The New Year

The first canvases arrived last week and I started prepping them on Friday.  I've embarked on a massive (early) Spring cleaning of the studio, one that will require an industrial dumpster and lots of elbow grease.  Clearing out the space feels like clearing out the mind.  It is not easy to start, but once underway things become increasingly vivid and focused.

As the 2017 show date has yet to be announced, I have to prepare for anywhere from 12 months to 18 months from now.  The warm temperatures will come later this week and I can lay down some underpainting of burnt umber.

I've taken 5 years off from submitting work to galleries with any serious effort.  Though I've managed to exhibit, and even have some significant ones during the interim, I'm ready to get back into the fray.  I tend to follow the work, and for a time I felt I needed exile in order to listen to it.  Recent trips to NYC have helped me come to terms with this body of work and where it fits in the landscape of abstract painting and its many conversations.  The Frank Stella show was mind-blowing.

I am about 5 weeks away from my oral exams and defense, which will unofficially end my graduate school experience.  In retrospect, perhaps I should have pursued an MFA, if only to teach part-time.  Until very recently I did not feel any desire to be a teacher.  But the decisions were made, the program chosen and now I am at the end.  While it may have been poor judgement, I can't say it was truly a mistake.  Education is always a good thing.

Related to finishing up grad school and constantly looking for a day job, I took a long, hard look at my social media energies over the break and decided to close my LinkedIn account.  LinkedIn has not been useful to me.  The fact of my having both a fine art career and a career in higher education administration seems to profoundly confuse the LinkedIn audience.  I can honestly say that I've never made a meaningful job connection through the site, despite my "all start" ranking, 200+ network and diligent updates.  I chalk this up partly to our culture's perception of what being an artist is about.  But that is another post.

I start filming the documentary this week with studio footage and audio voice tracks.  I'm told by my editor that we will produce a trailer at some point later this year, so expect to see that here.  It's good to be back in the studio after a nearly 2-year hiatus.

The Sketchbook

station study no. 5 #sketchbook

A photo posted by Christopher Rico (@christopher_rico) on Oct 31, 2015 at 7:16am PDT

For the past few months I've only been able to sketch, but as with most limitations I find that new possibilities present themselves to me through process.  A regular drawing practice is essential for artists.  It is meditation, exercise, expression and exploration.

I've been doing numerous studies since the summer, and there is a cohesion to the work that has worked its way into my physicality and memory.  

I've started bringing my sketchbook with me when I'm out on the streets of NYC.   At the very least, I will sit down with it for a brief time in the morning over coffee or in the evening between social engagements.  My preferred medium is oil paint stick, as I find it most closely simulates my painting process.  I'm able to achieve forms that I don't think I could get otherwise.  The city is always such an inspiration.

My drawing practice led me to pitch an exhibition idea to a gallery in New York.  It is a series of 14 large paintings inspired by the stations of the cross.  After being notified that the show is going to happen, a series of events gave me the idea of making a documentary film about the process of making the work and getting ready for the show.  I reached out to some friends and they are on board.  I'll start filming next month.

I've completed my coursework and spent the weekend clearing out the clutter of 18 months of grad school.  It was healing to put everything away and I head back into the studio tomorrow.

News and Updates: November 2015

A few things are changing over the next few months. Most importantly, in mere weeks I will complete my coursework for my Master's degree at Clemson. I will only have my orals and defense in the Spring. One journey ends, so a new one must begin.


I have become a founding member of The Grid, and will (hopefully) enter beta testing very soon. My hope is that my new website will unite social media posts, blogs, studio images and interviews all in one place with less effort. Administering a website is one of those things I can do if I have to, but I'd rather make better use of my time. What will the new site look like? No idea. But jumping off into the unknown is what I do, so at least it will be an adventure.


I still have the http://christopherrico.com domain, but the site may experience some hiccups during the holidays. For that reason, I'm temporarily moving back over to Blogger, The Rico Act's original home. You can keep up with news, work in progress and, yes, more studio shots, plus updates as I transition to the grid.


Of course if you follow me on Twitter, you'll get linked to my new blog posts. Check me out on Instagram as well, where I use the medium as a walking sketchbook of images that I find interesting.


Finally, I'm announcing my first solo show in NYC. This will take place in 2017, and I cannot announce the gallery yet unfortunately. I'm reaching out to a couple of friends and will be documenting the entire studio process of creating the work over the next 12-18 months, culminating with opening night. The final project will likely appear as a short web-based documentary. I hope you'll all come on this journey with me, and tell your friends.

The Rico Act has moved

Happy New Year.  The Rico Act blog has moved here [http://christopherrico.com/the-rico-act/].  Please update your bookmarks, and come to my updated website.  Those of you who have followed this blog for many years are deeply appreciated and I hope to hear from you.

painting as text

Some quick thoughts in no order of significance:

• painting as text.  no need for interpretation, it does not visually represent anything but is, itself contained and signifying
• support/frame are irrelevant other than historical artifact
• permanence is a myth
• ordering of compositional elements is unnecessary except as related to self-contained visuality wherein discourses emerge; again, these are not related to words, or even thoughts, but are self-sustained symbols and signs moving towards meaning
• art is meaningless...which is why it must be meaningful
• no one is watching
• i no longer respect systems of constraint: commerce, dissemination, recognition but rather I am interested in systems of liberation: the spatial, the arena of discourse, anonymity, immediacy.  my work has no need for identity or "style"

New approaches now present themselves to me.  I am once again adrift.

the artist takes an unexpected journey

Tomorrow is a day of planes, trains and automobiles.  As I write this, I will (with luck and no small amount of effort) be in the city 24 hours from now.  I'll hop on a north-bound train with my artist friend and we will make another friend's opening.

I decided to journey at the last minute.  Reservations were made, priorities re-arranged.  The best adventures are often those we do not anticipate; the moments we let go and allow the moment to take us away.  I needed to go and that is that.

I'm pulling the plug on this blog for the foreseeable future.  It will be available by subscription, if anyone cares.  I'm also taking it off my website and unlinking it from Twitter.  Graduate school leaves little time for much else, and rather than write about art and my career struggles, I want to spend that precious time actually making it.

The audience for this blog is very small, and some of you I know personally (or feel like I do in other cases) and I thank everyone for supporting me.

two if by sea

studio wall, August 24

untitled paintings in progress, 30" x 24" (each), Rico '14

Stolen hours Sunday morning, a host of smaller canvases in play.  Despite the intensity of the road ahead, I keep reminding myself of the days and nights I've left behind.  Those days began as these, before the dawn hours.  Then an intense office job all day, a workout mid-day, home to homework/dinner/bedtime routine until 8 or so and then off to the studio until the final hours of each day.  So as overwhelming as it all seems in its newness, I've handled greater.

I am liking these small 30 by 24 canvases.  They are big enough to work with and yet small enough to be portable and (perhaps as important) shippable.  The doubts and agony of my last post are, -at least for the moment, fading.  I must preserver and stay in it.  I have to find the time.  I know now that I will.

My upcoming plans for NYC are canceled.  I had hoped to attend a friends solo show just north of the city, but I would sabotage myself on many levels if I made the trip now.  As much as I need to see those friends, and as much as I need the encouragement I feel in seeing said friends getting shows and the accolades they deserve, I must respect the path I am on and its limitations.  Such is life, we can't have everything we want.

By the end of this month I should have a handle on my schedule and what hours are available for studio time.  For now I do as I have always done, I make time; stealing it if I have too, making the most of the unplanned interval, I have come to understand that it is about what I do and not how much or how often.  If the time is fruitful, that's all that matters.

Self forgiveness is my daily practice as of late.  I'm a person with enormous personal expectations and it is difficult to let myself off the hook when I don't meet them.  Today, at least, it felt as though I did.  

machinations of a distracted mind

I have been in the doldrums in terms of studio practice.  There is no wind to push me onward, my vessel has been sacked by vicious swells, my sails ripped, and I have been floating motionless and uncertain for most of the past month.  Voices in my head are at war: one side is telling me to walk away, the other is pleading not to give up.

After Damascus, I don't know if I have anything left to say.  Recent disappointments weigh a bit too heavy on my soul, and the road ahead (graduate school) seems narrow enough with family, much less an art practice and all that comes with it.  I am still toying with shuttering the studio in January, putting everything in storage and accepting a 2-year hiatus.  And yet hope, that cruel lover, persists in whispering in my ear.  Two decades down the line only to abandon it all, what then?

People tell me it is purely location.  To an extent that is true.  My overtures to NYC were neither unsuccessful nor ignored.  Yet the effort is costly to maintain, and for most of this year I simply haven't had the means.  There is no market for my work locally, perhaps even regionally.  I spent years trying to break into Atlanta with no success.  For the past 2 or 3 years I've simply retreated into the studio and have stopped reaching out altogether.

I am not a person who backs down easily.  Tenacity (and perhaps sometimes pride) has always propelled me to overcome life's obstacles.  When I realized that art was the thing, -the purpose if you will, of my life I dug in and I've never looked back.  Yet human arms can only fight the currents for so long without a lifeline.  Eventually we are consumed and sink into the depths.

The irony perhaps is that the world,  now as much as ever, needs artists.  Real artists who make us uncomfortable and do not merely entertain or provoke for provocation's sake.  There are so very few, and fewer still whose work is truly meaningful and pure and cut from authenticity with sweat and blood and anguish and alienation.  I'm not suggesting artists have to be unhappy people, what I am saying is that artists can rarely, if ever, be satisfied people.  This time is a pivot point where new paradigms are rising.  Art gives meaning and context to these movements, and it offers understanding.

I see our country in a state of unraveling.  Our time as Empire is drawing to an end.  20 years ago that statement in some obscure blog or even in print wouldn't carry much weight or get noticed; now it borders on sedition to even utter it.  So few people possess an understanding of art, partly because of the Art World's intentional insulation; money, power, blah, blah.  Partly because we have purged cultural education from our schools.  We're producing entire generations incapable of appreciating beauty and experience.  They watch reality television yet seldom, if ever, seek any truth.

My time away last weekend was healing and steels me for the immediate road ahead.  Yet there is this numb dissatisfaction that aches in my belly.  If not through art, how will I be?

the road

A road trip in the waning days of summer.  A last blast before graduate school begins and with it a new life.  Two old friends meeting in a great southern city; whiskey and great food, sights and long conversations into the dawn.  There are people in our lives with whom the conversation never truly ends; it seems to pick up where it left off, no matter the time and miles between.

The road trip is about minimalism.  One has to be honest with one's self about what they need and take nothing more.  I am a one bag traveler.  I refuse to check luggage except in the event of an extended stay.  My childhood in the military life taught me how to grab and go, and I've always applied that philosophy to travel since.  I like a clean, empty car with nothing but tunes, a map and a proper camera.  I'll instagram when it's over, memories tend to happen when you're in the moment and not lost in cellular prayer.

I'm taking my time.  I plan to wander, maybe even get lost for a bit.  Summer winds and open road and back road discoveries will people the journal entries and sketchbooks in the coming months.  I'll drink with locals.  Tales of high adventure and good friends, and maybe, if I'm very lucky, new friends too.

Metanoia

Damascus, 120" x 84" (two panels), oil on canvas, Rico '14

I've been in the grip of a significant existential crisis for the past year.  Recent events have forced me to question the purpose of making art to an unseen and largely silent audience.  Damascus feels like a place where I am unsure whether or not I can push beyond.  I'm not even sure if I want to anymore, but that is another post.

"The Conversion of Saint Paul-Caravaggio (c. 1600-1)" by Caravaggio*

I was thinking of Caravaggio's The Conversion of St. Paul when I painted Damascus, and compositionally I think one can see the similarities. There are actually two versions, the other equally as influential for me personally and perhaps more generally known.  The idea of metanoia (defined by Merriam-Webster as "a transformative change of heart; especially a spiritual conversion") is often associated with a psychotic break.  It's the theme, to me, of Saul's experience on the road to Damascus. Without pushing for too literal of an interpretation, I consciously pushed visual associations with detonations and iconoclasm; the described event in some respect being a collision of the three monotheistic faiths.

Metanoia is a title I've wanted to use for an exhibition of this body of work.  I feel it coveys the past year or two of my studio practice.  I'm hopeful the opportunity for such an exhibition will arise soon.

*scan. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Conversion_of_Saint_Paul-Caravaggio_(c._1600-1).jpg#mediaviewer/File:The_Conversion_of_Saint_Paul-Caravaggio_(c._1600-1).jpg

How to say "no" to artists

As one would imagine, I've received many rejection letters and emails in my career.  To an extent, if you're not getting these regularly as a creative person, you're probably not doing it right.  We have to reach, we have to try to date out of our league; because otherwise we will be lost in the crowd.

Artists are perceived as emotional beings and this is not completely untrue.  But we're also professionals and adults.  There's been a lot of bandwidth spilled on the rules of engagement for artists seeking exhibition opportunities (I'm talking to you Ed Winkleman!*) but here are some guidelines for how organizations, galleries and curators should reject an artist's work:

1. Just say no.  Really.  In most cases that's all we require; yes or no.  Say it politely, say it professionally, but say it succinctly.  I can tell you from experience that we know immediately when we see the envelope or email.  There is a sixth sense that kicks in and the emotional processing begins immediately.  By the time we read the actual words, it's about acknowledgement and acceptance and moving on. 
2. Don't apologize.  This is business, don't make it personal.  If the art world is like dating, then realize that the longer the rejection lasts, the more it veers into condescension or cruelty.  You may have been out of our league and we knew it, or maybe we simply don't fit the program.  But in the end, we asked you.  You've done nothing wrong.  "Regret to inform" is a phrase that should be stricken from all correspondence.  No one informing truly feels regret in any real sense.  It's an empty expression at best and at worst, it's just a cop out.  
3. Don't list criteria and tell us our work falls short.  The right to decide is completely yours, but it is not your place to pass judgement on the work or what's behind it, -especially not based on a few digital files.  This may be an effort on your part to soften the blow, but I assure you we are grown-ups and professionals and don't require any qualification for your decision.  If you are a non-profit or public organization, what qualifications do the individual committee or board members have in determining if our work is "socially relevant" or "pushes boundaries?"  Leave this off and stick with the facts.  Keep it professional.
4. Do thank us for applying.  We have spent time and effort preparing our materials and reading your guidelines.  Most of us have done our homework, and for whatever reason felt that we were a good fit, or we are reaching and very conscious of it.  Even if you personally don't feel the work is up to your standards, or question how on earth we felt our work was a good match for you, please acknowledge that we put forth a professional effort.  We (most of us) don't have interns.  The time we spend putting materials together and meeting deadlines is completely uncompensated time; we don't even get to claim it for tax purposes.  Your organization may be on a budget, but in most cases ours is even tighter.  
5. If "no" means "not now" then say so.  Sometimes you may like the work, but it doesn't fit the show/season/event.  That's OK and we completely get that.  If something resonated with you, tell us!  Encourage us to reach out again.  

A rejection should be a paragraph long and no more.  Inform us of your decision, thank us for applying, wish us luck if you're not interested and invite us to reach out if you are.  That's it.  Short.  Simple.  To the point.

I'd like to take a moment here to speak to artists.  Do your homework.  If you want to be treated like a professional then act like one.  If you don't have a solid exhibition history in group shows, don't send your materials to blue chip galleries and expect a response.  Don't waste people's time and don't give those of us who truly are professionals a bad name.  Realize where you are, understand your work and what makes it unique and real and relevant.  Don't ever be afraid to walk up to the prettiest girl in the room (metaphorically) but if you are rejected, take it like a champ and move on.  

*For the record, I love Ed's blog.  It is insightful, it's tough, and even though I may not always agree I do feel he does a good job of representing the gallery/dealer's point of view.  Recommended reading for any artist who wants to take their career to the next level.

thoughts on inspiration and purpose

If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that I often rail against what I consider the widely-held concept of inspiration.  The myth of the artist sitting alone having that "eureka!" moment and then producing one of the world's great masterpieces.  This is not only a comfortable fiction that widens the chasm between artists and those who consider themselves to not be creative, but it is inherently dismissive of the artistic process.

I believe art is a Way.  Like martial arts (my daughters just started karate) it is, in the truest sense, a practice.  One is never done; it takes a lifetime to properly master a practice.  This runs counter intuitive to a product-focused culture, but that is another post.

I am always painting.  Sometimes that takes the form of actively running around my studio working on multiple canvases, and other times it takes the form of reading quietly, or sitting in the back yard sipping bourbon and contemplating the stars.  I look at the sky a lot.  Whatever name one gives the divine, that presence is one hell of a painter.  I've traveled end to end and border to border in this country and I've seen the many skies it offers.   So I concede that yes, I am inspired by not only the sky but by everything around me all the time.  But I say that without discipline and applying oneself to making the idea concrete in some way, inspiration is little more than daydreaming.

I have an active drawing practice as well.  I am always sketching or otherwise getting visual information down in some form or another.  I think visually.  I think spatially and in abstract; and it took me most of my life to understand that other people do not.  I recall meeting with a director when I was doing freelance set design, and he kept asking me for a rendering.  I kept explaining the set, walking him through it and yet he could not see.  I'm capable of envisioning a 3D model and rotating it around in my head, walking through it, looking at it from above, below and inside.  I had to let go of my perceptions and communicate based on his perceptions, and that is a lesson I've always remembered.  In visual communication, the job of the communicator is to make the listener/viewer see.

I once described my paintings as "constructed spontaneity."  They look very spontaneous and perhaps even accidental, but they are consciously constructed.  They are compositions in the true sense, because they are revised and edited and intentional in construction.  It seems provincial to perceive abstract art in the 21st century in terms of "my kid could do that."  Yet many people respond to amateur, flat landscape paintings because they do not challenge anything they believe.  I don't think that's art.  I don't think it ever will be.  Gauguin famously said, "The ugly can be beautiful.  The pretty; never."  Aesthetic debates about the definition and qualities of beauty aside, I couldn't agree more.  I don't dedicate my life to decoration.

The artist's job is to challenge perceptions and to allow us to see things in a different light.  That can be accomplished through representational art, absolutely, but there must be something to it beyond realistic rendering.  Take a photograph if you want documentation.

I was thinking the other night that my goal is to be an artist of my time and to create art of my time; art that somehow comments on this moment of the world, culture, civilization.  I have no interest in making art of the moment.  I told a friend this past weekend that sometimes I feel like I'm making art for 50 or 100 years from now.

One final thought this morning.  I recall the opening reception for the SAM show back in January and what struck me is this; ask an artist what their work means, and they will start searching the room for an out.  Ask an artist about their process and they will talk your ear off.  We are process-oriented beings.  The journey is the destination.