Art writing?

So here I am with 4 nice little published books on my shelf - all of which are bound together with humor. While the subject of each has a serious purpose (except of course the novel), the delivery is accomplished with humor. That seems to be working fine so far. Am I satisfied with this? No. I have to tweak the system. Re-invent the wheel. Get serious. Why? Who knows. Maybe since the subject is "Art" and I'm a life-long artist, I just can't help but take it seriously - and expect readers to do the same. What a dumb idea. So many serious art books have been written that we could ship them all to Pakistan to stem the flood waters of their latest weather disaster. Why do we need another? And who will read this stuff anyway? But did I think about that when the great idea came flashing into my head? No.

Instead, I spent a week thinking and making notes and grinding out an introduction and picturing a nice spiffy book cover - and planning my great SERIOUS message about art. I've always been of the opinion that artists should not write about art. They always seem to end up ranting and raving and making insipid statements that in the end always reveal the same questions and the same answer. "Why am I not rich and famous?" "It's because no one understands my work." Hmmmm.

"That's okay though'" said I. "I have a whole lot more to talk about than that. I've got true grit reportage about the art scene that should be passed along to the art loving public. I've got experience in the field. I know lots of stuff about art and artists." Wow! Nights and days later I let my wife, Georgia, read the introduction. It was a tense several minutes. The room grew quiet and when she finished reading she looked up and said, "It sounds like another artist rant and makes me slightly aggravated. I mean, I've read all this before." Nothing like straight shooting from the company brass to clear the fog. I was really not surprised, because though I tried to wrap what I was saying in legitimate prose, the truth showed through like a dead fish under the ice on a lake in winter. Finally, after much consideration as to how I could make this subject into something digestible to anyone interested - and deciding that I couldn't, I tossed the whole printed mess into the garbage and deleted the text from my computer.

Two things emerged from this experience. The first thing was the wonderful sense of relief that came with tossing out this questionable writing idea. It was like taking a cold shower. The second thing was a bit of advice I got second hand from an acquaintance who enrolled in the local literary center for writers classes. He was listing things he'd learned that writers should keep in mind as they write. "Don't," he said, "be afraid to get rid of some of your babies" - meaning, that we should recognize the urge we have to consider our little creative inventions as if they are our children and therefore undeniable. Too precious to expunge.

Having recognized this little "art writing" baby as an unrepentant brat, I made the right decision and I learned something about myself in the process. No matter how righteous I feel about the arts, I should probably stay away from seriously writing anything about it.

The only question remaining is: What about non-serious art writing?

It's easier to get published when you own the publishing company!

The step from being a "publishing victim" to being a "published author" was, for me a simple and logical process once I understood the logistics of the publishing game and more importantly, learned how improbable are the realities of being a productive writer in an over crowded market. My learning process included watching lots of writers crank out little magazine articles and contest pieces or teaching gigs just to eke out a dribble of income and to be counted among the published author crowd. It's not unlike what we visual artists do with our paintings. We show our work in galleries anywhere we can, participate in art fairs, trade work for stuff, donate work in the name of participation - and give lessons to fussy art dilettantes all to be part of the "art scene" in whatever place we live. I've done that. Kind of pathetic, really.

My learning also included reading the many rejection notes that show up at my door which clearly state the because of the glut of material being submitted, my book proposal was neither read or considered.

Somehow, by joining the ranks of hopeful writers hovering around the mail box waiting for an offer to publish by some big deal publishing company just seemed counter productive. Additionally, the haunting pall of being a self published author lingers - even though time is proving that the publishing industry and the public perception is beginning to shift toward acceptance.

As I crawled through the many internet pages of publishing information, it occurred to me that publishing a book is no magic thing. The smoke and mirrors about being a published author that we writers have created and allowed the publishing industry to employ is simply a marketing tool for the promotion of some writers and their agents and publishers. It's a money pit. When one cruises the book store shelves, it's remarkable how much pure writing shit gets published and sold to the public. What to do.

Well, what the heck, said I. I'll just create a publishing company. Using models that I discovered on the web, I designed and built a small boutique book publishing outfit called Teawater Press. It was fun and easy and cost me nothing but a Yahoo small business website fee. I can now electronically publish not only my own writing under the Teawater Press name, but I can also publish the writing of others. For this service, I charge a fee, although I have no expectations of making any money because most writers are under-financed and still waiting for Penguin Press or Planet Hollywood to discover them. That's okay by me. In the mean time, I continue to write my books, send out manuscripts (just in case) and build a collection of finished products. I occasionally do readings and signings and sales - here and there, and am registered to attend an actual book fair where I will have a table in a row of other authors and will meet the public and hopefully sell some books.

Wait a minute! This sounds like an art fair - which I refuse to participate in. Hmmm. No, for me, there is a subtle difference. A painting is an original and one of a kind piece of art, and I've never bought the concept of making that sort of thing available to the public in the same way you make a hamburger or chicken wing available. Burgers and chicken wings are simple consumable products while art is not. Books too - once the art part (the actual writing part) has been accomplished and now lies between nice shiny covers in a multitude of copies, is also a consumable product. I like it!

I'll report on the outcome of this little test market after the event. By the way, The fellow pictured on the home page of my publishing website (teawaterpress.com) is my brother, who continues to be supportive of my often outrageous creative efforts. Thanks Douglas.

As always, your remarks, suggestions, discussion are welcome.