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?