When I went to Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Art I recall an instructor that tried to convince me that my good paintings were painted badly, and my bad paintings were painted very well. I did not accept this as fact, and I wondered what her husband’s thoughts were since he was also an instructor at the Academy.
One day I approached him and showed him the same paintings that she saw. What he said next was exactly as I thought… that my good paintings are good, and my bad paintings are bad.
At the end of the semester she exclaimed that I “didn’t do a single thing (she) told the whole semester!”, and I replied, “Of course I didn’t do what you wanted me to do; you tried to set me up for failure.” I was fortunate because I was warned about this kind of behavior from modernists back in high-school by a great art teacher. #kitschified
How can I consider myself an artist if I don’t know what that is? Every time I hear this word my stomach unfailingly turns. Nobody knows what it is because
I started drawing when I was a little girl. I had a lot of interest in studying faces and portraying them. Especially older people, perhaps because their faces showed that
I don’t call my work art. The reason is simple: all fields that the ideas of Art have touched, have crumbled to dust. From modern architecture, modern concert music, to
I started studying on my own, attending workshops, and copying photographs in a painter’s studio. I knew that to progress from there I needed a mentor. That is how I
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Kitsch lends itself to a definition in terms of a systematic attempt to fly from daily reality: in time and in space.
