Demystify Your Art Making

As an art student, I fell in love with Cezanne’s brushstrokes.

Demystify your art making, at least for the sake of getting it done. Whether your art be painting, drawing, sculpting, writing, singing, acting, dress making, crochet, needlepoint, woodwork, bread baking, stenciling, scrapbooking, cello playing, guitar strumming, furniture restoration, hair cutting, stand-up comedy, or collage.

I will create something like a parable, except my protagonist is a true historical figure, and the moral may be murky, if existent at all. But the thing is, the accepted cultural narrative, i.e., art history as we know it, depends on an outcome other than what this “parable” offers. Nonetheless, here’s a brief, alternative, anti-art history:

Suppose the painter Paul Cezanne (pronounced say-‘zon, or says-‘awnh, if you’re being snooty), having returned to the French countryside after a stint in Paris, decided to pursue other things besides painting. In Paris, he’d hung out with important painters and gained valuable artistic insights, but feeling himself more a rustic, he followed his heart back to the provincial environs of his youth. He told himself he’d paint mountains and forests, rock quarries and the Mediterranean Sea.  His intentions were good. But when he got there, a procrastination set in–one from which he’d never fully recover.

It started as anxiety: a lurking fear that he’d fail to achieve what those great Parisian painters had achieved. What’s left for me to discover, he often wondered. He knew he should weather this anxiety and get to work anyway, but being of a passive temperament, he often let it get the best of him. And in those days, there were no anti-anxiety meds to ease the mind. A prescription for Lexapro might’ve made all the difference. Instead, he sipped coffee all day, willfully blinding himself to the exacerbatory effects of caffeine on his anxiety. By late afternoon, he’d be a jittery wreck, unable to paint, unable to do anything thing but laze about Pontoise, growing bitterer by the hour, mean-mugging the villagers who hadn’t grasped the great destiny that was meant to be his. How could they? But he afforded them no grace. He’d escape to the woods, taking long walks on old wagon roads, cursing life for not delivering on its promise of artistic renown, carrying his sketchbook but drawing nothing. I’ll figure things out eventually, he’d think.

Soon, however, he afforded himself no grace, either. He became quite the wallower in self-pity. What had gone wrong? He was supposed to be the father of some great art movement, but he was merely the son of a banker, living off a great inheritance, producing no art. His palette grew dusty, his brushes stained and stiff with inactivity. In the village, he wasn’t even known to be an artist anymore. All he was was the son of Monsieur Cezanne, the deceased banker. At one point, local officials wanted him to run for office, thinking he was somehow qualified because his father had been a prominent citizen back in Aix. But Paul knew he wasn’t the public service type, so he graciously denied their request, though they plied him with brandy and rare tobacco. To be honest, he did consider it; it would be a level of prominence, after all. They were standing around him in the courthouse basement, the brandy working its intoxication, the conversation flowing, and he thought maybe, just maybe. But the next morning, in the grip of a pulsing headache, he remembered he was supposed to be an artist, and he was just foolish enough to believe it might still happen. He stood by his original decision not to run for office.

This parable is starting to run thin. Here’s the point: if the real Paul Cezanne had had any kind of sense of the greatness that was to come, he might’ve gotten nothing done. If he’d thought he might one day be referred to as the Father of Modern Art, then there may have never been a series of paintings of Mont Sainte-Victoire, or of his influential bather scenes. Card players, Madame Cezanne, still-lifes–so many monumental works we wouldn’t have. He would’ve sabotaged his own greatness. That mantle–Father of Modern Art (who could live under that expectation?!)–would’ve gone to someone else.

The point behind the point: demystify your art making. Demystify your writing. Demystify your singing. Demystify your acting. Demystify your whatever. Do it all for the joy of doing it, or for your obsession with it. Any reason is better than doing it because you think it will one day lead to greatness. If you do it because you think it will one day lead to greatness, then not only will you probably fall short, but you’ll be letting down our species by wielding such a shallow motive.

Maybe greatness is the wrong word, because art deserves the pursuit of greatness. Striving to make great art is worthwhile, but striving to have art be proof of your own greatness–that’s the shallow part, the seedy part. I’m confident in saying that the real Cezanne pursued greatness in art, but not greatness through art. I suspect he didn’t care about personal fame at all.

Alan D. Tucker
Content Writer,
Essayist, & Novelist

Instagram and the Artist’s Blog

Example of how I used a screenshot to promote a recent blog post on Instagram.

Imagine you’re an artist–a painter, specifically. Some months back, you set up a blog as a way to promote your work. A blog is a way to carve out virtual real estate, you reasoned, believing a lack of online presence was tantamount to non-existence. And these days, setting up a decent site costs relatively little and requires minimal learning . You told family and friends about it, and after excruciating deliberation over fonts and background colors, you finally published your first post: an artist statement accompanied by a couple of high-resolution photos of recent paintings. The world was opening up to you . . . or was it? You consistently generate brilliant content, but your readership has never approached what you thought it would. Luckily, a great tool for driving visitors to your site is probably already on your phone’s home screen: Instagram.

Chances are you have an Instagram account. Yet there’s also a chance you’re not maximizing Instagram’s potential for growing your brand. Perhaps you’ve never considered the photo-sharing platform as a marketing tool. Of course, you’ve posted pictures of your paintings here and there, and maybe you’ve even been encouraged by a few positive responses, but you know the response could be bigger. In fact, you need it to be bigger. Your dreams are at stake.

So you’ve shared your creative pursuits on Instagram, but what you haven’t done is learn how to leverage Instagram’s networking potential to drive visitors to your site–the true online showcase for your paintings. Good news: this can be achieved by sharing the blog itself. It’s the difference between simply letting people know you paint and showing them you’re a serious artist. If you share your site in this way, you’ll be surprised to learn how many of your followers haven’t realized you even have a blog, despite the link being right there in your Instagram bio. Everybody’s busy, so it sometimes takes an extra nudge to aim their attention in the proper direction.

Let’s look at some ways to share your blog via Instagram. First, never forget that Instagram is primarily a photo-sharing platform. This means your photo should be of good quality, even if it means using filters and effects (think of it as creative control). Everyone has seen the way professional photographers use Instagram to display their work. If you want your post to garner a second look, keep in mind the amazing quality out there.  Also, your photo should relate directly to the content of your blog post: an actual photo from the post is ideal. Here’s a different approach: take a screenshot of your most current blog post and use it as the photo you share on Instagram to promote your blog (see photo at the top of this article); this not only announces your new post, it also allows people a tiny glimpse of the site, which hopefully has the effect of making them curious about what you’re doing.

Next, couple your photo with an excerpt from the particular blog post you are promoting. Use some form of lead-in to indicate that the excerpt was written by you. For example, you can say something like: I updated my blog!, or new post.  You want viewers to know that you are the author. Following your lead-in, use quotation marks to imply that your excerpt is only a small part of a larger published piece online. Your excerpt should reveal just enough to whet a viewer’s interest. Neither over-share nor under-share. Your intuition will guide you in this, and it’s something you improve upon with time.

Here’s a crucial step, but it’s also one that is easily forgotten: after your excerpt, always mention that a link to the full article can be found in your Instagram bio, and then update your Instagram bio’s web link so it actually connects to your new blog post! More times than I care to admit, I’ve forgotten this step, and I can’t help but wonder how many potential visitors I might have missed.

Finally, optimize your hashtags. If you use Instagram, then it’s assumed you know what hashtags are. However, you may not realize how useful they can be in promoting your blog. Instagram allows thirty hashtags per post. Use all of them whenever possible. The goal is to maximize your reach. The hashtag search tool that pops up automatically in Instagram’s iPhone app, which is what I’m most familiar with, typically offers up multiple variations for most entries. For example, if I type #halloween in the text box, these are only a few of the options that appear:  #halloweenmakeup; #halloweencostume; #halloweenmovie; #halloween2018.

Instagram’s hashtag-suggesting function.

Indeed, the list goes on and on. You can’t select all the hashtags, but you can select the most relevant ones. And because Instagram provides a number beside each one indicating how many times that hashtag has been used, you can strategically pick ones where your post has a greater chance of being seen. In other words, if a particular tag has been used eight million times, it’s more likely your post will get lost in the shuffle, but if it’s only been used eight-hundred times, your post is going to be visible for a longer period of time, thereby increasing the chances someone will click on it. And getting someone to click on your post is two-thirds of the battle.

Artists typically don’t want to bother with self-promotion–they’re natural-born makers, not marketers. However, social media has made the process a little less painful. This is fortunate, because an online presence is a necessity in modern times. A blog is a wonderful thing for an artist to have; the ability to update a blog regularly is perhaps the greatest perk of owning one, as opposed to a traditional website. Yet a blog must have visitors if an online presence is to have any meaning. Among the many social media platforms available, Instagram gets my vote for being the one that best lends itself to blog promotion. At least that’s what my own experience suggests.

Alan D. Tucker
Content Writer,
Essayist, & Novelist

Longboard Dad

People in Nashville don’t expect to see a grown man on a skateboard, at least not in the suburbs. That’s what I deduced on a recent outing with my boys. They had their bikes and I had my longboard (which is exactly what it sounds like, for those unfamiliar with skater lingo), and we pushed and pedaled around the parking lots and walking track of my oldest son’s school for a couple of hours. The clear, cool day brought out other people, too, so we had a little company: walking middle-aged couples (probably close to my age, actually); a teenage kid blasting hip-hop in his headphones and doing basketball moves with no ball; a man giving his daughter a driving lesson. The basketball kid paid us no mind, and the father giving driving lessons checked to make sure we’d be in a different part of the parking lot, but the walking couples stared. Rudely stared. Some said hi, but others had this bemused look, like they thought I was kidding about being a longboard dad, or that any moment I might break into a Rodney Mullen street routine. It got a little awkward.

I’m jealous of two kinds of people: really tall people, and people who don’t care what anyone thinks of them. As hard as I try, when someone outright stares at me, I can’t ignore it. I may not look at them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel their eyes burning whichever side of me happens to be facing them.

The longboard stayed, of course, because thankfully I’m too stubborn to let a little awkwardness deter me. But it would be nice if the stigma of skateboarding being only a thing for kids would go away. I can’t see why it’s any less a legitimate activity than riding a bike.

Anyway, that experience has me thinking about the awkwardness and vulnerability artists undergo for the sake of their work. It’s risky to take something you created and place it in front of others. It’s risky because an artist’s work is built from the raw materials of his own life; to put it simply, it’s intimate. The best artists hold nothing back. It terrifies me to think of holding nothing back. Yet to be honest and to be good, artistically speaking, that stuff has to come out. Like a longboard.

Alan D. Tucker
Content Writer, Essayist, & Novelist