Home

The call for art I’ve been noodling over this week is around the theme of Home.  The prompts offer all kinds of questions:  What is Home? How do we define it? Is it physical space, a tangible feeling, or a person? Does it offer a sense of safety and security? How does your “home” affect how you relate to the world? I’m still tossing around several ideas, one of them being home is where I hang my art. 

Exhibiting my artwork often begins within the safety of my own four walls.  I treat home like a bridge to a gallery; a private viewing in a tiny venue where I can get comfortable with my pieces on the wall.  The practice conditions me to call the work done, polish it with a frame and find a place that allows me a good, long look.  At home I can hang a piece I absolutely love, reveling in the many encounters I’ll have with it over the course of a day.  I can also hang a piece I’m unsure of, certain to bump into it often enough to study it in the wild with a critical eye.  Mustered with other artwork in my home, I can see if it holds its own.  With daily engagement the work becomes part of the wallpaper, and I become conditioned to see it off easel, in the real world. 

The first time I showed work in a space I would call a real gallery, I was full of nervous energy.   I wanted so badly to be taken seriously as an artist.  My worst fears were my work wouldn’t look professional, all its imperfections would be magnified, and surrounded by the work of other artists it would stick out like a sore thumb.  I suffered imposter syndrome, not dissimilar to the feeling many corporates describe as their inner voices telling them they’re not qualified for the job and it’s only a matter of time before someone calls them out.

Several group shows later, my work scored placement at a gallery on the main wall, just below the marquee.   You couldn’t miss it.  I nearly fell over when I walked in the door and spotted it.  On the evening of the opening several friends congratulated me on finding the courage to put my work out there.  I have no doubt that muscle is strengthened at home. 

Home can be a creativity lab if we let it; the stakes are low.  It’s a safe place to conduct a myriad of experiments in being ourselves.  Those who we share our homes with witness all our messy auditions on the journey to becoming who we are meant to be.  Feedback can be requested of and shared by trusted sources who know us so well they wouldn’t dare sugarcoat.  Crazy ideas are socialized and technical skills honed because risks can be taken and mistakes can be made in surroundings where we are most apt to be comforted, dusted off and encouraged to get up and try again.  

Nothing can match the anticipation of entering a gallery to discover your own work on the wall.  No matter how many places it’s been and how much time you’ve spent with it, it’s now out of your hands.  You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you spot your piece.  Where did the curator choose to hang it?  Who are its neighbors?  Sometimes it’s perfectly placed and you love everything about it.  Other times it’s hiding around a corner or so low on the wall you’re sure no one will see it.  Yet you’re confident wherever it lands and whatever response it receives you’ll be okay because at home you’ve already lived with it looking back at you.  You know it’s best side, in fact, you were there when it got its start upside down.  You know the girdle underneath that’s holding everything together while it smiles at you from the wall.  You don’t need to be afraid of others spotting its imperfections.  Home has taught you differently. 

Home is where I have come to appreciate that my work is unique and only I can make it, fueling me to tamp down recurring urges that bait me to compare myself to others or try to make what someone else is making.  The longer I work as an artist, the more I believe there is room for everyone’s art.  Exhibiting is not about having the best piece in the show, or even having any piece in the show, it’s about being brave enough to answer the call.  Home is where we break our own glass ceilings, discovering and practicing the courage it takes to show the world what we are making and what we are made of.