My “day” job, about which I am very passionate, is in the field of clean energy. My career in this space is the result of an intentional decision over 2 decades ago at a time when I abandoned my goal of securing a Master of Fine Arts in Visual Arts so that I could become a college professor. It wasn’t the first time I changed career tracks- in undergraduate school I switched from Architecture to Fine Arts/Humanities after my freshman year. While I didn’t leave graduate school to specifically enter another field, I knew I’d want to have a profession and that I’d need to be able to feel invested in my work to be satisfied. That’s why, more than two decades later, I find myself at one of three different B corps for which I’ve worked, and about to take advantage of a pretty amazing benefit- a paid, eight-week sabbatical. I recognize the immense privilege of this moment and plan to take full advantage of the opportunity.
How? Well, for some time now (since 2019-ish), I’ve had 2 careers. I began making Art again in late 2016. I basically had a midlife crisis, a phrase I don’t hear much anymore and which we used to joke in grad school was not part of an artist’s fate (since we spend so much time in self reflection already, why would we ever be in crisis?). Mid summer, as we were still reeling from a traumatic freshman year for our oldest who had severe depression coupled with regular episodes of severe hallucination, I unexpectedly lost my job on the same day we had begun major home renovation which had meant almost emptying out our savings account. That evening, as I was trying to be a normal parent at our kids’ swim team’s meet, I fixated on some really amazing cloud formations- that June had been rife with almost daily thunderstorms and some of the late-day visuals were other-worldly. I took what was the first photo of a project that took almost 2 years, resulted in my first Instagram feed, and, eventually, in becoming a practicing artist. All because I stopped in the moment and paid attention to what I was seeing and appreciated its visual qualities.
Towards the end of the project, which I promoted on Instagram as #abstractionallaroundus (I saw the photos as automatic compositions- line, shape, color, texture), I began to explore more tactile modalities. I had always considered myself an abstractionist and despite practicing what was basically landscape photography, found the return to non-figurative mark making natural and invigorating. Within what felt like no time at all, I was making work on paper and canvas weekly, entering calls for artists and showing work. In short order I also began blogging, teaching, and curating, which necessitated integrating my practice into not only my life (and around the perimeter of a what was technically a full time job) but also within the local arts community.
These two “lives” are adequately resourced and non-conflicting, a dry way to describe the division of my energy, and also not an exaggeration. My Art-world friends know I’m not what our ecosystem denotes as a “full-time practitioner” and they accept my “joke” that Sterling Bowen, Head of Origination for American Efficient, is my “alter ego.”
So why take a sabbatical? What is it going to mean?
A sabbatical is “a rest or break from work; an extended period of time intentionally spent on something that’s not your routine job.” My career as an artist- and I do see it as “a profession for which one trains and which is undertaken as a permanent calling”- is also not my job (a regularly occurring position which has to be done). “Rest” has many benefits- the last 2 years at my job have been, while not physically challenging or time-consuming, emotionally draining at times. A break from such an environment is likely to not only release pressure, it has the potential to reinvigorate passion for my role and the important work that we do.
But that’s not why I applied to take sabbatical, nor will it be the focus or purpose of my time away from my job.
There’s a reason that creatives in the Art World (mostly) strive towards being a full-time practitioner. It’s not (just) the validation that your practice generates enough revenue to pay your studio rent and buy some rice and beans, or that it likely means (requires?) an on-going relationship with a commercial gallery which generates demand for products, which is no doubt also a goal for (probably) most creatives that call themselves Artists with a capital “A.” It would be easy to say we work towards this state “for the love” and that it’s fulfilling to practice as much as we want. There’s also an uncanny relationship between the amount of time one dedicates to a craft and the quality of resulting output. All, also, true- and still, not quite the point.
The object-making part of my practice is all about paying attention to what is happening. Make a mark, pay attention, react. Repeat. Finish a piece, reflect, write about what it meant. With a full-time job and a life, there isn’t room- literally, but also emotionally- to engage in that more than a few hours scattered throughout the week.
What will I see when I can give my practice maximum space? I can’t wait!
Painting After Art is Dead 