Jenny Doh

Matters of Importance

When I was a new immigrant to this country, I was the only girl of Korean descent in the elementary school that I attended in Bakersfield, California. There was a bully named Andrea who used to slap my face regularly. I told my family about this and before I knew it, Marilyn, from our sponsoring American family, started coaching me with my limited English skills. She told me that the next time it happened, I should look at Andrea in the face and say "Stop it!" And so I did. But it didn't work.

So the next thing I knew, Marilyn accompanied me to school and asked me "Where's Andrea?" I pointed her out and witnessed Marilyn going over to talk to Andrea and telling her in no uncertain terms that she was to stop slapping me.

It worked. Andrea heard Marilyn loud and clear. Even though I was different, I mattered. 

If someone had said to Marilyn "But what about Andrea? Doesn't she matter too?" Marilyn probably would have said "Of course she matters. But I'm here not because someone is slapping Andrea. I'm here because Jenny is being slapped. And I'm not going to not do or say anything about that."

I think that when a nation has a long-standing track record of killing unarmed Black people, it it not illogical for someone witnessing that to speak up. And when the witness stands to speak, they may say something like "Stop it!" Or a collective community of witnesses may say it another way, like "Black lives matter."

To me, those three words don't mean that other lives don't matter. Because of course Jenny matters and Andrea matters too. This great nation protects the right for Marilyn to speak up and get involved and it protects a collective group of like-minded and concerned witnesses to stand together ... to state the case and shine light on matters of importance.

Melancholy and Gratitude

I am mesmerized by the art of Andrew Wyeth. Magnificent works mostly with tempera that have a cloud of melancholy hovering over them all. Certainly he observed and contemplated the world and the human condition with intensity. I think that is the job of the artist. And when I do my job, I can't help but get melancholy. It shows in my work I think. And frequently I try to be honest and reference emotions I battle as an artist/human every day including loneliness and sadness. And usually someone points out to me how sadness needs to be overcome by being grateful. Stat. To which I want to officially respond here. Being melancholy and being grateful are not mutually exclusive. I can be both. I AM both. The subject of many of Wyeth's works were windows ... portals that certainly get me to look out and within as I ponder the bitter, sweet, ironic, tragic and beautiful facets of our singularly brief and collectively never-ending human condition.

Relentless Swarming

In Seven Brief Lessons in Physics, Carlo Rovelli writes: "Quantum mechanics and experiments with particles have taught us that the world is a continuous, restless swarming of things, a continuous coming to light and disappearance of ephemeral entities ... A world of happenings, not of things."

I feel the passage could be describing art, not just physics. I think art is a world of happenings, not of things. It's a coming to and disappearance of. And just like scientists who never feel satisfied after discovering the latest, the artist also never arrives. We continue to inquire, seek, and seek again. Sometimes with a sense of loss and disappointment and loneliness. Sometimes with jubilation and assuredness. To me, that is art. A never-ending, restless swarming of things.

8000 Hours ... and counting

8,000 Hours, 200 Sales
Thought I'd take a moment to place a marker on this moment, which is where I've made 200 sales of my art. More importantly, this moment marks my having clocked in approximately 8,000 hours in terms of doing the work related to my art.

In the book titled The Outliers, Malcom Gladwell presents research that argues that in order for mastery in a field to occur, there needs to be approximately 10,000 concentrated hours of work that is put into that field. I once calculated what that means and if you calculate full-time work to mean about 9-5 every day, about 2,000 hours equals one year.

Best Words Ever Spoken
I started dabbling in painting in 2010 and then more focused painting in 2011/2012 and then fully committed and focused since 2013. I remember when I decided to fully dedicate myself I asked my husband "But what will we do with all the paintings? We surely can't handle storing everything in the house." To which he said, "Your job is not to worry for one second about how we will store your art. If we need to rent a storage unit, we will do that. But that is of no importance. Your job is simply to study and make magnificent art."

Those were the best words ever spoken to me. It set me free to paint and focus on painting and studying without worrying about what to do with my works, least of all, whether I would ever be able to sell even one of them. I think it's because I never focused on the idea of sales that they started selling.

Sincerely, Relentelessly, and Without Bullshit
So when people ask me these days "Tell me how I can also sell my work" or "How do you package your art for shipping" I say "Those are irrelevant questions."

What you should be doing is just painting. Sincerely and relentlessly. At least for about 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 thousand hours. And then before you know it, sales will become a byproduct of the sincere work you put in. I don't mean to sound hocus pocus about it because I hate hocus pocus in terms of talking about how to paint. Like light a candle and write "i am enough" on your body and pray to the gods of painting to help you make a painting and get a phony cohort to say they "love love love" your painting just as it is. That's bullshit. There's no candle or body paint or god that helps me like that.

It's called learn to draw. It's called learn to mix colors. It's called read and understand about the effects of light and shadows. AND it's called figure out what you sincerely prefer in terms of subjects, colors, and composition. And it's called paint what you prefer and show your work to the world every single day. Even if no one pushes the "like" button. Even if a year from now the work does not look like the work you do today.

I'm so grateful to be making a living as a painter. I'll check in about these types of matters at a future milestone ... maybe at either the 10,000-hour mark or the 300th sale. Whichever comes first.

Thank you. Thank you again. And again, thank you.

 

 

Lili of My Own

Islands of Perfection
I saw the film The Danish Girl last night. Eddie Redmayne's performance as transgender Lili Elbe (who in the 1930s is one of the first persons to have received sex reassignment surgeries to transform from her former male self) was daring, inspiring, and beautiful. If scenes live on islands, islands of perfection were created with his performance.

But scenes don't live on islands. They exist in a larger whole called a movie and this movie for assorted reasons didn't blow me away.  Such reasons are hard to pinpoint because in a scene, even when an actor and costuming and cinematography are on point, there are other things off point that make the viewer unable to completely engage and relate, as we instead become "reduced to audience," as Jerry Saltz puts it in his piece about the challenges of conceiving and executing public art that engages and inspires humans.

One of the off-points was Alicia Vikander's performance of Gerda Wegener (partner to Ina-turned-Lili), who as beautiful as she is, and as many tears as she shed (in practically every scene) just couldn't "land the plane" if you will, of grabbing my emotions.

The Right Subject Matter
So why am I writing this blog post? I suppose to talk about one particular scene. Gerda was a painter. There is a scene when Gerda goes to see a galleriest to show him her paintings and sketches. He rejects her work and says something like (I'm paraphrasing here), "You have talent but perhaps you haven't found the right subject matter yet."

It's only when she starts painting portraits of Lili that her art gains attention and fame. Lili the subject was just different enough and intriguing enough to inspire paintings that became islands of perfection, to get viewers of art captivated and wanting more.

Cranberries and Mandarins
Prior to going to the movies, I had spent most of the day painting my usual daily painting (of cranberries). And as I usually feel with everything I paint, I felt really good about it for about 20 minutes after painting it. I wasn't elated that I painted cranberries per se, but that I was able to paint one particular cranberry partially behind glass so that part of the cranberry has a distorted look of being behind glass. A sweet spot. A perfect island. A skill that I'm excited to be honing. But I'm not necessarily attracted to cranberries as a subject matter. They are simply objects that I chose yesterday because they are there, they are doable, they are beautiful, and when placed behind glass, allow me to strengthen a skill. A skill that hopefully I can use when I am faced with a subject matter that I really feel is my destiny to paint.

After painting the cranberries, I went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for dinner. I also picked up some Mandarin oranges that I thought would be a great subject matter to paint the next day (today) because they are here, they are doable, and they are beautiful. And they are what I'm fiddling with right now, to potentially compose and paint. 

Lili of My Own
Hovering above my head is that scene from last night. About subject matter. I wonder if my time as a painter will mostly be about painting subjects because they are there and they are doable and they are beautiful ... or if a Lili of my own will dramatically blossom into my life, where I can utilize the skills I have honed while painting cranberries and Mandarins to paint her with as much glory that I can muster from my years of work.

Also hovering over my head is Richard Schmid's question about whether the world is a better world for a painter having painted a painting. When I see his amazing body of work, I believe that his skills allow him to find the Lili within any of his subjects like a flower or a landscape ... subjects that don't make a grand entrance but are simply there, doable (through practice) and beautiful. And as his grand manner style shows, even paintings that aren't fully finished and manicured can elevate the viewer into more than audience but an integral part of the piece ... who upon seeing it cannot help but shed a tear, declare joy, or even impart a kiss upon the lips of another.

I am committed to completing a painting every day. I am committed to studying and practicing and being open to all possibilities ... of either a very dramatic arrival of the subject matter of my destiny ... or gradual actualization of the Lili that already lies within all that is around me.

 

Getty Inspired

I am happy and honored to have my painting and my thoughts about inspiration included in a new project launched today by The Getty museum called #GETTYinspired where you can view wonderful artwork that has been inspired by The Getty museum.

Here's the link. Super cool.

The Getty is one of my favorite places to visit. Here's the general link to the museum's site so you can check out the details for your next visit.

 

The Documented Life Project :: Visible Peculiarities

 I am honored to write this blog post as a Featured Artist,
for the good people at the DOCUMENTED LIFE PROJECT 2015: THE JOURNAL.

The challenge given to me is to use multiple mediums to create an art piece that includes faces or the human form and to allow the piece to speak to my younger self ... and to provide advice to that younger self.

First off, I would NEVER give advice to anyone, including my younger self, unless I was explicitly asked or hired to give advice. There's a lot of judging, preaching, and unsolicited advising going on where people are meddling in the business of others ... frequently disguised as well-intended advice ... like "choose happy" or "be brave" or "be free" or "dream big."

So much so that a person who might not be feeling happy or brave or free or dreaming big might believe that there is something wrong with her ... different and peculiar from the rest of the world. What I've learned in my life through advice and counsel I have explicitly sought and sometimes paid for (and also through biographical stories I've heard or read about), is that I am who I am, and the more I can embrace all of the emotions I go through, the more fulfilling and meaningful my life becomes. It is a full time job to mind my own business.

When I was 7 years old, I left my home in South Korea and moved to California. This photo below is of a spread in my passport back then, with a photo of my younger self. One section of the passport that I've always thought interesting is a category titled VISIBLE PECULIARITIES. I don't think they have that category on their passports anymore but nevertheless, it has always gotten my mind stirring about human peculiarities, both visible and invisible.

Peculiarities ...
Visible ...
Invisible ...
Hmmm ... these words float in my head as I start to create this piece and I grab a piece of cardboard, some acrylic paints, palette knife, and black pencils.

I use a palette knife to first smudge on some pink paint. And while it's still a little bit wet, I smudge a bit of white paint right on top of the pink paint. I don't worry about perfection, but rather allow the paint to be applied loosely and scumbly.

Next, I use my pencil to make a scribbley face on a piece of vintage ledger paper. I intentionally make the face look "peculiar" ... imperfect eyes and nose, and a mouth positioned to one side of the face. I use a paintbrush wet with dirty water (water that I have used to rinse out dirty paintbrushes so that it's nice and murky) to loosen up some of the pencil marks around the face so to create a drippy cloud of hair for the face. 
I tear the paper with the face into a smaller piece and then I start holding it up next to the smudgey cardboard to find the orientation that I like best.

And I decide on this one.

Before I adhere the paper to the cardboard, I use my pencil to sketch an outline that unifies the face with the smudgey paint ... to create sort of a mermaid-ish girl. Nothing definite. A bit "peculiar" and in a state of evolution. I like it.

With my pencil, I extend the silhouette of the hair beyond the paper and onto the cardboard and then I take my paintbrush loaded with some dirty water to paint the extending hair onto the cardboard.

I glue the paper onto the cardboard and then add additional loose and scribbley pencil marks including rain drops, illegible writing, anchor, and a word that is:

1) not a cliche
2) not judgemental or preachy
3) unexpectedly split in the middle and stacked
2) loose and scribbley

I wonder if my younger self were to see this piece whether she would realize that all humans have peculiarities, both visible and invisible. And that embracing them rather than pretending that they don't exist is what makes life interesting and weird and honest and tragic and joyful, and everything else. I hope so.

Thanks for tuning in,
Jenny :-)

PS: Some things you might want to check out if you want to:
My books
My art studio
My etsy shop
My instagram feed

 

Somewhere is nowhere I need to get to.

And it's when I hit the valleys, not the hills, and think I'm getting nowhere with my art that I am reminded by those most fluent with the hills and valleys of art that somewhere is nowhere I need to get to.

That that is the never-ending saga of art.

(Excerpt from Widow from One Year by John Irving)

Vivaldi, Shazam, and Valentine's

Do you use the Shazam APP? I don't use it often. Only when I am so very moved by something I'm listening to and I know I have to stop everything so that I can know what it is so I can buy it.

It happened to me recently when I was listening to violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter's performance of a classical piece of music (the Zigeunerweisen, OP. 20 with the Wiener Philharmoniker) on the radio. It made me feel such intense emotions. Intensity. Nostalgia. Passion. Straight to my heart. What the composer's intent was and what I feel about it I am sure don't completely align. But that's ok. What I feel is almost a new birth that the music goes through. His intent. My unique receipt and experience of it.

It's incredible how music can do that. I also feel that way with most of Chopin, Debussy, and Fauré. And also Max Bruch's Kol Nidre for the cello. Actually, I can hardly listen to the entire Kol Nidre without getting choked up. It gets to me every time.

It's the same with visual art. There are pieces of art that connect with me so deeply that I have to stop everything and "shazam" it, if you will. To find out who made it, get closer to it, and if I'm lucky enough, to buy it.

Vivaldi's music doesn't do that for me. I like Vivaldi. But I don't think I've ever stopped everything I'm doing to Shazam a Vivaldi piece. It's pleasant and sometimes I frolic around in it with delight, as a respite of sorts, when I don't have the energy in me to fall to my knees with the kind of Kol Nidre music that gets me to the core.

So it came as no surprise to learn from the same radio station that many critics of Vivaldi used to categorize his music as "wallpaper music." Maybe unfair but I understand it.

I want to exist in a world where wallpaper art exists. But I don't want to make wallpaper art. I want to make Zigeunerweisen-Chopin-Debussy-Fauré art. Kol Nidre art. That's what I want to make, not in conflict with, but in concert with Vivaldi art.

Switching topics.

It's almost Valentine's Day. Another V-word. Every Valentine's, I remember the best card I ever got. It was from my dad when I was in college. He sent me a 2o dollar bill folded into a V and taped onto a blank card. Signed, "Love, Dad."

That V helped me frolic in the moment. Pizza and fro yo for me and a friend. A respite from Nietzsche, calculus, and other heavy things.

Sometimes, it's the simplest gifts and expressions that help us frolic, I think.

A lot of work being done

I am extremely tired.
And it's much later than my usual bed time. And I'm writing a blog post.

After Amy's wonderful day of workshop today, I segued into opening my studio for Santa Ana's monthly Art Walk. Two of the best things I overheard during the art walk were as follows:

1. Two young girls pointing to works they liked in the studio to their dad, with one saying "I'd like to have that one hang in my bedroom."

Art connects and works with someone or it doesn't. And when my art connects with a tender young person who vocalizes the connection to her father ... well ... it's very special.

2. A cohort of young men viewing and talking amongst themselves about the art with one of them saying to the group: "There's a lot of work being done in this studio."

Yes. There is a lot of work being done. It felt so good to overhear a complete stranger validate the fact that making art, and all the other activities related to making art is work, and that I have been doing a lot of it.

Off to bed I go.
For another full day tomorrow.
Because art ... making it, facilitating it, discussing it, teaching it ... it is my work.
And even in this state of being tired, I am grateful that there is a lot of it being done in my studio.