On the Subject of Opinion

These editorial articles express my opinion on things and people that inspire me.

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Opinion

The Labors of Love: A Creative Life

This spring, I gave a talk at Towson University to seniors preparing to undertake their BFA final projects. In preparing for the talk, I reflected on what I’ve learned about making art and being an artist. I thoroughly enjoyed writing and giving that talk, and I want to record some of my guiding principles here in my Labors of Love opinion section.

Pessimism robs ordinary people of their power


I’m starting out with the wooliest of my principles, because it was the first one I came to believe. For years, I’ve attributed this as an actual quote from Colin Wilson. In writing this post, I looked it up and found that it’s not a direct quote, but rather a paraphrase from a 2005 article:


In books on sex, crime, psychology and the occult, and in more than a dozen novels, Mr. Wilson has explored how pessimism can rob ordinary people of their powers.
Brad Spurgeon, Aug. 17, 2005

When I read this in August of 2005, a light switch flipped on in my brain. Pessimism is poison.

I made a rule about my online persona, which is to always be positive. I do not argue with people online, and I do not post negative comments on social media. I use this blog to amplify the positive things in my life—and I try to do this offline, too.

I cannot prove to you that the Law of Attraction is a real universal law like gravity or photosynthesis. My experience has led me to believe that it works—and I think that’s how it’s supposed to be. You try it, and you decide for yourself. I could point to Albert Einstein, who reportedly believed something similar. It may also be that I have advantages that make it easier for me to “manifest” things. And yes, bad things happen to people all over the world, every day.

Popularized by Rhonda Byrne in The Secret (and before that Abraham-Hicks), the Law of Attraction states that we attract to ourselves whatever we most think about. I’ve written about LoA previously. Focusing on negative feelings and experiences generates more negative experiences and reinforces negative feelings. For me, there are far worse things than trying to live a positive life, and thinking positive thoughts. Even if reality itself isn’t altered, your experience of it certainly can be.

I have spent years actively experimenting with this – it’s as close to a religious practice as I’ve come (meditation is my spiritual practice). I will tell you: my life has improved. I find value in this, and continue to work with these principles. It is part of my way in this life.

I bring this principle to this artistic website: Always be positive.

What do you want?

Goals and deadlines are great things.

You can’t manifest anything unless you know what you want. What you really want, in the secret places of your heart.

Do you want to direct films? Or be a published novelist? Do you want to make all your own clothes, or run an artist co-op? It’s really important to get clear about what you want.

It might be that you just want to be an artist. What is an artist? I think an artist is someone who makes art. That’s it. Is there a difference between a craftsperson and an artist and a designer? Who cares? That question feels irrelevant to me. The real question is, what lights you up? Do you want write romance stories? Are you a poet? Do you sing?

Once I figured out my paper cut dioramas, I felt like I made a great discovery. I felt awake, and excited. After awhile, I asked myself, now what? I have this thing I love – what should I do next?

That same week, I went to a talk in Baltimore, and a friend introduced me to an art professor as “an artist,” having seen my dioramas. The professor asked what my goals were and seemed surprised when I said I wasn’t interested in selling them—I just wanted to show them.
“So refreshing,” she said.

She told me to make a packet with photos and short descriptions of my pieces, including the medium, size and year made. She suggested three galleries in town that accept “quirky” work. That same week, I assembled photos of the 11 dioramas I had created. I included a short, polite cover letter and attached my resume.

Within weeks, I heard from two of the three galleries, and that’s how I got started. Without that concrete goal, I might not have ever begun to show my work. As for the third gallery, I met the curator a few years later, and we became dear friends.

Use up all your ideas


Ideas are creative currency that need to be spent. Hoarding them accomplishes nothing, yet executing an idea produces new work and usually leads to more ideas.

Many years ago, I was in a band called Bazooka Joe. I played drums and sang, but also wrote songs for the band. I was just starting out in the world as an adult, and I had a lot of growing up to do.

I used to go to our practice space by myself and write songs, playing guitar and bass. I wrote several particularly good guitar riffs. At the time, I thought they weren’t right for Bazooka Joe, so I didn’t share them. I figured I’d record them myself someday.

In hindsight, I should have brought those ideas to the band. They would have made my ideas better. Instead, those songs now only exist on an old cassette in a shoebox in my basement. No one has heard them. Had I shared them, the band might’ve taken new musical paths. Whatever spark those ideas held has faded.

As a visual artist, I work all the time. I get an idea, execute it in some form, and write about it here. Often, more ideas come as I work. I document them in my sketchbook and keep going.

At the very least, once I finishing a work, there’s room inside my head for the next thing.

Make your best work and put it where people can find it

Austin Kleon wrote this in his book Steal Like an Artist. It’s obvious once you hear it: Let people discover you. Put your work where folks can find it.

If you don’t already have your own domain name and website, I recommend getting one. Email me if you don’t know how.

The diagram above shows a typical online presence, with some of the tools available to you. I suggest that a website should be at the heart of anyone’s online presence, artistically speaking. This is an older graphic I made for another talk that I gave, and it demonstrates my point. Twitter no longer exists in the form it did when I made this image. And Substack has become a popular thing for people to use. Platforms come and go. Your website can and should outlast them all. This website predates most of the services shown in that image.

Perfection is a trap

If I waited for every idea to be completely formed in my head before I started working on the (recording/film/animation/story/drawing/comic/diorama/zine), or if I tried to make the art be “perfect” before I shared it, I would never finish anything. In all likelihood, I would never even start. The is something very authentic in letting some “mistakes” survive our artistic processes. I think a lot of my identity is seated here. It’s viable, even vital, expression. Let it rip! Get onto the next thing. We do not get to know how much time we have.

Keep going

As I just wrote, we do not get to know how much time we have. We cannot look ahead, only back.

We can’t know how close we are to achieving our goals. If you decide to throw in the towel while you are in the game, you might just be a few feet away an artistic touchdown, and you wouldn’t know it. We cannot see what’s just ahead of us, so keep going!

Show up

Go to things, talk with people.

Almost every major opportunity I’ve had began with a handshake, a conversation, or an introduction. I am an introvert, and every evening spent at home in my studio with my wife and the dogs feels like heaven. Still, I go to things, and I talk with people, and I’m always glad I did.

Make as much work as possible

This is the cousin of “Use up all your ideas.” Not only will you get more ideas, but you’ll learn about yourself. Aren’t we always evolving and growing? I hope so—and making a lot of work helps us see that evolution.

At the very least, you will have a good time.

I work in cycles: periods of intense productivity followed by rest. Even while resting, things percolate in the back of my mind. I need both parts of the cycle—and I feel no shame about that.

I keep sketchbooks and composition books for all my pursuits. I have one dedicated solely to documenting song ideas using guitar effects, with notes on the pedal chain setup so I don’t forget.

I often wake up in the middle of the night after a few hours of sleep. It’s not uncommon that I walk down the hall to my studio and work for an hour or so, by which time I can get back to sleep. It’s time well spent, and when I’m extra motivated, I will spend time working in the studio for an hour before work. An hour spent working every day ends up being 7 hours a week – that’s about a full work day. It adds up!

I am a creature that responds very well to deadlines, so I’m always on the lookout for opportunities to exhibit art and screen films at festivals. I rarely will pay a fee to be considered for an art exhibit. I believe those costs should be covered by the gallery. A lot of them seem to be fleecing artists. Animation/film festivals are a little different. It costs money to produce a festival (especially ones that’s aren’t in a public park under a gazebo). But those costs add up, and they often don’t produce a screening. That, as my dad used to say, is showbiz.

I am a creature of habit, and I will habitually spend time in my studio working through a backlog of ideas while waiting for the next BIG idea to land. At this point, I probably have more ideas than I can execute, although I will certainly try. Habit, then, is yet another tool I rely on to be productive.

What does success look like?

You decide! This connects directly to your goals—and goals evolve.

I consider myself to be a successful artist (Remember, an artist is someone who makes art). Art allows me to express myself, and create joy in my life. I am happy.

“What about money,” you might ask. “Do you make a living at this?”

No. I have a day job for that.

And I like having one—it lets me be an artist. I have health insurance and can afford the modest supplies I use. I can take risks with my art because I’m not financially dependent on selling it. That freedom is wonderful.

I’ve learned a lot from my jobs—how to use technology, communicate, manage complex projects, write clearly. All of that makes me a better artist.

In the early days of Bazooka Joe, I didn’t always have a job. It was awful. We made weird, difficult music. It wasn’t going to pay the bills. We tried to get signed to noise labels. I released our music on my tape label. Releasing music and touring takes money.

I love selling my work, and having it out in the world. And the money I earn from this work goes right back into my art.

But art is my preoccupation, not my occupation.

Let’s revisit the question, “Do you make a living at this?”

Make a living.

I make art because the making of art makes my life better. It’s my joie de vivre, my joy of living. Art has saved my life, and at one point, was the antidote to suicide. Art gives me purpose, and it’s my preoccupation.

I will argues that I do make a living as an artist – I keep living my life. I’m literally making my life.

Make work as though no one is watching

Make things just for yourself, with no intention of sharing. Doing this regularly helps me connect with and express my authentic voice. It’s unselfconscious play.

It’s worth noticing what we’re attracted to. I used to collect images that inspired me—other artists’ work, design, images of 1950s ephemera, etc. I’ve got gigabytes of reference material. There’s a reason Pinterest is successful. The things that resonate with us say something about who we are. That can help us bring out our own voice.

Be so good they cannot ignore you

I heard Steve Martin say this (I’m paraphrasing here):

“When someone asks me how do you make it in show business or whatever, how do you get an agent, I always say this: Be so good they can’t ignore you.”

~Steve Martin to Charlie Rose

I love that advice, and it makes sense.

Conclusion

I hope this was helpful, or at least interesting to you. Writing these things down helps me organize my own thoughts, and lets me inventory some of the things I’ve learned.

Keep going! I will, too.

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Opinion

The History and Cultural Value of Modest Art (Les Arts Modestes)

Modest Art (Les Arts Modestes) represents a significant artistic approach that emerged in the latter part of the 20th century, presenting a notable challenge to established hierarchies within the art world. At its core, this perspective champions the artistic merit of “marginal creations and the peripheral territories of art” 1, thereby encompassing a diverse range of objects and practices that have historically been excluded from the conventional understanding of “high art.” Hervé Di Rosa stands as the central figure in the development and promotion of Modest Art. His pivotal role includes co-founding the Musée International des Arts Modestes (MIAM) in Sète, France, which serves as a crucial institution dedicated to showcasing and exploring this artistic viewpoint. This report aims to thoroughly examine the history of Modest Art, to delineate its defining characteristics and principles, to analyze its cultural significance within the broader art landscape, and to contextualize its relationship with other contemporary artistic movements. The very designation “Modest Art” suggests a deliberate move away from the frequently ostentatious and commercially focused nature often observed in the contemporary art scene. Hervé Di Rosa himself articulated this sentiment, stating that the term “modest” arose as a reaction against the “certain pretentiousness in the contemporary art world”.3 This choice of terminology is not arbitrary; it reflects a conscious critical stance towards the prevailing norms of the art establishment. Furthermore, the initial definitions of Modest Art consistently emphasize its inclusive and boundary-breaking nature, with a clear focus on elements traditionally relegated to the periphery. Terms such as “marginal creations,” “peripheral territories,” and the encouragement of an “open outlook on all forms of art” 1 immediately establish inclusivity as a foundational principle of this artistic approach.

The definition of Modest Art, as revealed through various sources, is characterized by its dynamic and evolving nature, resisting rigid categorization. It is frequently described not as a fixed “concept” or a defined “movement,” but rather as “a way of renewing the definition of art and extending its field”.2 This approach seeks to draw “the spectator’s attention to marginal creations” 1, encompassing a diverse array of “objects that evade all classifications”.2 Notably, Modest Art embraces both “mass-produced objects and unique creations” 2, often attributing significant “emotional worth” to items with “little monetary value”.5 Hervé Di Rosa clarifies that “modest” should not be interpreted as denoting “humble” or “poor,” but instead represents a deliberate counterpoint to artistic pretension.3 This perspective underscores the emphasis on “feelings, desire and all the things that have no place in a theoretical context”.3 Di Rosa further outlines specific criteria for appreciating Modest Art, including the creator’s intrinsic motivation to produce the object, a lack of concern for established art historical narratives, and an intention to imbue life with beauty.3 The continuous process of redefining and expanding the boundaries of what constitutes art is central to understanding Modest Art. Multiple sources explicitly state that it serves as “a way of renewing the definition of art and extending its field”.2 This suggests an ongoing re-evaluation and inclusion of artistic expressions that might have been previously overlooked. Moreover, Modest Art directly challenges the traditional gatekeepers of the art world, such as museums, critics, and historical narratives, by consciously focusing on artistic forms and practices that these authorities have historically marginalized or deemed insignificant.4 The aim to be “understood by everyone” 2 reveals a strong democratic impulse underlying Modest Art, striving to dismantle the barriers of specialized knowledge or theoretical understanding often associated with contemporary art.

The genesis of the term “Modest Art” can be traced back to a specific moment in 1988. Following Hervé Di Rosa’s exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art, a child, upon exiting, referred to it as the “modest Museum of Art”.2 This seemingly simple observation resonated profoundly with Di Rosa, serving as a catalyst for his growing recognition of the artistic value inherent in everyday objects and his desire to legitimize their presence within the established art world.2 Prior to this pivotal moment, Di Rosa had already established himself as a significant figure in the “Figuration Libre” movement since the 1980s.4 This movement was characterized by its vibrant, illustrative style, drawing inspiration from diverse sources such as comics, graffiti, and popular culture. “Figuration Libre” emerged within the French art scene as a response to international artistic trends and initially faced a mixed reception, with some critics dismissing it as “banality and vulgarity”.5 Di Rosa’s early involvement with “Figuration Libre,” with its existing inclination towards popular culture, laid the groundwork for his subsequent exploration and formalization of the concept of Modest Art as a broader and more inclusive artistic perspective.5 The fact that the term “Modest Art” originated from a child’s innocent remark highlights the potential for a direct and unpretentious engagement with art, contrasting sharply with the often intricate theoretical frameworks that can surround contemporary artistic practices. This anecdote underscores the core values of Modest Art: accessibility and a focus on genuine, perhaps even naive, appreciation. Furthermore, Di Rosa’s background in “Figuration Libre,” a movement that already embraced elements of popular culture and challenged conventional artistic norms, provided a natural progression towards his development of Modest Art as a more comprehensive philosophy. His experience within this earlier movement likely shaped his broader interest in artistic expressions that existed outside the traditional art historical canon and his desire to find value in the mundane and the marginalized. The initial negative critical response to Di Rosa’s work and “Figuration Libre” suggests that his subsequent advocacy for Modest Art was also a form of resistance against established artistic tastes and a deliberate endeavor to redefine the boundaries of what is considered valuable or worthy of artistic consideration. This historical context reveals a consistent theme throughout Di Rosa’s artistic journey: a persistent willingness to question and challenge the prevailing norms of the art world.

Modest Art is defined by several key characteristics and principles that distinguish it from more conventional artistic approaches. A fundamental aspect is its inclusivity, which involves embracing a wide spectrum of objects and practices, ranging from “popular figures” and “action figures” to “amateur paintings,” “devotional objects,” “tourist objects,” “advertising signs,” “body arts,” and “imagery of video games”.2 This inclusivity extends to a rejection of hierarchy, challenging the traditional distinctions between “high” and “low” art and asserting that “each [form of art has] its value”.14 Emotional resonance is another crucial principle, with Modest Art prioritizing the emotional and personal connection that individuals form with objects, emphasizing “feelings, desire” 3 and a “spontaneous, of-the-moment delight”.5 The creator’s intent is also highly valued, recognizing the intrinsic motivation behind the creation (“the creator’s need to make the object”) and the desire to “embellish life, of making something pretty, rather than beautiful”.3 Furthermore, Modest Art exhibits a disregard for art historical precedent, showing a lack of preoccupation with traditional art history or the need for innovation within that established framework.3 Ultimately, Modest Art aims for accessibility, striving to be an art form that “rejects nothing and can be understood by everyone”.2 These defining features indicate that Modest Art fundamentally re-evaluates the criteria for artistic value, shifting the emphasis from formal aesthetics and historical significance to personal connection, emotional impact, and the very act of creation. This represents a significant departure from traditional art criticism, which often relies on formal analysis, historical context, and market performance. Modest Art, in contrast, empowers individuals to discover artistic merit in unexpected places and forms based on their own experiences and feelings. The deliberate inclusion of mass-produced and often commercially driven objects within the realm of art further challenges the traditional art world’s focus on originality and uniqueness. This prompts a reconsideration of the artistic potential inherent in everyday material culture, aligning with broader cultural trends that explore the intersection of art, commerce, and popular culture. The emphasis on accessibility and the desire for art that can be understood by a wide audience suggests a democratic impulse, aiming to dismantle the barriers of specialized knowledge and make art more inclusive and relatable. This principle stands in contrast to the often-exclusive nature of the contemporary art world, indicating a desire to connect with viewers on a more direct and personal level.

The Musée International des Arts Modestes (MIAM), established in Sète, France, in 2000 by Hervé Di Rosa and Bernard Belluc, stands as the primary institutional embodiment of the principles of Modest Art.4 MIAM’s mission centers on showcasing “fringe and unorthodox work,” examining the dynamic relationship between high and popular culture, and transcending traditional boundaries that often separate artistic genres and cultural expressions.4 The museum’s collection and exhibitions feature a remarkably diverse range of objects and creations, including toys, gadgets, comics, traditional art forms, naïve art, raw art, psychedelic art, cinema, and commercial art.4 Notable exhibitions, such as “Archipelago Hervé Di Rosa,” have presented extensive selections from MIAM’s holdings, further mapping the expansive territory of Modest Art.2 MIAM also houses the Bernard Belluc collection, comprising thousands of objects that exemplify modest art, predominantly toys, small figures, and gadgets.15 Described as a “laboratory open to artists of all horizons” 16 and a “place for debate and dialogue” 9, MIAM is deeply committed to breaking down artistic barriers and fostering cultural diversity. The creation of MIAM represents a significant step in legitimizing Modest Art within the art world, providing a dedicated space for its exhibition, study, and public engagement, thereby elevating its status within the broader cultural landscape. Without a physical museum specifically devoted to its principles, Modest Art might have remained a more abstract or niche concept. MIAM offers a tangible center for its dissemination and recognition. Furthermore, the diverse and unconventional nature of MIAM’s collection and exhibitions directly reflects the core tenets of Modest Art, showcasing the artistic merit found in a wide array of often-overlooked objects and practices. The museum serves as a living demonstration of the principles of Modest Art, illustrating its practical application through its curatorial choices. MIAM’s dedication to being a space for discussion and exchange indicates a proactive and critical engagement with the very definitions and boundaries of art, positioning Modest Art as an ongoing dialogue rather than a fixed or static category. This dynamic aspect of MIAM reinforces the idea that Modest Art is not a rigid movement but a continuous process of re-evaluation and expansion.

The cultural significance of Modest Art lies primarily in its challenge to established art world norms and its promotion of a more inclusive and democratic understanding of artistic value.2 It has played a crucial role in blurring the traditional distinctions between “high” and “low” culture, encouraging an appreciation for forms of creative expression often marginalized by mainstream art institutions and critics.1 Modest Art fosters an open and curious approach to all forms of artistic expression, valuing the personal and emotional connections that individuals form with art, regardless of its formal training or market value.1 It also holds the potential to democratize art appreciation by validating the artistic merit of objects and creations that are accessible and relatable to a wider audience, thereby challenging the exclusivity often associated with the contemporary art world.2 Hervé Di Rosa’s intention for Modest Art to be “an art which rejects nothing and can be understood by everyone” 2 underscores its inclusive and accessible nature. The primary cultural significance of Modest Art resides in its radical inclusivity and its challenge to the often-exclusionary nature of the traditional art world. This prompts a re-evaluation of what constitutes artistic value and who holds the authority to define it. By championing marginalized forms and everyday objects, Modest Art disrupts established hierarchies and opens up the possibility for a more diverse and representative understanding of artistic expression. The emphasis on emotional resonance and personal connection within Modest Art can cultivate a more direct and meaningful engagement with art for individuals who might feel disconnected from more academic or conceptually driven forms of contemporary art. This focus on individual experience has the potential to democratize art appreciation, shifting the emphasis away from expert knowledge and towards personal impact and relatability. Furthermore, by blurring the lines between “high” and “low” culture, Modest Art reflects and contributes to a broader cultural trend that questions rigid categorizations and embraces a more fluid and interconnected understanding of cultural production, potentially leading to a richer and more dynamic cultural landscape. This aligns with postmodern and post-structuralist critiques of hierarchical cultural structures and suggests a move towards a more egalitarian valuation of different forms of creative expression.

Modest Art engages in a dialogue with various other contemporary art movements, sharing certain affinities while maintaining its distinct characteristics. In comparison to Pop Art, both movements exhibit an interest in popular culture and mass-produced objects. However, Pop Art often employs irony and commentary on consumerism in a more explicit manner, whereas Modest Art tends to focus more on the emotional and personal significance of these items.3 Regarding Art Brut (Outsider Art), there is a shared appreciation for art created outside the traditional academic and professional structures. However, Modest Art distinguishes itself by including mass-produced items and encompassing a broader range beyond self-taught artists in marginalized conditions.3 In relation to Naïve Art and Folk Art, there is an overlap in valuing non-academic approaches and often depicting everyday life. However, Modest Art adopts a more theoretical and consciously inclusive stance.4 Within the broader context of contemporary art, Modest Art stands as a significant current, reflecting the diversity and ongoing questioning of traditional norms and definitions that characterize the field.4 While Modest Art shares common ground with other contemporary art movements that challenge traditional hierarchies and engage with popular culture, its specific emphasis on the emotional and personal significance of a wide range of often-overlooked objects distinguishes it as a unique artistic approach. This comparative analysis helps to delineate the specific niche that Modest Art occupies within the broader art historical context, highlighting its unique contribution to contemporary artistic discourse. The inclusion of mass-produced objects as a defining feature of Modest Art sets it apart from movements like Art Brut, which typically focus on unique creations by individuals outside the mainstream. This difference underscores Modest Art’s engagement with consumer culture and the artistic potential found in everyday manufactured items. This distinction is crucial for understanding the scope and intent of Modest Art, which extends beyond individual artistic expression to consider the cultural significance of mass-produced objects.

Here is a link to the html version of the above image.

In conclusion, the history of Modest Art is marked by its serendipitous naming in 1988 and its subsequent formal articulation and championing by Hervé Di Rosa, culminating in the establishment of MIAM. Its core principles revolve around inclusivity, the valuation of emotional resonance and personal connection, and a fundamental rejection of traditional art world hierarchies and exclusionary practices. Modest Art’s cultural significance lies in its role as a catalyst for broadening the definition of art, promoting accessibility, and encouraging a more democratic and personal engagement with creative expression. In a world increasingly saturated with mass culture and where the boundaries of artistic expression continue to evolve, Modest Art remains a relevant and critical approach, prompting us to reconsider where and how we find artistic value.

Works cited

  1. jimdoran.art, accessed May 13, 2025, https://jimdoran.art/opinion/rethinking-modest-art#:~:text=What%20are%20the%20Modest%20Arts,high%20culture%20and%20popular%20culture.
  2. On the Subject of… Opinion pages – Page 2 of 5 – Jim Doran, accessed May 13, 2025, https://jimdoran.art/category/opinion/page/2
  3. Rethinking Modest Art – Jim Doran, accessed May 13, 2025, https://jimdoran.art/opinion/rethinking-modest-art
  4. Archipelago Hervé Di Rosa | MAAT, accessed May 13, 2025, https://www.maat.pt/en/exhibition/archipelago-herve-di-rosa
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  6. Hervé Di Rosa : L’art modeste – Les presses du réel (book), accessed May 13, 2025, https://www.lespressesdureel.com/EN/ouvrage.php?id=2289&menu=0
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  9. A Riveting Conversation with Hervé Di Rosa — Arte Realizzata, accessed May 13, 2025, https://www.arterealizzata.com/interviews/a-riveting-conversation-with-herve-di-rosa
  10. ? Hervé Di Rosa | Buy Artwork & Bio – Art Shortlist, accessed May 13, 2025, https://artshortlist.com/en/artist/herve-di-rosa
  11. Idols and Treasures 2020 – 2024 | TEMPLON, accessed May 13, 2025, https://www.templon.com/exhibitions/tresors-et-idoles-2020-2024/
  12. Plus jamais seul Hervé Di Rosa et les arts modestes From October 22th 2016 to January … – la maison rouge, accessed May 13, 2025, https://archives.lamaisonrouge.org/en/exhibitions-past-detail/activities/plus-jamais-seul-br-herve-di-rosa-et-les-arts-modestes/
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  15. MUSÉE INTERNATIONAL DES ARTS MODESTES (MIAM) | Arts and culture | Tourist Office Sète, accessed May 13, 2025, https://en.tourisme-sete.com/musee-international-des-arts-modestes-miam-sete.html
  16. MIAM • Musée International des Arts Modestes à Sète ( 34 – Hérault France), accessed May 13, 2025, https://miam.org/
  17. Home – Riera Studio, accessed May 13, 2025, https://blog.rierastudioart.com/ARCHIPELAGO-HERV%C3%89-DI-ROSA
  18. Contemporary Art versus Modern Art – Sarah Ransome Art, accessed May 13, 2025, https://www.sarahransomeart.com/blog/contemporary-art-vs-modern-art
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My Effin’ Life

I listened to Geddy Lee read his memoir called My Effin’ Life.

One summer when I was in middle school, everyone was talking about Rush, and in particular, the song Tom Sawyer. My pal and neighbor Allan Kistler gave me a cassette of Moving Pictures. I cannot remember my initial impression, other than it sounded… alien to me. I did not have much context for rock music. Rush quickly became my favorite band. They were the first band I discovered organically, and whose recording I identified with as “my kind of music,” along with Cheap Trick.

I bought a cassette of their live album Exit Stage Left. They were touring to support that album, and somehow, I managed to get tickets to see them at the Capital Center outside of Washington, D.C. My dad and I shared a love of virtuoso drumming, especially Buddy Rich. Neil Peart was an easy sell for dad.

Hugh Welton was a fellow drummer at school that I was friendly with. As I remember the story, Hugh was going to see this show with Mark B., another drummer in our neighborhood. Mark reneged on his word, and Hugh was distraught. In his desperation, Hugh wrote to Neil Peart and asked if he could help him get tickets, as the show was sold out at this point. A few weeks later, he received a hand written post card from Neil that said “I’m sorry to hear this happened. I don’t have tickets, but maybe this postcard will help?”

We were speechless. The photo on the front of the card shows Neil playing his drums on a river, a reference to Tom Sawyer. I think, on some level, this connection with such a colossal celebrity must have factored into my reaching out to Steve Vai many years later.

I felt bad for Hugh, and I invited him to go with my mom, dad and myself. That set up one of the greatest friendships of my young life. It was my first ever rock concert. I have this memory of walking through the halls of the Capital Center, and as we walked to our seats, the darkness erupted with lights and smoke and The Spirit of Radio. My jaw dropped – I was so happy to be there.

Hugh and I attended many concerts together after that (including several more Rush shows), and spent many a weekend listening to music and partying with our friends. Hugh was very kind to me, and we made many discoveries in our adolescent years together.

I spent many hours playing drums along with Exit Stage Left, and Moving Pictures. I learned a great deal about drumming from those recordings, and I think they set my up for my work with Bazooka Joe after college. But even as Rush was very influential during my formative drumming years, I was not really a super fan in the sense that I knew very much about them.

I loved the first half of My Effin’ Life. I enjoyed hearing Geddy tell his stories. It is well written. I teared up several times (his account of his parents’ trials in the concentration camps, meeting Neil for the first time, etc.). He made me laugh out loud several times, too.

I found the second half of the book to be somewhat tiresome, and lacking the care taken with the first half. Geddy shifts his tone toward that last part of the book, and it lost the depth generously provided in the first half. I suspect he’s guarding his privacy around the later Rush years, as they are closer to the present moment. I would have liked to learn more about his collections, non-Rush things, and non-musical obsessions. Perhaps those are covered in his bass guitars book, which I doubt I will read. I think this is the last Rush book I’ll put my eyes into.

I’m sure die hard Rush fans probably love the second half of the book. I do not know the albums/tours covered. I found myself wondering “How much more of this do I have to listen to?” Did Mr. Lee’s editorial budget only apply to the first half of the book? Elvis Costello’s Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink also felt too long to me, and both men lost my attention in their telling. Yet, I persevered and made it to the end, where there are previously unreleased solo demos, which is a neat thing to include.

I was shocked to learn about the amount of drugs Rush consumed. I had the impression that they might sip a Canadian beer from time to time. I hopped into some of the newer albums on my streaming service, as Geddy talked through how they came into existence. None of them did much for me, sadly. Clockwork Angels, for example, is Geddy’s favorite record, as I heard him mention in an interview. I gave it a spin, and I should probably give it several listens before forming my opinion. And yet. I do not want to do several more listens.

This book certainly is a gift to the true Rush fan. I appreciate learning about what Rush were doing leading up to and during the years 1980-85. Moving Pictures remains one of my favorite all time records. And Rush hold a special place in my musical background – enough so for me to bother with this post.

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The Labors of Love: Drawing

Back in 2008, I started a sketchblog on a domain that I no longer own. The original post is still on this site, and I imported the drawings that I had publicly shared into this blog after I stopped using that site.

I started drawing as a little boy. Obviously, I still draw. I say obviously more to myself than you, as there were great stretches of time when I did not regularly draw. Up to today, however, I have been drawing regularly since 2007.

When I was a child, adults tended to tell children that they could become anything they wanted to be when they “grew up.” My initial answer to that question was that I wanted to be any of the following:

  1. An automobile, or
  2. A 50′ tall skeleton

This was followed briefly by wanted to be bionic, and failing that, a giant robot. A little later, when I had a better understanding of the assignment, I knew that I wanted to be “an artist.”

I went through three distinct artistic periods of development as a youngster. Originally, I wanted to draw things and be a visual artist. I drew all the time – in notebooks, textbooks, on the backs of placemats in restaurants that used paper placemats, and on the backs of my dad’s old office documents.

The other periods that followed: I wanted to be a writer. I discovered my love of books thanks to The Hobbit, which I devoured in 6th grade. Inspired by weekend games of Dungeons and Dragons, I wrote fantasy and horror stories. I won a middle school writing contest, and was sent to a “Gifted and Talented” creative writing camp at St. Mary’s College the summer after 8th grade. I believe it was my college essay submitted with my application to Washington College that opened that door for me. It certainly wasn’t my high school academic performance.

My creative ambition then shifted into music, which I’ve written about extensively elsewhere on this site. I’ve been playing drums since my early days in elementary school, but I became more interested in music as a social passport in middle/high school.

I’ve carried these disciplines with me through life, and I came to learn early in my adult life that they are all the same thing. Which is to say, the modalities and final output might be different, but my core approach to them uses the same part of my thinking, and self.

My ability to write music, and frankly to understand any formal structures (music theory applied to composition, plot, visual composition, etc.) allowed me to quickly become good at making CAD drawings, to understand and work with complex relationships in database design, and to able to write programs in half a dozen computer languages. The periods when I was not actively drawing were offset by learning the magic of the Internet. Again, in my brain, it is all the same. Making an album is very similar to completing an animated story, or putting together a comic. All of this is similar to the complexity involved in making a website: gathering the content, designing a great experience for website visitors, writing the SQL queries and stored procedures to manage that data, monitoring the site’s usability, and maintaining the underlying technologies.

Returning to the topic of the sketchblog – when I wrapped that up in 2009, I had accomplished something. Aside from the several Moleskine notebooks I filled, I was empowered by the act of daily drawing, and had uncovered a new creative path to follow. Sometime after that, I started a daily photoblog, which I maintained for about two and half years. Again, I saw my daily life in a new way, and had a new appreciation for seeing my world. The output actually didn’t matter as much as the act of pausing in my day and just seeing (or, being present). During the pandemic, I began writing music everyday. Once again, I made key-to-me discoveries, and developed new approaches to music making that are vital to me now. I recommend this practice for anyone interested in any medium or modality.

In Rick Ruben’s excellent book The Creative Act, he suggests that ideas have a time, and when we encounter an idea, then that idea’s time has come. If we do not act upon that idea, someone else will.

Over the past 6 months, I keep bumping into and rubbing up against drawing. Certain themes and ideas keep jumping out at me, and I will not ignore them.

Reading Drawings

This title jumped out at me when we visited Second Story books, and I could see layers of meaning in it.

I intend to draw every day in 2025, but this is a slightly different pursuit than my first sketchblog. I’ll share more as it is revealed to me, but I wanted to put my intention down in writing here.

A final thought: kids know how to draw. Eventually, through their parents or society, they may come to believe that they cannot draw, and maybe they stop. This is a common scenario, and I can point at specific times this happened to me. I became self-conscious and, in turn, self-critical— and not just of my drawings but of many other things. I’ve spent the past few years intentionally examining and pulling apart the “self-conscious + self-critical” knots on my self-imposed restraints. As the knots come loose, freedom and ease return, and space within myself becomes once again available. It’s the same space in which my younger self made unselfconscious drawings.

I’m going to use the tag dwgs for any work made as part of this campaign. My intuition is telling me that drawings will play an important part of 2025.

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Brothers

Van Halen had a big impact on me as a youngster. I played Eruption for my dad when I first heard it, and he was impressed, which impressed me. I felt like I had made an important discovery. I had a poster of Eddie Van Halen in my bedroom, grinning out at me. He seemed to be encouraging me, somehow.

I wrote a chapter in my undergraduate thesis on Eddie Van Halen, and his importance to guitar, rock music, and the lasting influence his innovation brought to us. And, as I mentioned, the band Van Halen had a lasting impact on me. They were fantastic musicians, and brought a positive energy into my life that mirrored my adolescent existence.

I think Alex is underrated as a drummer. I think he perfectly matched Ed’s musicality, and her certainly inspired me as a young drummer. But, more importantly for me, the band Van Halen contained virtuosity, humor, brilliant innovation, excitement and “ShowBiz.”

I cried when Eddie died of cancer in 202o. I’ve never cried over the loss of a celebrity. And so, it was with great anticipation that I listened to Alex Van Halen read his book, Brothers.

It was nice hearing his voice – he sounds just like Eddie. This is by no means an exhaustive history of the band, and Wolfgang Van Halen is only mentioned once. It does give a lot of insight into addiction, how sensitive Ed was, and an honest appraisal of David Lee Roth’s role. I don’t have anything against Sammy Hagar, but I don’t listen to those records. I am glad he didn’t get into all that.

I think this book is a gift. Alex is a smart guy, and a good storyteller. And, it made me cry, once again. I loved it, and couldn’t stop listening.

My favorite quote, which took me by surprise, is:

“It takes a long time to sound like you.”
~Alex Van Halen

Finding one’s authentic voice, in other words, takes a long time and a lot of work.

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The Labors of Love: Music

When I was a kid, MTV played music, and it was like a drug. After school, if I wasn’t working my dishwashing job, I’d have cable on hoping to see Stewart Copeland and the Police, or Van Halen. My mom worked in another city, and my dad had long since moved out. I’d watch some MTV, go play drums, watch MTV, go play drums.

We had a pretty decent radio station in Annapolis, which seemed aligned with solid college radio programming. You could hear roots rock, folk, classical Indian music, along with the Ian Dury & The Blockheads. This was a healthy counterbalance to MTV.

As a kid, I didn’t listen to Kiss. My neighbor had the four solo albums with the cool portraits, where each band member was outlined in a neon glow. Frankly, when he played Kiss, I didn’t understand it. It sounded abrasive to me, and not in a good way. To this day, I haven’t heard those records.

I listened to what we had in the house – classical, some Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa albums, Dixieland, even marches recorded by the Naval Academy Band. I also had a Vince Guaraldi record, and The Ventures doing TV theme songs. That Ventures record made a big, lasting impression on me.

One summer, an older guy in my neighborhood told me about the Beatles – Abby Road and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. My parents had those records, so I went home and listened to them. I played along with them on the drums. He also told me about Cheap Trick, and the Beatles’ obvious influence on them. The first record I ever bought with my own money was One on One.

A few years later, I got to see them play, and even met them. Robin Zander asked that the name of my high school band was (It was Aces High), and said “Man, that’s a cool name.” What a nice man.

Around this time, a friend in the neighborhood gave me a copy of Rush’s Moving Pictures. My friends all loved Rush, and I think I was a little late to that party (I missed out on A Farewell to Kings, 2112, etc.). I bought a cassette of Exit Stage Left, which was the latest Rush album, and that was my first rock concert. My Dad took me and my pal Hugh. We had just found our seats when Spirit of Radio came to life. I was stunned! It was wonderful.

I wasn’t a great student. My parents divorced, my mom was continually stressed out, angry and mostly absent. I don’t blame her, she did her best to keep us afloat, and wanted to make a new life for herself. This left me mostly unsupervised.

I worked my jobs, went to school, played in the marching band, and I had my own rock band. I remember it as a continual caffeine-withdrawal-headache-slog, and music was the thing that kept me going. Most of my friends were really good drummers, and we met through the marching band. We pushed each other to become better musicians, and this pursuit, I believe, kept me from falling into using drugs. Also, I hated drugs, and I didn’t have much money.

Being in a band was also a pass into other, remote social circles. We played at parties, and were able to pass through, and even be accepted by, other communities: the rich kids, the “burn-outs,” the jocks, pretty girls, etc.

I spent the money I made washing dishes on records and blank cassettes. My friend Hugh had a huge record collection and a nice stereo, and he used to let me make tapes from his albums. Neil did, too. My friends all had nice drum sets, and we were inspired to play Rush, The Police, Iron Maiden, and Van Halen. I was also lucky in that our pal Will had both a 4-track recorder, and a tascam 8-track at his house. This opened up avenues of composing that were not available to other kids. My band wrote and recorded an original called Only got eyes for you.

I’ve talked about my original drum set elsewhere, a blue sparkle Japanese no name with lauan shells (above, in my friend’s bedroom). No matter how much I improved, or implored my dad to get something else, he never sprung for an upgrade. Or drum lessons, for that matter. One summer, my neighbor and buddy Chip invited me to work at his dad’s business. I worked 4 ten hour days, starting at 5 am, and made more than twice minimum wage. I also washed dishes on the weekends. I worked very hard that summer, and I made some good money. Enough to spend $150 on a beat up Tama Imperial Star platina finished 5 piece drum set (the snare was actually a pearl snare) from my guitarist, Eric Lee. It had two open bottom concert toms. I bought Hugh’s rototoms from him for $75. I felt like I had arrived! I took those drums to college with me, and used them while touring with Bazooka Joe (but I switched to a 4 piece), and recording with Diana Froley. I still have the original kick and floor tom. During the pandemic, I picked up another 12″ tom, as well as a second kick and snare. That kit was unbelievably reliable and durable. It was probably the best $150 I ever spent on music.

One day, my buddy Tim made me a mix tape of punk music that he got from his brother J, and the world seemed to open up for me. The music was energetic, fun, clever, and it didn’t require fancy equipment or gear. If MTV offered the illusion of culture and music which was unattainable to an uncertain, self conscious teenager, then punk was pure possibility. We bought polyester pants and work shirts from thrift stores, we rode skateboards, and punk became the soundtracks to our lives.

I played with Tonie Joy a few times (we went to the same middle and high schools) and we had a band called the 100th monkey for about two weeks. I still have a recording of our practices somewhere. However, I was in college, and the commute to play with him was too much for a guy without a car. I liked him a lot.

Music was the thing that got me through college, and I wrote about that elsewhere, so I won’t recap here. I had a band, and we progressed from doing all covers to writing our own songs. We even rented a house together after college, although we disbanded the same year.

During my junior year, I helped a graduating senior with his theater project by writing the music for Sam Shepard’s The Tooth of Crime, and then performing it with a band I put together. Here are a couple of pics from the after party.

After I graduated, I spent about five years working in “the music industry.” I was a buyer for local independent record stores and a wholesale music “One Stop” that sold to smaller mom -n- pop stores. I also wrote reviews for a couple of local free music monthly papers.

Me as a buyer in a record store

Being a music buyer meant that I got a lot of promotional recordings – sometimes as many as 60 a week. I would listen to some of it, and I sold most of it at Soundgarden in Baltimore. That doubled my income, and allowed me to build my first recording studio in my home (The Dead Chicken Ranch). I also brushed against the rich and famous – literally – Joan Jett leaned against me when we had a photo taken. I met Bootsy Collins at work, and Yo-Yo Ma. Anthony Kiedis called me “Jim ska la Jim.” I had lunch with Dave Mustaine from Megadeth, and he turned out to be really nice. I got into many, many shows, and also had friends at record labels, like Skene! Records, East Side Digital, Sub Pop, and Amphetamine Reptile.

I also joined Baltimore’s Bazooka Joe, with Jeff Caplin AKA “Guppy” and the late Kenneth Stanley Bauer Jr AKA “Stork.” I was given the name “Doorjam” by my friends Skizz and Meatpole. I went to my Bazooka Joe interview, after answering a ad found in the Baltimore City Paper, and immediately hit it off with Guppy. He was mild mannered, sweet, and extremely intelligent. They gave me a copy of their Ep, Two-Thirds and I was hooked.

Guppy is brilliant. He had synthesized Thurston Moore with Hüsker Dü and sprinkled Coltrane on top. He and I shared an interest in dissonance, and the three of us recorded Imbalance. We played a lot of shows up and down the east coast. We played in Virginia Beach, Baltimore, the Black Cat in Washington D.C., NYU in New York City, the 8×10 in Baltimore, and Max’s on Broadway. We played at The Gas Station, a punk venue located inside a former gas station at 194 East 2nd Street in Manhattan just before GG Allin’s last show there.

I think Bazooka Joe (the iteration with me in it, anyway) only had one record in us, and we more or less nailed it. I got sober while with these guys, and as I grew into adulthood, the anger/disillusionment/angst was replaced with contentment, peace, ambition, and some wisdom. Guppy and I are still close, and hang out several times a year.

I was in a few other bands, too. I had a ball playing bass with my pals Meatpole and Skizz in Blister Freak Circus.

I played drums for a band called Honeypump. Christoph and Julia Green (guitar and bass respectively) were originally the Maryland Stawberries (or something). They were good, solid song writers, and we clicked. We made a demo with Tony French at the Hatfactory, and played with Circus Lupus, Jawbox and the Judy Bats. If I remember correctly, I quit the band, but I can’t remember the reason. I don’t think I left on good terms, though.

If either of the Greens every read this, I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you. You both were great, and I still like the recording we made. I hope you are still rocking!

I met a fellow named Patrick O’Donnell when I was an extra on the set of John Water’s Serial Mom. Pat started a label called Skoda Records, and “discovered” Diana Froley while mastering the Bazooka Joe album Imabalance. He gave mer her CD You’re Not Broke but I’m Going to Fix You and I was immediately charmed by her. We ended up helping her put out Pet My Kitty, Mr. New York City, which was recorded at the Dead Chicken Ranch. We also formed the first iteration of Diana Froley and Pajama Party, with Rupert Wondolowski on bass.

About the time I was playing with Diana Froley, I got a job at a local nursing home + geriatric hospital as an “expressive therapist.” Diana had a degree in Art Therapy, I think, and encouraged me. I will always be grateful to Diana.

My duties consisted of facilitating drumming, pottery and art making groups in various adult populations (Adult day care, dementia, psych and the ventilator unit). I also conducted Tai Chi lessons and taught breathing exercises to people weening of the ventilators. I learned two important lessons with that job.

  1. I was terrified when I accepted the position. I wasn’t trained as a therapist, and the ventilator unit scared me. It smelled horrible, and many of the people were very sick. It was one of the scariest undertakings, and, I did this job and succeeded. I learned that I can do just about anything I really want to do.
  2. I observed some incredible phenomena while at this job. I was meditating a great deal with my Tai Chi breathing classes and it did wonders for me. I came to view music in a new way, too, which removed the ego from music for me, and decreased my desire to perform. Here’s what happened.

I walked onto the dementia unit with all my drums, and distributed them among the residents. There was a new man there. A nurse told me his name, and we began tapping out the rhythm of his name as a pulse. “Jeff-reee Tom-as Sull-eye-van. Jeff-reee Tom-as Sull-eye-van. Jeff-reee Tom-as Sull-eye-van.” That wasn’t his real name, just an example I made up for this post.

The man began saying his name along with the group as we played together. At the end of the session, a colleague rushed up to me and asked “How did you do that??? He had a stroke six months ago, and hasn’t spoken since. He’s been working with a speech pathologist.”

I hadn’t done anything, except lead the group in some rhythmic exercises. But this man was able to respond to the rhythm, and it was the rhythm that helped him traverse some mental pathway that he was unable to access previously. I was as amazed as my colleague. It changed that way I think about music, too. It let me separate my ego from music itself. I suddenly became uninterested in performing, which was just as well. I had a family to support, and needed to develop a career. So, I stepped into technology.

In the late 90’s, I began experimenting with looping samples and found sounds. I made a few recordings, but after we moved out of Baltimore city, I stopped pursing music.

I played drums for Patrick O’Donnell on three of his recordings. We tracked the drums for Cold Drinks at Inner Ear in Virginia. I never charged Patrick for my services, but I did get about 17 minutes of drum time at Inner Ear. Chad Clark (Smart Went Crazy, Beauty Pill) was the engineer, and provided the stems. It was a big deal for me to record there, and spend time in the studio that so many people that I admire from Discord have recorded.

As my kids started getting older, I focused more on my career, and sort of lost the thread of music.

After a hiatus of almost a decade, my musical self began to awaken again. I’ve always said that:

“It all comes from the same place: Music Theory helps composition, music composition feels a lot like the creative parts of computer programming, developing software is a lot like writing songs, putting an album of songs together feels a lot like make an art exhibit, making a solo art show is like assembling an animation, finishing an animated film is a lot like writing a novel, and on it goes.”

~ Me

I bought a house in Baltimore City in 2016, and began the next wave of my musical journey. I developed an interest in signal processing, effects pedals, and several digital audio work stations (DAWs) for home recording. I joined a surf band for a while, and I released my own recordings. I make my own soundtracks for my films.

A lot of that is documented in this blog, but here’s the part I’ve been leading up to. It wasn’t until the pandemic area that I began to find the confidence to express my own voice. My voice has evolved since high school and Bazooka Joe, even though I had stopped using it.

It takes a long time to sound like you.

It sounds ridiculous to say that, and yet it’s very true. And it’s the most satisfying aspect of all this.

When I was in my undergraduate program, I had several music and art history classes that ran concurrently. Baroque music/art, twentieth century music/art, German Expressionist art/music, and so on. The parallels between music and art was stunning – culturally, aesthetically, and philosophically, all these thinkers tended to be grappling with the same things using different mediums. And when I widened my gaze to allow for literature and poetry, it was no surprise to find the same threads running through that work.

I’ve spent many years working on my visual art. Drawing, primarily, is expressed throughout this website. My dioramas are quiet, and can be pursued late at night in silence. While focusing on career, my art satisfied my creative needs. And yet, I suspect my musical sensibilities were continuing to develop. Just as it’s possible to see undeniable similarities between German Expressionist painting and German Expressionist opera, I’ve found the threads of me runs through my visual art, music and animation. So obvious, as it’s me that does these things, and “the way you do anything is the way you do everything.”

Of course, I have many influences in my musical DNA, starting with my Dad, my professor Garry Clarke, lessons with Billy Martin, and Steve Vai’s influence.

I’ve talked about some very influential recordings elsewhere. But having more time to experiment has opened up new avenues of composing and improvising. It really did take a long time to get here, and I’m glad that I did.

Thanks for reading.

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