A Door To Nowhere

Two days ago on a warm sunny morning my wife Ann and I were strolling down Canyon Road here in Santa Fe. There was a stone and concrete wall on our left and I noticed a beautiful antique hand carved door at a break in the wall. "Ann", I chirped, "did you see this beautiful old door?" As we stood there admiring the door Ann informed me that not only did it not go anywhere but that it didn't even open! Now, my friends know that I can create a metaphor at the speed of light based on damn near anything that occurs in my life. This "door thing" was an opportunity I couldn't resist. A beautiful door that didn't go anywhere and had no hinges. Over a late morning coffee I shared my door metaphor with Ann at a little French restaurant.


Beginning at the age of 23 as a student at the Abbott School of Art in Washington in June 1953 and continuing for the next fifty seven years nearly every painting I created was a "door" to some tangible reward. First there were the paintings done for a grade in order to earn first a Bachelors and then a Masters degree in Fine Art. Next were the hundreds of paintings I did for the market place. They were created to feed my family, pay the rent and put gas in the second hand cars I drove. After hearing the old bromide, "Those who can't do, teach", I began a life long task of disproving that questionable piece of wisdom in order to show my colleagues and students that one could indeed teach and create very credible art while doing so. So, I painted to make money, I painted to win awards and grades and I painted to prove to myself and the world that I had the requisite skills to call myself an artist as well as a teacher. Those were the doors. They opened and they went somewhere.

All of those doors have very nearly disappeared. If I don't sell another painting Ann and I will not go hungry. There are no grades to earn nor do my hundreds of students and colleagues doubt my abilities as an artist. The opinions of those I haven't convinced don't matter to me anymore. At the age of 79 all I have is the beautiful door that doesn't open or go anywhere. What I do with that door has little or nothing to do with past motivations or goals. Now there is just the door...the beautiful door.

The Lunch Question

Before I moved to the South West this year I had weekly luncheons with a good friend at a local restaurant in Easton. One day my friend asked, "Your getting up there in years Joe. How does it feel to know you are coming to the end of your journey?" My response was as glib as I could make it. I wanted to talk about politics or town gossip or any thing that looked more pleasant as a topic to discuss over lunch. Now, living out here on the prairie, I've had a whole lot more "alone time" so I've had some opportunities to consider my friend's question. I remembered a quote I read years ago, "If you have no adventures in your youth you will have no wonderful memories in your dotage." True. My observations now have led me to the conclusion that the thing to do is to continue the adventures as long as possible and to avoid depending on the memories. Not an easy task. It gets harder to find the adventures and easier to turn to the memories as a way of getting through the days. So, I've decided to ask myself this question at the end of each day, "Have I used this day to create something of value, have I challenged myself intellectually and physically and have I shared my love with family, friends and those with whom I have crossed paths. Stay tuned.

Good news

Wednesday is blood coagulation day. I drive in to St Vincents hospital, wander down a long hallway and disappear in to the Anti Coagulation Center and get blood taken to see how my "numbers" are for the blood thinners I take which are not really blood thinners at all. They are anti coagulators. Today I scored in the acceptable range in everything - blood pressure, temperature, heart rate, oxygen level and, of course, coagulation level.
"Good boy" chirped the technician, sounding like a first grade teacher talking to a student who went to the john and emptied his bladder all by himself without soiling his pants or writing on the wall in urine. I called Ann to give her the god news. She said, "Good boy!", with almost the same amount of enthusiasm the technician expressed. That's two "Good Boys" in one day and I didn't do anything like making a speech at the U.N or finding a cure for some STD. Life is good when all of that praise is heaped on me for doing nothing. Who said that getting old was difficult.

The artist's motivation

In Daniel Pink's recent book, "Drive", he discusses, in general terms, the effects of intrinsic versus extrinsic motivation in our 21st Century culture. This is of particular interest to me as an artist and teacher. I believe that the excessive emphasis on financial gain (extrinsic) by beginner and mid level artists has created a decline in the quality of their work. It appears to me that these somewhat inexperienced painters are searching frantically for styles and subject matter that will fetch a few dollars at venues that exhibit the work of these artists. I believe the reasons for this attention to sales is a result of our becoming overly materialistic in our culture. I am not attempting to drag up the old bromide of art for art's sake. I wish that artists could make lots of money from the sale of their work. My concern is that their growth as artists is being arrested by this narrow focus on the market place before their work has reached any level of aesthetic relevance.