For a long time, I had thought artists only had one portfolio. Which for someone who makes such wildly different art, it felt like I had to commit to something. After all, every well-known artist I could think of had their own “specialty.” They were a painter or an actor or a sculptor, but they weren’t all of them. They might do other things, but there was one thing they were known for.
It felt like I had to pick something.
… As a kid, I wanted to be a polymath. To learn and understand anything and everything. I suppose you could call me a dabbler even now. I think it’s because my brain is wired that way. Gifted in language acquisition and pattern recognition, I read at a college-level when I was ten. I find connections between arbitrary pieces of information.
In art, or any form of communication, the “medium is the message.” Further, there’s a collection of theories that the language you use impacts what you’re able to think about. When I’m choosing medium(s) for a new project, it’s this I’m contemplating: what are the capabilities and limits of this medium to communicate what I intend? How easily is it misinterpreted? What cultural baggage does this medium bring with it? What tropes does it employ, and do I want to subvert them?
I’ve been working off-and-on this site since January, trying to decide what it is I wanted to communicate when I call myself an artist. And, that’s where we get to my portfolios.
Neatly collected, under Work, I initially divided them up by medium and included anything and everything. If a piece didn’t fit in with others, it got put into my digital junk drawer of “other work.” I included projects I hadn’t worked on in a few years and ones that were less artful than crafty. Thinking of them still as projects, I had little or no commentary on the pieces and none on the groups as a whole.
It felt off, but I couldn’t quite tell why. I feared it was because I didn’t have a specialty. Who would want an artist who did painting and photography and printmaking and music and video. An artist that didn’t have so much clear themes as repeating motifs. It’s not like I didn’t have anything to say. With every work, I had wanted to say something. Hell, I view “l'art pour l'art” as best a naïve perspective: saying nothing is still a political statement.
My more recent photography work was the more problematic. It was developing into its own junk drawer, unified in using plastic cameras. I love the freedom of not knowing what the image will turn out and the low-tech nature to them. I toss a tiny 110 format camera into my bag whenever I leave home. I put random objects inside the body of the camera, unconcerned about damaging the internals. I love my plastic camera for its ability to democratize fine art photography. My medium reflected my values, so that was the message, right?
... I put my website aside for a few weeks.
I worked on a book project, a fractured fairytale of sorts. Still incomplete, it did help me reexamine what my work (particularly, my more recent photography) was doing. How they fit together (or didn’t) and how to articulate that relationship.
I watched a lecture by Aline Smithson (artist, photographer, teacher, & Lenscratch editor) created for the photography department at City College of San Francisco.
(Disclaimer: Smithson’s work veers into the orientalist and some sex shaming aspects? It’s kinda cringe in parts. Maybe stick with the Q&A?)
The thing that struck me, watching it, was Smithson’s emphasis on meaningful titles for portfolios. To force yourself to think past the superficial names ("i.e. “nature” or “light”) and to create bodies of work with intention. I meditated on that this week. I reflected on my images, and pondering what drew me to return over and over to certain æsthetic designs.
I split apart my portfolio of plastic camera work into three bodies of work. One for work that seemed driven by perception, the need to translate the strangeness that comes from living with visual disturbances. The second is a collection of self-portraits I had taken specifically for the book project, leaning heavily into the dreamlike imagery my Diana produces. The third is still in the early stages, photographs created by modifying the light within the camera’s body. I wrote a short artist statement for each, which will be expanded upon in the coming weeks.
I got rid of the digital junk drawer and my older works. I feel like I want to focus on moving forward with my art. And, even if I return to previous themes or techniques, I want to work more deliberately and evolve my art to the next level.