…Don’t it?
Yup, as does every sculpture, interpretive dance, performance, film, and any other manifestation of art. And so it has always been, from the time of marks on a shelf of sandstone in the desert, the oral recounting of a day’s hunt by a shaman to a projected hologram in the sky and a compelling arrangement of pixels on an LED screen. “The most powerful words in English are “Tell me a story” according to the writer Pat Conroy, and artists are put here to present those tales, limited only by the technology of their times, unfettered imagination and supreme effort.
And the thing is, no matter the effort, skill and persuasiveness of the artist, the story they tell can never be completely finished - not until the mind of the receiver (or viewer, listener, audience, whatever the case may be) completes it. That’s the true magic, and to me, the ultimate creative collaboration.
So, in my role as a maker of 2-dimensional art, I sometimes feel a bit confined by my medium, unable to convey more entry points to the story I’m trying to tell. I don’t have the sound and motion tools of a filmmaker, or the long format of a fiction writer, for instance. I need to be concise and clear, poetic and clever - enough to hold the viewer’s interest long enough for them to create the perfect ending to their experience of my tale.
Which leads me to the titling of my work.
Creating a title for a painting can be daunting, which is why many artists fall back on the simple and obvious, or, for the lazy/uninterested out there, the old standby, “untitled” which many use as a strategy to let their visual piece speak for itself, I suppose. I’ve used both, but lately I’m thinking differently. It started with my frustration in fielding the inevitable question posed to a landscapist - “Where is that?” I say frustrated because I often really don’t know where the scene is. As I’ve said in a previous postings, my process begins with collecting images…lots of images. So many I don’t remember where they came from. I could easily find that information in the metadata in my Photo library, but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m usually not painting a portrait of a place, but the setting of a story. But then, what do I expect? I’ve titled the damn thing “Fall River Tenement” or some such thing. If that’s not enabling, what is?
I thought a lot about this and realized that another part of my process might offer a solution - a soundtrack. Music has always been a big part of my work in the studio. I take great care in selecting a playlist that reflects what I want to infuse into my painting. I think it affects my palette, my mark-making and, ultimately, the story I’m trying to tell. Not willing (or technically able) to physically connect sound with my work, I’ve opted to try and connect the two by “borrowing” a song title that reflects what I, the maker/storyteller, am hearing in my mind as I present my tale. I’m hoping that some viewers (the musically astute ones, at least) will read the title and subconsciously start hearing the song in their heads. It’s led to some surprising results and opportunities to even add in subtle visual play as well.
Here’s the question I asked myself as I pondered this problem: If Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks” was titled “Corner of Seventh Ave. and Park St.” would it tell the same story?
Good question.