must be magnificent to the person who is not thinking and to the one who is. If one can achieve this, it can create a form of art that appeals to both the left and right brains. It can create a potent and intoxicating reaction in the viewer where they are both in awe and learning, two of my favorite states.

“The story of the piece, for me, is a part of the piece. It’s a component, even though it isn’t a brushstroke or wash.”

So, after speaking my piece, I hope that you'll go and read quotes and interviews of the artists in the following list. Because even if they don't advertise the stories behind their pieces, the stories are vital, their messages are important and their impact on me has been great. 

I give to you... My 6 Favorite Artists and the messages behind my favorite piece of their's or their quotes:

LIVING ARTISTS

1. Anselm Keifer "Occupations" (a piece about the grave dangers of censorship) 

2. Marina Abramovic "The Lovers" (a piece on true love's inevitability and impermanence)

DEAD ARTISTS

3. Andy Warhol "Marilyn Diptych" (a piece on the dehumanizing nature of fame and celebrity)

4. Salvador Dali - quotes

5. Pablo Picasso - quotes 

6. Vincent van Gogh "The Starry Night" (an artist who embodies the medicinal effect of art to mental illness)

"The Starry Night" Vincent van Gogh

Your homework: Go read quotes, research and watch/read interviews of all six of these individuals and drink in the genius! Bottoms up!

TRISHA WILES