Published on Saturday, February 6, 2021 by Agitator Co-operative

The Artist as Writer

by Gretchen Hasse, Agitator member

So just to review, 2020 was a weird year. None of us needs to be reminded of that, partly because we’re still living it; but I wanted it as an introduction.

As a curator in 2020, most of my efforts were directed at re-orienting work to a space where audiences could access it safely. Agitator hosted window exhibits, virtual exhibits, and printed exhibits. As an artist, I was asked to present my own work in virtual and printed spaces more than ever before. I also had to communicate more often what I was doing and why, and explain to people how they could experience my work. Since I wasn’t at openings in person, I had to be charming in other ways. My writing skills were crucial in 2020.

I recently returned to teaching after many years. My classes are studio-focused, but I always require a written component. None of it is that complicated. I just want students to be able to describe their work and their choices in making it. Writing about your own work is never easy; many of us become visual artists because there are things we want to say that are difficult to express in words. But standing outside of your work and describing it will always lead you to valuable discoveries. Don’t get me wrong, many times I hate doing it; however, I still see the value in it.

This semester I teach a class I designed, called Writing for Artists. It focuses on basics like artist statements and bios, written interviews, and final projects ranging from grant applications to creative manifestos. We will also have weekly assignments that address more quotidian things like the sensitive use of personal pronouns and writing alt text for one’s own images. I’ve been struggling with much of that myself. I’ll be learning about it as I’m teaching it.

After my first week of class, I’m surprised to find that most of my students have never written an artist statement. I made this a priority. They need to write statements. Having a strong sense of one’s own work will only ever help an artist, no matter what their focus. After this past year full of writing statements, answering interview questions, compiling proposals, and preparing presentations, I find myself with a much better understanding of who I am and what I’m trying to do. I still have questions, but they are much more nuanced, and they will lead to more mature answers. That’s where I’m hoping to lead my students as well.

My fellow gallery member Josh Mei recently shared an essay with me, “Don’t You Think It’s Time to Start Thinking,” by Northrop Frye, the renowned literary critic. He’s discussing the teaching of writing. One phrase stuck out: 

Most students need to be taught, very carefully and patiently, that there is no such thing as an inarticulate idea waiting to have the right words wrapped around it. They have to learn that ideas do not exist until they have been incorporated into words.

I’m not sure I entirely agree with that because I think there are ways of knowing things that don’t involve words. As I said above, many of us make art precisely because of that fact. But I’m talking about words now, and I’m using words to do it, so I see what he’s getting at. Writing is a process of discovery as much as it is a product created to serve a purpose. Or at least it should be.

At this point in human history, language defines reality. It’s also very relative. Language is 100% a human construct, and there is no “pure” way to speak. All dialects are infused with social signaling and value judgements. Language can both create meaning and negate it. You can tell what a culture’s priorities are by looking at what its words describe. I think about highly gendered personal pronouns and how so many people see a shift in those delineations as a threat. It’s just a word. But it creates worlds. It acknowledges worlds that have always been there.

Josh asked me to give some tips on good writing. I think my best advice is what I already said: treat writing as a process, not a product. Be ready to discover things as you write. If you don’t have the words, do like my German sister-in-law used to do, and just make some up. You can always go back and find the “correct” word later. If the word you want doesn’t exist, stick with your new one. This is the beauty of speaking a living language.

I think that artists in particular benefit from writing about their work, because writing provides us another way to see ourselves and what we do. The challenge is to not let your writing limit you. Look at it as opening another window of understanding, not closing the door of definition. 

I’m going to end with those metaphors. And I think I just rewrote next week’s lesson plan.