Like the surly lead singer of a garage band saying that they defy genres and resent being labelled, every artist probably squirms at whatever label they are given. I don’t really mind being called a realist, even if it’s not the word I’d choose; it’s mostly semantics. There’s one word I hear a lot though, which does leave me uneasy, and that’s “traditional”.
I’m not sure what’s meant by it, or whether I should resent it. My instinct is to resist it, and say something along the lines of: “I’m every bit as contemporary as any other artist, I just paint in a manner which people associate more with bygone eras, but it’s a language with which to communicate and is relevant in any era.” But that’s a bit long winded and more often than not I shuffle and smile awkwardly and mumble, “um, yes, I suppose so”.
Really though, I think all artists are traditional, in the sense of working within a tradition. Whether that tradition is one that flows through Titian-Van Dyck-Reynolds-Sargent or Raphael-Ingres-Degas or Kandinsky-Mondrian-Rothko or Duchamp-Beuys-Emin. If you call what you do Art, you’re working in a tradition.
So I now choose to accept it when people call me traditional, even if what I mean by that might not be what they mean. I thoroughly love the tradition in which I work. I am quite unashamed of drawing deeply on that tradition. A tradition is alive and develops, I don’t feel constrained by it but rather energised by it.
I remember someone talking about how a composer’s oeuvre often has three phases. First they work firmly within a tradition. They work is in line with the aims and interests of others who have gone before. Then they work alongside the tradition. They don’t reject it, but their work has developed in its own way, in reference to that tradition. Finally they might work outside of that tradition. Gradually their work changes and they then have quite different aims and interests. This third stage is actually one that very few composers ever enter, and we make a mistake if we imagine it as the champion’s stage. Most of the greatest composers, writers and artists from the past and present day spend their lives working in or alongside a tradition.
Of course it’s definitely possible to be boringly derivative, a pale imitation of a greater figure within the tradition. But that’s a stage in its own right. I can’t think of a single great artist who didn’t have a period (often a pretty long one) where they were not too distinct from their master or school.
So in one sense, I’ve come to terms with the idea of my work being called “traditional”. Call if what you like, I just hope you get something out of looking at it.
I’m not sure what’s meant by it, or whether I should resent it. My instinct is to resist it, and say something along the lines of: “I’m every bit as contemporary as any other artist, I just paint in a manner which people associate more with bygone eras, but it’s a language with which to communicate and is relevant in any era.” But that’s a bit long winded and more often than not I shuffle and smile awkwardly and mumble, “um, yes, I suppose so”.
Really though, I think all artists are traditional, in the sense of working within a tradition. Whether that tradition is one that flows through Titian-Van Dyck-Reynolds-Sargent or Raphael-Ingres-Degas or Kandinsky-Mondrian-Rothko or Duchamp-Beuys-Emin. If you call what you do Art, you’re working in a tradition.
So I now choose to accept it when people call me traditional, even if what I mean by that might not be what they mean. I thoroughly love the tradition in which I work. I am quite unashamed of drawing deeply on that tradition. A tradition is alive and develops, I don’t feel constrained by it but rather energised by it.
I remember someone talking about how a composer’s oeuvre often has three phases. First they work firmly within a tradition. They work is in line with the aims and interests of others who have gone before. Then they work alongside the tradition. They don’t reject it, but their work has developed in its own way, in reference to that tradition. Finally they might work outside of that tradition. Gradually their work changes and they then have quite different aims and interests. This third stage is actually one that very few composers ever enter, and we make a mistake if we imagine it as the champion’s stage. Most of the greatest composers, writers and artists from the past and present day spend their lives working in or alongside a tradition.
Of course it’s definitely possible to be boringly derivative, a pale imitation of a greater figure within the tradition. But that’s a stage in its own right. I can’t think of a single great artist who didn’t have a period (often a pretty long one) where they were not too distinct from their master or school.
So in one sense, I’ve come to terms with the idea of my work being called “traditional”. Call if what you like, I just hope you get something out of looking at it.