Just Make Stuff

My favorite undergraduate professor was a Printmaker named Patrick Lindhardt. He was that perfect combination of midwestern mellow and take-no-bullshit and he would practically bark the phrase “Make Stuff!” at us on a weekly basis.

At the time the phrase “Make Stuff” seemed obvious; we were a bunch of art students, we were literally there to Make Stuff. We had weekly crits and oral defenses of the Stuff we made. But as I near my 40s the phrase has developed a new layer. Rather than focusing on the “stuff” bit, I’ve honed in on the “Make”. 

It’s incredibly easy for artists to fall into the trap of Stuff. You want a final piece. A finished painting. A sculpture, a print that can be framed on someone’s wall. Maybe your income depends on the Stuff. But as kids we rarely made art with the finished product in mind, we (at least I) mostly just liked the making bit. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t give a shit about your final product; it’s good and important to practice new techniques, to hone your skills, to have an aim in mind. But it’s equally important–and in this part of my life perhaps more important–to focus on the “making” bit. I’m an artist because of the Making. It’s a lifestyle choice. I like the rituals. I like the little walk to my studio. I like how pushing pigment around feels. I like washing my brushes (most of the time). I like feeling both giddy and annoyed in front of a blank canvas. I like the daily practice of looking–really looking-- at the world around me.

For me, the practice of making art, at its core, is a rhythm of life you get into. And again, it’s nice to sell the Stuff. It’s important for artist’s to pay rent and feel their work is valued. But don’t forget the Making bit. Make things that make you uncomfortable. Make silly stuff and ugly stuff. Make stuff no one will ever see. Just Make Stuff.

A still life study of a windowsill with daffodils, clear and colored glass jars and a seashell.