Robert Francis James

British artist Damien Hirst is hawking 10,000 nonfungible tokens ( NFTs ), each redeemable for one of his cherry blossom prints , according to The New York Times . “NFTs are the most exciting new thing in the creative industry,” Hirst told the paper. “The fact that they polarize people so much, and make so many people angry, just makes me even more sure of their importance.” Hirst enjoys a history of minting money. Eleven years ago, he sold a diamond-studded skull to an investment group for $100 million. Hirst’s 10,000 prints have been in storage for five years. Whether they’ll sell like hotcakes remains to be seen. The financial market is skeptical, in general, about the short- and long-term value of NFTs. Control 862. Damian Hirst. Like tulips , they may ultimately become worthless, analysts say. But, with Hirst’s tokens, investors at least know they can redeem them for one of his prints. Hoping to cash in on the hysteria, other artists have resorted to selling NFTs in ...

The true use of art is to cultivate the artist’s own spiritual nature. — George Inness The 19th century American art movement known as Tonalism celebrated gentle tones, soft edges, atmosphere, and “the reality of the unseen.” Americans fell in love with it in the aftermath of the Civil War, turning away from the Tonalists only after the arrival onshore of “modernists” like Duchamp, Bonnard and Picasso . With a body count nearing that of “ The American Conflict ,” it’s time we embrace Tonalism again—and put an end to mourning. The founder of Tonalism, George Inness , used to baffle critics by including poems with his paintings. But Inness knew what he was doing. His poems, like his paintings, were meant to inspire you to contemplate “the invisible in the visible,” the cosmic harmonies behind everyday things—harmonies to which the Americans of his day had grown cold. Innes’ Emersonian poem “ Exaltation ” is but one compelling example: Sing joyfully! Earth-bound...

Every canvas is a journey all its own. — Helen Frankenthaler Wanderlust is gripping my friends and family, as July 4th approaches. They’re planning travel itineraries, reserving hotel rooms, and booking flights. While they’ve been locked down for 12 months, I’ve completed more than 100 journeys, thanks to my easel, brushes, paints, and canvases. Even when those trips proved ultimately unproductive , the travel was exhilarating, and pushed away others’ torments. I’m not alone in expressing this: thousands of artists have said they’ve found solace in their studios during the pandemic. I’m reminded of an old Jethro Tull favorite, “ Inside :” I’m sitting on the corner feeling glad. Got no money coming in but I can’t be sad. That was the best cup of coffee I ever had. And I won’t worry about a thing Because we’ve got it made, Here on the inside, outside’s so far away. Above: A Pair of Boots . Oil on canvas. 16 x 12 inches. Ships framed and ready to hang . https://securese...

If people knew how hard I worked to get my mastery, it wouldn’t seem so wonderful. — Michelangelo A particularly pappy talk show I watched yesterday featured a segment entitled “Minute Masterclass,” prompting me to wonder: Why do so many broadcasters and web-content producers think we expect painless gain? You know why. They know their audience . They know we would rather hire an SAT-taker than study; rather play Powerball than save; rather have another bypass than exercise. They know we would all be masters—provided we can spare a minute. But mastery is a goal reached by a very few, never without effort, and never within a minute. More like a lifetime— a lifetime of patient practice . Patient practice, teachers know, is in fact the only path to mastery . Patient practice is daunting: progress is molasses-slow; the plateaus feel interminable; and competence seems out of reach. Worst of all, payoffs are few. That’s why so many eventually quit the path—and why t...

Mistakes are the portals of discovery. — James Joyce In a painting class this week, I confessed to “wiping” a lousy still life, an admission that triggered a 15-minute discussion of the upside of mistakes. “Wiping a painting is a badge of honor,” the teacher said. “It’s also therapeutic.” A decade ago, she told us, she gave herself “permission to wipe” three of every four of her paintings, in the interest of improving her skills and her sales. She went so far as to track all the paintings she wiped on a wall-chart, like a prisoner tracks the days of his sentence. The result? She paints with sureness and authority today, rarely wiping; and her paintings steadily sell (in the low thousands). “Wiped.” Oil on canvas board. 8 x 10 inches. NFS. Unlike the teacher, when I screw up and wipe a painting, I tend to get angry and sullen (sometimes for days). But I need to rethink things. I need to believe that my every mistake isn’t a screwup, but a “portal to discovery,” or what ...

A perceptual approach to painting is not synonymous with rote observation. — Matthew Ballou “ Perceptual painters ,” artist Matthew Ballou says, dwell on two surfaces at once: the surface of the object and the surface of the canvas . The artist daubs paint on one surface (the canvas) in order to create the illusion of another (the object). But that’s the least of it. “Creating an illusion of  things is of only partial importance when it comes to the fact of the painted surface,” Ballou says. “Subjectivity, shifting focus, and temporality are also vital as indicators of life, sensation, and thought in the artwork.” I love Ballou’s concept of a painting. A painting embodies both the experienced thing and the artist’s experience of painting the thing. And, in embodying those two experiences, a painting preserves them for the viewer to enjoy. Rene Magritte, The Son of Man When David asked God , “Keep me as the apple of your eye,” he was asking God to protect him. “App...

The past isn’t dead. It isn’t even past. — William Faulkner I love to paint stoneware crocks. Their chunky, chilly corporality reminds me of granite markers and monuments, the steadfast avatars of past lives. And their rootedness in the earth—crocks being made of dirt, a literal rootedness—lend them a permanence and august presence most other household objects lack. I like, too, the fact that stoneware crocks and oil paints are both made of dirt, allowing the subject and its representation in paint to unite. Stoneware crocks also captivate me because they are—or were—strictly utilitarian. They existed to serve , and in the most pedestrian of ways. Until glass bottles and tin cans came along to replace them, throughout the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries stoneware crocks were used by farmers, grocers, and household cooks to pickle vegetables and package booze. The hick cousin of porcelain, stoneware is a ceramic that was imported to America from England and Germany until the Revolut...