Pretty much all I want in life…

….is to make things and then have other people look at those things and be like "woah, cool."

I tweeted this the other day and it seemed to strike a chord with a lot of people so here I am, expanding on it.

The making and the showing

First off, let’s note that both halves of that tweet are super important. Having other people look at the stuff I make is not just about getting a bit of feedback or the endorphin hit of notifications and likes.

Nope, for me, the audience experience is a huge part of making art.

Since that tweet, I’ve been asking myself this question -

Would you rather be able to make art but never to show it to anyone, OR be given a bunch of things to show people, but never be able to make anything?

I actually really don’t know. Turning to another human and saying, “look at that rock!” is an underrated and fundamental joy.

I have this vague sense that, as an artist, the making should be enough, I should be doing it for myself, and the audience should be incidental. But, that’s a lot of “shoulds” and. frankly, fuck that. It doesn’t work that way for me.

origins

The first time this idea came up for me was back in 2007. My final project for my Photography degree was a series of images made with long exposures and light trails. (Forgive me, this wasn’t quite so done to death in 2007). I liked how they had a mysterious, enigmatic feeling and I hoped that other people would like them too.

My degree show exhibition was the first time I’d seen an audience with something I’d made. I spent the evening discussing my photos with everyone who stopped by. People told me what they thought and what the images reminded them of. They asked questions and were interested to know the answers. I watched as they pointed to little details, commented on things they’d noticed, and discussed with each other.

At the time, I thought the wholesome feeling I had that evening was because people liked my photos, but that was only part of it.

Almost 10 years later, I started making interactive art, which I thought of as a completely new thing for me. But it didn’t take long before I began to realise how the feeling I had at that first exhibition wasn’t just about compliments, it was about being with the audience, alongside the work.

Not creepy, I swear.

When in Dome (2018) — *When in Dome* (2018)

One of my favourite things in my whole life is watching people in the installations I’ve made.

I design my interactive LED-filled structures so they are pretty self sufficient so at festivals I just have to turn them on each evening - there’s no need to babysit.

But I still gravitate back multiple times through the night - partly to check for dust induced hardware failures, and partly to look at the work itself (who doesn’t want to stare at thousands of LEDs?), but largely because I want to see the audience.

Space Tunnel was perfect for this because the black fabric made the space quite dark even when all the lights were on, so it was easy to step into the space and sit down without drawing attention.

It’s hard to identify exactly what drives the warm blankety feeling I get, sitting among strangers, inside my art. Sometimes I notice something interesting or hear some feedback that gives me a new idea, and that’s great but definitely not the core of it. And it’s nice when I overhear compliments but it’s not really about that either.

“I want them to walk away dazed”

Maybe it’s about giving an experience - overwhelmingly a good one - to other people. That’s so powerful. What better could you give someone than a noteworthy experience, a time they spent that was out of the ordinary and made them feel something meaningful or different?

There’s a Gefühlston (‘feeling tone’ - sorry, but the word is perfect) in the air when a bunch of people are having that kind of experience at the same time, and I get to know I made it happen. Maybe that’s the blanket.

I think the drive to make those experiences happen is also what this quote from someone in the demoscene is describing.

Jonny looks around, confused, his train of thought disrupted. He collects himself, and stares at the teacher with a steady eye. "I want to code demos," he says, his words becoming stronger and more confident as he speaks. "I want to write something that will change people's perception of reality. I want them to walk away from the computer dazed, unsure of their footing and eyesight. I want to write something that will reach out of the screen and grab them, making heartbeats and breathing slow to almost a halt. I want to write something that, when it is finished, they are reluctant to leave, knowing that nothing they experience that day will be quite as real, as insightful, as good. I want to write demos." Silence. The class and the teacher stare at Jonny, stunned. It is the teachers turn to be confused. Jonny blushes, feeling that something more is required. "Either that or I want to be a fireman.""
- Grant Smith, 14:32, 11/21/93

A place to meet

I couldn’t write about the artist and the audience without including this Mark Rothko quote, which I love.

You've got sadness in you, I’ve got sadness in me – and my works of art are places where the two sadnesses can meet, and therefore both of us need to feel less sad.
- Mark Rothko

Rothko positions his paintings - still as they are - as interactive. Each painting is a communication between the painter and the viewer - a way to connect.

My art is rarely about my sadness but, when I share it, I’m hoping that you also see the things I saw in it. And, if not, I want to know what was there for you.

Hey, look at this!

That same voice that tries to tell me I should make art for myself alone, also worries that I become beholden to my audience by caring about their experience so much. When I used to do comedy, I remember someone saying that it’s better not to try to make jokes to make someone else laugh, and instead just to write jokes that make yourself laugh.

I think that’s a good way to think about it. I’m not just making art that I think other people will like. It’s more that when I make something I like, I want to share it. Then it becomes about a mutual recognition and a connection.

There’s something in all this that relates to my last post, about how it sometimes feels like we’re finding the art not making it. And when you find something cool, it’s the most natural thing in the world to turn to someone else and say, “hey, look at this!”.

And it’s just the best when they say turn back and say, “woah, cool.”