When I was about 12, I went to an artist talk given by Robert Indiana (RIP) in Charleston, SC. Like everyone at the talk, I was there to see the man who’d created the LOVE sculpture that was so famous, posters of it were on sale in Woolworth’s, just down the street.
For many of us in Charleston, Robert Indiana was the first artist any of us had ever seen. It was like visiting the zoo and looking at a giraffe. But he was normal and not at all glistening and exotic. He shambled about on the stage and his manner was familiar, like one of my grade school teachers—the ones who taught English or history. He showed us slides. They were pictures of his studio in the SoHo neighborhood of New York. Other slides were of his latest works. He tried to explain them—what art was, and what it meant to be an artist.
He didn’t want to talk about LOVE, though. But the crowd wanted to talk about LOVE. So he talked about LOVE, and how it had become too famous for its own good. Artists shouldn’t seek fame, he said. Just do good work. That, and don’t move to New York—he’d been lucky enough to move to New York when it was cheap, in the 1950s. It had become too expensive, he said. Instead, do this: Create new spaces and communities that allow you to create new art.
He didn’t want to talk about LOVE, though. But the crowd wanted to talk about LOVE. So he talked about LOVE, and how it had become too famous for its own good. Artists shouldn’t seek fame, he said. Just do good work. That, and don’t move to New York—he’d been lucky enough to move to New York when it was cheap, in the 1950s. It had become too expensive, he said. Instead, do this: Create new spaces and communities that allow you to create new art.
