One of my aims this year is to read more about and by female artists. So far, I’m off to a decent start with 2019’s first two selections under my belt: Nell Painter’s Old in Art School: A Memoir of Starting Over and Devotion by Patti Smith. It was pure luck, but they read surprisingly well in tandem with each other.

Nell Painter is a lauded historian with a remarkable list of accomplishments to her credit: Princeton professorship, honorary doctorates from the Ivy League and beyond, presidencies of professional organizations, and author of eight books. At the age of 64 she decided to retire from Princeton and to go to art school where she achieved a BFA from Mason Gross School of the Arts at Rutgers, followed by an MFA from RISD.

There are many levels to Painter’s book, too many to delve into in any depth here. But trust me, you will find it rewarding for its honesty as it cracks open the quandaries of art school, the ensuing struggles Painter encountered, and finally, the enriching wisdom and satisfaction she discovered.

Painter was used to navigating the world as a woman and as a black person, yet adding the element of being seen – and at times not seen – because of her age, caught her by surprise. In many ways that issue was the defining fact of her experience, begetting this book.

Her discussion of coming to terms with viewing and making art with “20th-century eyes”, in a program where her fellow students and her teachers were looking through 21st-century eyes, was very enlightening for me. I too struggle to appreciate and understand cutting-edge work and methods, finding comfort and familiarity in formalism. I am all the more convinced in reading Painter’s memoir of the need for artists and curators to write and talk coherently about changes in philosophy, making new thinking accessible to all, assuring we stay in the loop as ideas evolve.

A subject that struck a chord for me was Painter’s in-depth acknowledgement of the soul-crushing difference, understood by her professors and all in her graduate class, between being an artist (small letters) and An Artist (proper noun). It was a distinction she hadn’t known existed before matriculating, but one which strongly impacted the level of respect afforded her and her work, as well as the opportunities (or more accurately, lack of opportunities) that came her way. “An Artist” is one who willingly sacrifices everything for her art, unable to let anyone or anything step between her and her vision/work. This was a commitment Painter was, and is, unwilling to make.

She muses on the subject:

“Serious artist? Yes. I make and show my work regularly.
Professional artist? Yes, I get paid for my work.
An Artist artist? Probably not, probably never, because I still do other things.”

I am sharply reminded of the easy dismissal and lack of guidance I experienced from my college art advisor (at a liberal arts school, for heavens sake!) who felt that my ongoing interests in other subjects disqualified me from meriting his full tutelage. From my now much older vantage point, grateful for the experiences I didn’t miss, I still find it ridiculous that finely-tuned and perhaps artificial definitions dictate structures that can have such long-reaching and detrimental sway.

With that in mind, Patti Smith’s short and sweet Devotion also addresses the subject of being An Artist. Similar to her 2015 book M Train, Devotion opens a door into her process, allowing us to walk silently with her as she straddles the unseen line between a humbly “regular” creative life and the extraordinary advantages afforded her by virtue of her astoundingly wide knowledge, coupled with her fame. Sandwiched between her creative reflections is a jewel of a short story that articulates an intriguing definition of “An Artist”.

How fortuitous to have read these two books in succession!

In the beginning of her book Painter asks “Why would I want to go to art school?”
Answer: “The pursuit of pleasure. Concentrating on what I could see gave me intense pleasure, and seeing what I could make with my own hand and according to my own eye was even more satisfying. Mark making and mixing and applying color contented me deeply, just the very process of putting line on paper, brush on canvas. Art stopped time. Art exiled hunger. Art held off fatigue for what would have been hours as though hours hadn’t really passed. Pleasure. Satisfactions. Contentment.

Isn’t that exactly it, in a nutshell?

❖

The PBS Newshour did a short segment on Nell Painter and her book last year. As they often do, the segment finished with a quote: “Research shows that people creating art are 73% less likely to develop memory loss or dementia.” And, along the same lines, this recent New York Times article discusses how drawing offers a better way to remember things. Very encouraging on both counts!