Pushing Through An Uphill Climb
Keep pushing, keep going, don't let up
Forgive me. I am about to use a sports metaphor. Wait, wait, wait, don’t arrow back or X-out. Stick with me, I promise it will be worth it.
Art making and the art world takes an amazing amount of patience and persistence. This is the story of how I learned to see things through, to not give up, to keep going.
You deserve some back story to really understand why I will be using a sports reference for art making, and well, life in general. When I was young I played football (real football, known as soccer in the United States, not the American version, though I played plenty of pick up games of the American version). I have a joke with my family that they can name any sport and I have played it in some fashion or another. It's probably easier to list the sports I have not played. It was the culture of my youth, my middle class suburban upbringing. My world was playing football (soccer), but there was a side interest that had no school sponsored affiliation that took my focus away from my football (soccer) lifestyle. Cycling. I first used it for cardio training, but really my first interest in cycling came with the televising of the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. Track cycling, the funny time trial bikes, racing bicycles? I had never heard of such things. I was only 11, soon to turn 12. I had only known riding a bike as an escape from the household clutches, a method of achieving a 25 cent soda from a vending machine, etc. By this age I had fallen prey to the sports culture lifestyle and the 1984 Olympics did not help.
Before I lose you, hold up, stick with me here, I promise I will get to the point and artmaking. But first, a little more backstory.
My uncle was a myth. He is very much real, but in my youth he was only present in my world every so many years bringing gifts and stories from seemingly far away lands. He was a larger than life persona. When he graduated from Cornell he rode his bicycle down along the east coast and then across the southern tier of the US to Tuscon, AZ where he had taken a position as a physical therapist for the local hospital. He would ride around a hundred miles a day and then camp for a day or two, then continue on his journey. After years in that position in Tuscon, he left it for a new position in Caribou, Maine. He and his wife, an occupational therapist he met in Arizona and started a family with, moved to the polar opposite of the country and remained there until 1986. My maternal grandfather, his father, passed away that year. He was the oldest of three, my mother being the youngest. He returned to Pennsylvania to take care of my grandmother (who needed no taking care of) and ended up staying. He still rode his bike, a custom made frame specially designed for his cross country tour he took almost 2 decades before. Intrigued by my interest in cycling and I, starry eyed at the myth now present in my life, we started riding together. I was used to riding distances up to 20 miles a day, not straying too far from home or out of familiar territory. He wanted to ride 40-50 miles, even 100 miles. I was not quite up for that. I was a lean lanky 14 and he was a fit but aging 40. I cooked him on the hills. Out of kindness, I would wait for him at the top of the rolling hills of South Central Pennsylvania. He would then cook me going down hill and I would struggle to catch up. This was part of his personality that would later learn to dislike, but understand. On one particular descent, as I caught up, he said to me, “don’t let up going over the hill, power through it and keep going”. I was a bit baffled by this, but followed his advice. Soon it was he who was struggling to catch up to me in the descent. This lesson would come back to me nearly 10 years later.
I attended Kutztown University of Pennsylvania for two reasons, their art program and their roads for cycling. It was mandatory that I attend college and a state school fit the budget. In the early 90’s, the belief was that if you attended college you would get a good job and life would be set. At least that was my parents mentality. I don’t think they ever realized that there was no good job at the end of a BFA, but they were under the belief that so long as I had the piece of paper I could get any good paying job. Back in high school I made the decision to leave my focus in computer programming, which I was good at, for art. This was pre-internet. Had I stuck with it I probably would have been part of some version of the tech bust, maybe not. One never really knows what would have happened if you took a different fork in the road. But I digress. Once in college I was overwhelmed and excited by the possibilities of an art world life. I was under the tutelage of three working artists who were actively exhibiting in three top tier galleries in New York. Watercolorist Matthew Daub, oil painter George Sorrels, and sculptor Phoebe Adams. Each brought a unique perspective and intensity to their work and teaching, This particular story leans toward Matthew Daub. It turns out that Matt was also a cyclist and I soon joined his rides with fellow cyclists from the area.
By the time I met Matt I was already long indoctrinated into the cycling lifestyle. I would ride whenever the weather was 50 degrees or above. By the 90s mountain biking was becoming popular and with the vast amount of game land around the Kutztown area, I rebuilt a beater bike for tooling around campus into a trail worthy ride. So cycling became a year round escape. Any free time I had I went for a ride. It was an escape from everything and anything. Yes, it was also an opportunity for exercise, but that really wasn’t my aim. By college I had left my football/soccer lifestyle behind and I had started racing bicycles, but really, my focus had moved from all things sports to art. Cycling played a large role in my early art making days and still does today. On my rides, that would be anywhere from 10 to 60 miles depending on my allotted time frame, I would take note of the landscape. The sky, the rolling fields, the dappled light of the woods on the road, etc. These rides formed some of my earliest connections to the landscape and my desire to paint it. Cycling, serious cycling, not just bike riding, is a competition in itself. It is a test of your ability to withstand your body's limitations. It is a test of your stamina. Pushing the pedals as hard as you can to maintain a constant quick pace was necessary for racing. You need to go fast with minimal effect on your body’s stamina. So rides would become about building the fitness to perform well in a race. But, it also became more enjoyable, because the strength and stamina that I had gained meant a long ride did not take a lot of work. Or, better stated, the work was more enjoyable. This gave me more time to simply enjoy my surroundings. Now put that same concept into the framework of art making. Can you see where I am going here?
The door to my artistic potential was heavy and not easily opened. There was a lot of skill pent-up behind not knowing, not understanding, and not experiencing. Matt was a pivotal role model in opening that door. He, along with George, began to swing that door wide open by sending me to the library to seek out the artists of art history. Then to the museums, and contemporary galleries to see the work in person. I would often come to their respective classes with a ton of questions about whomever I had just been introduced to. Remember, I was brought up in sports culture and had limited access to museums and contemporary art making. This was an all new world for me, one full of possibilities, one I was excited to engage in, but I had a long road ahead of me. First, I was amazed by the history of art. Second, I was simply overwhelmed by the vast amount of work and layers of the contemporary art scene. I took it all in with a voracity that helped me open that heavy door. My skills in all facets of art making were limited, but were emerging quickly. I entered into Kutztown in 1991 and by ‘93 I had found a path that I was happily pursuing in landscape painting.
Between ‘93 and ‘95 I worked constantly trying to improve my skill and raise my work up to a standard that could compete in an already overgrown art world (yes, I said compete, not that I agree with the notion, but it is true). Within the House was one of my first true successes. Created from a glance, a memory, while driving home from college to see my girlfriend (now my wife), it simply rolled off the charcoal and rag. A lot of my work at the time started to come about in the same way. By ‘94 I was beginning to get my work into juried exhibitions, even winning some awards and purchase prizes. In my small regional art world I felt like I was on my way to “making it” as an artist. Meanwhile in class critiques, my work was still met with a healthy mixture of praise and potential. I had finally reached the top of the hill. I was about to crest it (the first of many to come in my life and career). It was at this point that my uncle's advice came back around. In a one-on-one critique, Matt looked at me and said, “you know how you push up over those hills and keep pushing hard, that is exactly how you have to approach your painting”. The rest I have to paraphrase a bit, but, basically he said that once I start to achieve some success, whether it be in the painting or professionally, I should never let up. Keep pushing the limits of my capability, just like I do on the bike.
There is a lot about painting that will test your patience, your stamina. There is a lot about the art world that will test your patience. It demands persistence. Push through the pain of both and when you get comfortable, don’t let up, keep pushing. There have been plenty of times in my life when I had to endure an interruption or a set back, or I even started feeling a little too comfortable, but this is when I remember, and actually visualize, grinding up and over a hill and the thrill of a 50 mph descent. All of that hard work will make the process a little more enjoyable and when things start to look a little bleak, keep pushing, keep going, don’t let up. Remember, the path is laid by the work you make. Without the work there is no path.
So there it is, my sports reference for art making. If you made it this far, I appreciate it and hope you enjoyed it. Did anyone see Simon Yates outstanding win at the Giro this year? Speaking of pushing through and keep going. Oh, sorry, forgive my sidetrack back into cycling.