Every Xmas tree lot looks the same. Most of the trees are around 6 ft. They all are triangular shaped and green. The prices are different depending upon certain looks and models of trees. I think the noble fir is the most expensive although you can’t see this difference unless you poke around for the price tag nestled in the branches. It is surprising then, once you enter the lot that suddenly actually choosing one becomes rather difficult. It is almost as if once you start looking at all these similar forms that their differences magnify. The closer you look, the more differences you are able to see. And they suddenly seem important. The fact that the branches are not quite even, that there is a slight leaning to the left or that the top of the tree ends in an unsatisfactorily way, really matters. I am not sure what the top is supposed to look like but I know if I stare long enough and imagine that star sitting upon it, that the tippy top should feel like a finale, a nice pointy even endpoint that somehow helps makes us feel complete, more buoyant and even festive.

I seriously scrutinize these trees, as do my daughters who always accompany me on this day of choosing. It actually is pretty hard to decide. I try to apply my most discerning visual aesthetics to this decision.

It is only this time of year when I scrutinize trees. All the rest of the time I am fine with pretty much any tree I come across. I run and hike by thousands growing beside trails all year long.

I think it has to do with the artificial organizing of trees that occurs en mass in the tree lot. If I imagine a painting that has lots of vastly different sizes and kinds of trees all over it – (more like a real forest), then I can see that the smaller subtleties, like even branch disbursement or patchy leaf coverage, wouldn’t even come up. The tiny details matter less in comparison to such big differences that occur naturally in the forest or in this case the painting. So if suddenly you paint all the trees uniform then oddly you get pickier. Yes the differences are subtler and it might take more sensibilities to see them but they are there nonetheless.

The decision to buy a particular Xmas tree only becomes more difficult the closer and longer you look. Like trying to finish a painting, the decisions towards the end become more refined and often are harder to see. You never are quite sure your done, but you hope so. Once you leave the lot, thankfully the tree always seems just about right – although more often than not once you get home it almost always leans to the left.  It briefly shares your warm house, sprinkled with twinkling lights and ornaments.

The perfectly imperfect Xmas tree reminds me that even though the winter days are dark, they are filled with much to be thankful for, happiness and light.

Happy Holidays, Nicholas Wilton

Six weeks ago I had an operation on my Achilles tendon. There was a small tear that probably occurred from years and years of trail running. After this particular surgery you can’t put any weight on your foot. As a result you are on crutches all the time and, as if you are back in the 1st grade, hopping becomes a big part of your life again.

Yesterday was a great day because the physical therapist finally said that I could begin to walk, although still in the gargantuan boot, without any crutches. I could finally be mobile again. He asked me how this aliment had influenced my art. I replied that I didn’t think it had but also added that it made the whole process of painting more difficult. It certainly had slowed it down.

But now the excitement of being able to work, of being able to walk again without crutches was certainly going to change all that, and in the coming weeks there will be a resurgence of creative energy.

So although standing on one leg for the past 6 weeks hasn’t inspired any new art it has reminded me of the natural cycles of my creativity. I have been hobbling for weeks now and have just watched as life in almost all ways has roared past at a much faster pace.

I know how it feels like to be highly, energetically creative. Invariably it always peters out, things slow down, a vacation comes along or there is an intervention of sorts – like this surgery in my case – that just naturally winds you down. It used to bother me. I thought I was supposed to be holding the same pace running uphill as I did running down. I used to worry that I would get marooned in the inactive, unproductive part of the cycle never to return to the joyful, productive place of making things again.

I now understand, for me, that this is not how the cycle of creativity rolls. The loud exhalation is always followed by the quieter inhalation. Running a race always ends with standing still. Pushing yourself creatively, making things at breakneck speed with all the glorious fury that sparks the artist to do so always seems to be punctuated by long pauses, quiet reflective times of doing nothing much at all.

Even in passages of paint, when my eyes move across the surface of a successful painting, there always are areas of activity accentuated by expanses of emptiness. A desert thunderous storm is always followed by a perfectly still dawn. Day turns to night.

Whenever I watched videos or documentaries of artists working in their studios I used to always look for clues of their success. I tried to figure out, by looking very carefully what in fact they were doing, or what tools they had that I did not: what kind of studio shoes Diebenkorn was wearing, or trying to peer behind Picasso as he was painting to the messy table top of plates and wine glasses to figure out exactly what he ate for lunch that day. I thought that perhaps if I used the same kind of palette, or the same kind of easel, or listened to the same kind of music I would be successful too. Something about this setup had to be different than mine because clearly this particular artist never inhaled and was, like a rocket, always taking off, just producing art at a breakneck pace.

Of course I never figured it out but I did begin to notice one thing that existed in almost all of their studios, the one thing they all had in common. It turns out that it is not expensive and often is, like the studio floor upon which it sits, always covered with splotches of various colors of paint. There, almost out of the cameras view, right behind the artist feverishly working is simply a chair.

Is there something your favorite artists have used – a technique or item or specific palette – which has inspired you?

Almost walking again, Nicholas

I am on the plane flying towards San Francisco having just taught a workshop in Portland. Mulling over what were some of the more memorable moments of the weekend my mind settles on one in particular. Of course, it is always fun to meet a group of artists and it is true what they say about Portland, that everyone is incredibly friendly.

I usually start my workshops with introductions. We go around the room and people say a little bit about themselves; where they are from, how long they have been doing art, and what they hope to learn. It is always amazing to me the dedication people have in order to get the information they need to improve their art. They stop whatever they are doing for the whole weekend and try and learn something new.

Usually most people speak of their art or their continued practice that led them to this particular workshop. Of course most people want to maybe sound further along than they are: that they have been doing art for a long time and this class is just a refresher perhaps, or something new they would like to try, or simply just a change from their usual art that they have already have a demonstrated expertise in. It is interesting to me that the one thing all of us artists have in common with each other is that none of us seem to be happy with where we are presently with our art. Who doesn’t want to be more accomplished, more celebrated, more successful in their art practice? I guess we all do.

Everyone’s introductions are always interesting but the second person’s, a woman, in particular, moved me. She spoke rather quietly. She told all of us that her biggest desire, her only wish – and it is one she has had for a very long time – was to just make something that she liked; that in point of fact, she has never made anything she liked.

It struck me as such an incredibly brave thing to admit, especially amongst all the rest of us professed artists. That yes, she too knew she was an artist but also was painfully aware she wasn’t any good at it – yet. That she had zero proof, no evidence that her innermost hunch that the she in fact an artist, capable of making meaningful work, was correct.

Sometimes this is what it feels like to be an artist.  Sometimes you just have to go on hunches, a very thin feeling that you are going in the right direction even though there actually is very little proof. Very few of us would have the nerve to proclaim our inability, our lack of success in something we so desperately want. I know I wouldn’t. I am much more the “fake it till you make it” kind of person. I just hope nobody notices I don’t actually know what I am doing till such time as I do.

I also know that there is a relationship between vulnerability, honesty, seeing things as they actually are, a distillation of what is true for you, and making potent, authentic work. If we can show who we actually are, if we can stay in the place of really knowing that we don’t know, that we can always be the wide-eyed student of our own artistic journey, we just might end up making something worthwhile.

What patches of uncertainty have you experienced in your artistic journey?

Happy Thanksgiving,

Usually I know what I want to write about. For some reason this week nothing has emerged. I don’t feel particularly crazy busy in my life, which is usually the precursor to feeling uncreative. Actually everything feels pretty spacious. For me this is usually the set up for being creative. I know that if I create a space then usually something comes along to fill it in. I never know what, but I have seen this pattern over and over again in my art practice.

This not knowing place is basically something I now just completely ignore. You really don’t need to worry about it. There is a great saying: “If it doesn’t stink, don’t stir it” I love this idea; that unless you go poking around in the perceived notion that you have become suddenly empty or dried up creatively, the problem will just go away. It is just better to not even mess with it.

Usually all you need to do is something. Anything at all that is different than what you are doing now. Take a dab of blue or scratch out or cover something up. If nothing else you can always get destructive. Nothing like messing up something to up the ante. You just have to do something different. Change it up.

And that is it. “Change” itself seems to catalyze us, knowing in an instant where to go. I think maybe deep inside all of us we know where we are going but that our limited thinking – our intellect gets in the way. The soul knows but we just don’t know how to listen. For some reason when change occurs, when new things arrive or the old leave – this stirs us and for a moment or two we can hear our internal response..either a yes or a no.

This is how most art is made…you just keep adjusting, trying to decipher what it is inside you that needs to be answered. In trying to explain this internal decision making mechanism to students who question whether theirs is in fact working, I often will grab a couple random things off a table. It doesn’t matter what they might be…maybe a salt and pepper shaker and say, a pomegranate. If I hold these up and ask which is preferred, nobody ever doesn’t know- they all have pretty strong opinions.

Regardless of why or whether more choose the salt shaker over the pomegranate, what is important is the fact that everyone just always has a clear preference. This knowing is a clue as to how art is developed by an individual over time. Art is the practice of making better and better, more refined decisions. Whether it is a painting, an essay, a poem, seasoning a soup or even decorating a house. –  in all areas of life, to be honest – this decision making, this art of choosing when presented with something new and of allowing our insides to weigh in on what is before us perfects our art. It also perfects us.

When we choose correctly, our art gets more like us, the soup recipe is asked for (but of course you veered off the recipe which is why it is so good), the painting is amazing, and you just simply feel good. It just quietly feels right. You leave the studio pleasantly satisfied and, as usually is the case, you don’t even remember that when you arrived you had no idea what to do.

What do you do when you don’t know?

I would love to know.

In anticipation, Nicholas

I am wondering about why some people care so much about how things look. I know I do. I notice when things in my world don’t look too good generally they don’t work so well either. The thoughtlessness of design often crosses both appearance and utility. I see the outside color of cars that don’t look right with their interiors, I crave to color the 4 different levels of the SFO airport parking garage different colors so people like me can remember which floor their car is parked on. I keep having to buy different dog collars because the color and pattern doesn’t aesthetically fit the personality or color of my dog Maisey. I literally have taken paint and adjusted a color on a new pair of running shoes just so I could wear them.

I am not proud of this affliction—I can’t remember a time I didn’t have it but I can imagine how easy it would be to not carry this concern. Artists and creative people in general tend to have this sensitivity to their environment. A work around to these feelings is achieved by taking a small piece of the world and re creating it exactly as you desire. This is usually results in some form of Art. So no matter what is going on around you, no matter how everything else looks or feels  at least you have contributed something, that according to you, it is exactly as it should be.

My daughter, Hannah, is applying to college and let me read some of her ideas and rough drafts of things she was thinking of writing about. In one of them she too shares her experience of feeling this unease with parts of her surroundings…like mine hers began at an early age.

“After leaving the beauty of my childhood home, filled with sophisticated colors of oak, natural browns and burnt oranges, one can imagine my immediate revulsion at the neon storefront signs on beige mealy walls flying past me on my drive to school. I vehemently abhorred nearly every graphic decision at my middle school, our mascot the sharp, menacing blue-sky lion, the staid lettering of the Saint Mark’s School sign I had to pass each morning. What bothered me most was when the graphic design and typography did not match the feeling of the particular institution or person. To me, it was nothing more than misrepresentation.”

Apart from feeling guilty for obviously passing this irksome trait on to her, it just kind of hit me how unusual it is for a 3rd grader to be concerning themselves with how things look and feel. Is this normal?

Clearly she is already one of those people who fall into the hyper visually sensitive camp. Is it that this small minority of overly sensitive people should be put in charge to re-order the World to be more aesthetic way, so that everything relates and works better? (Am I hearing a deafening Hell Yes!) Or is it that we should to be relegated to a small band of people who just need to make their Art and get over it?

For me there is no getting over it. It is just in my DNA. So for now, in my spare time, I plan to do whatever I can to remake the World. One painting at a time.

Which camp are you in? And more importantly, if you did somehow get over this affliction, please let the rest of us know.

Visually yours, Nicholas

I am going back to my old high school as part of “career day” this week. There are some designers coming, an owner of an ice cream store and probably a few others, maybe a lawyer, perhaps even an astronaut, all assembled to talk about different careers.

Everyone has advice to give people, especially to those who are young and just starting out. I imagine these kids are just beginning to wonder what they want to be when they grow up. Heading off to college and realizing that at some point in the not too distant future they are going to have to declare a major. Of course as we all know, very few declare a major and then end up doing it for the rest of their lives—but at the time it seems like a huge decision.

So what do you say? What kernel of truth can I possibly impart? I knew early on that for sure I didn’t want to work for anyone ever. I don’t know why I was so scared of doing this but it was something I decided in 8th grade. I have no idea why. I worked in one restaurant in Lahaina, Maui for one summer – (“Longhi’s” – killer deserts and black and white checked floor? Have you been there?)

I did a stint making stained glass windows for an artist and then one summer working in a delicatessen making sandwiches. After that I went into Art with a vengeance and eked a living out of it. I did illustrations in my pajamas in my apartment in NYC. It became weird always working alone but at least I wasn’t working for someone else. In hindsight I might have enjoyed working in an office. I love being around people. Probably for everyone the route to what they are presently doing from where they began is a circuitous one. It has been for me.

I know that a key piece of being “successful” in the mainstream sense, i.e. making money, career etc. is to find what you love to do and somehow convert that into your business. For me it started by asking myself the question: what inspires me? I became somewhat obsessed with this question early on and have been asking myself the same one for my entire life. In my current job of mentoring artists, I now help others find their own answers to this very same question.

It has occurred to me that when you become so involved in this question, over time, you get better and better at answering it. The answers become more and more personal, more distinct to you. The tangible result of this thinking usually is something that is highly creative and artistic. Indeed the very practice of making Art IS a process of thousands of yes and no decisions based solely on what FEELS right to you. This culmination of thoughtful answers and decisions based on this question can take the form of a new business idea, a painting, a novel, a song, even a house – or whatever we feel compelled to make. If the output is connected to this  question, the result will be personal and a lot like you. And this feels wonderful.

I think a big part of being an artist is just the daily practice of asking this very same question over and over again. How marvelous to try and do whatever it is in your life that completely lights you up. In an artistic process one tries to compromise less and less, eliminate the unfulfilling parts so that eventually the distillation of your desires ends up being more and more potent and meaningful…that it ends up being something that was derived from you, something that it is truly yours alone.

It is simply your Art and a life spent in pursuit of it, seems to me, to be extremely meaningful.

What has been your journey to yours?

Curiously.

Nicholas

I endeavor to stick to the subject of art in the context of this blog. However because my art is my life much muddling does occur between the personal and professional. To try to separate the two seems forced and frankly is just not my experience of how a career in art goes. Maybe that is the same for you too.

My work is tied to what is happening in my life.

Lately I have been in the process of having to reestablish certain relationships with people so that I can be more like myself, so that I can be more in integrity with who I am and who I would like to become. It is difficult to honestly look at yourself. It takes a certain leap of faith to try and change things. It affects everyone.

I know and teach people how when you are clear about what you are trying to do in art that the art will just automatically get stronger. If you are carrying purpose and conviction within you, your art will carry the same. Other people can feel this in your art. Usually, they will want to keep this feeling around so they will purchase your art and bring it home. They want to feel or be reminded of how it feels to be purposeful—to be engaged with something that matters. They, like the rest of us just want to feel again what it feels like to be alive.

Your art allows this to happen.

The tricky thing with relationships unlike a relationship with your art practice is that it involves someone else. It is a negotiation, a delicate dance of two people trying to be themselves in one place at one time utilizing trust and mutual understanding to safeguard and preserve the relationship.

When I begin working in my studio, when I begin yet another painting, I really understand now that this too is a kind of relationship of sorts. My art and I have been in an ongoing relationship together for many, many years. Yesterday, quietly standing (actually standing on one foot as I am still on these damn crutches after a recent Achilles surgery!) in front of a large half finished painting, I was profoundly hit with the fact that this committed relationship is very comforting to me especially when things in my life feel difficult. It feels reassuring. I am so grateful that this relationship exists in my life.

Like relationships we have with other people, this one also takes honesty and the ability to objectively see your self, as a difficult as that sometimes can be. You also need trust. There might even be MORE need for trust in art making than in a typical relationship with another person.

After thinking about this for a while, I realized that maybe these 2 kinds of relationships are not that different after all.

The high level of trust that is needed in a relationship with an art practice originates from your self. It is all about acting on a hunch, really feeling inside what needs to become and trusting that you are capable, ready and absolutely divinely capable to bring it forth.

I am learning that the trust in a regular relationship between two people not surprisingly originates from within your self. This pertains to everything in the relationship. In fact, everything that is worthwhile comes as a result of trusting yourself to steer in a particular direction. One that is aligned and in resonation with your life.

We don’t know ahead of time where we are actually going, but this is where the trust comes in. This is the kind of trust that originates within you, a trust that you are moving, albeit slowly in the right direction.

Please leave your thoughts and comments below.

Faithfully, Nicholas

Today I was in the dentist’s office again for a major intervention. Next to me was one of those paintings that seem to always be in a dentist’s office. What is this about? We all know the kind of art. At least I think I do? I recognize it. It is easy to look at for sure. It never is challenging. It mostly is realistic. Usually of a pretty place like well, uh, the Italian countryside. The dentist kind of Art always has a very pronounced frame around it. It is usually kind of “Grand.” Grand like the Las Vegas kind of Grand. Grand that tells you it is important—that it is fancy. Classy.

Why does this art look like this? Is it because most people who come here just are busy in their lives and want to just have an easy, cheery thing hanging above them? These paintings, if you really look at them are not bad, actually some are pretty good. There always is technical virtuosity displayed, at least in terms of making a flat two dimensional canvas look three dimensional using paint. That takes a fair bit  of skill.

I don’t think it is the art’s fault. Perhaps it is the viewer’s fault. Maybe we sometimes let art slip into a placeholder kind of art. Is this because the vast majority of people just want cheery? Does it entertain the same way as the People magazine and the book on Kittens that sit in front of me as I wait to get another cavity filled? Maybe any art that is in a dentist’s setting would seem like dentist office art.

This week the English street artist, Banksy created another public art piece. He set up in NYC a run down sidewalk booth to sell his auction priced spray paint graffiti art. He hired an old man to sit on a stool and sell his art to anyone who was interested. His normal gallery prices are in the six figures were reduced to 60 dollars. They filmed the day, which ended up being pretty boring. Not many people gave notice or even stopped to look. One old lady, I think, bought 2 but got the second one half off because she bargained.

Basically, at the end of the day, the internationally known, most highly collected street artist in the world sold about 7-8 originals and made a paltry 420 dollars.

The brilliance of this installation by Banksy speaks so eloquently about where art is seen and how this dramatically effects it’s inherent value.

I don’t think it is the art’s fault. Maybe it is ours.

What do you think?

Recovering,

Nicholas