The Unknown Artist

on finding one's own place in the world as an artist, and the influence of one very special book

My very worn, well-loved copy of a most influential book. The author’s name is not on the cover.

Have you ever met a book that from the moment you first held it, tenderly opened it and began to read the words, you had an instant knowing that this would be a book you would return to again and again? I have had several, but today I want to tell you about one humble book that has not left my side since I found it. I pack it when I travel, I keep it by my reading chair, sometimes carry it to my nightstand, to my desk, to the bathroom, tuck it in my satchel, and mostly leave it unopened until I have a moment when I really need to soak in something familiar through the heavily dog-eared and annotated text within it. Its presence is enough.

For almost a decade now I have been studying and exploring Japanese aesthetics as a way to live my life as an artist, a way to be a creative and productive person in the world. It all began with one book that I came across in a second hand shop, The Unknown Craftsman by Sōetsu Yanagi. Even typing the words of the title and its author makes my heart swell; it has been that influential to the way I understand my place in the world and how I can contribute to the greater good through my own modest gifts and talents.

Sōetsu Yanagi was an art critic and philosopher (not unlike one of my other great influences, John Ruskin) who was born as the sun was shifting from Pisces to Aries in Tokyo, March 21, 1889. He also died in Tokyo, on May 3, 1961. In his seventy-two years he had immense influence on arts and craft in Japan, Korea, and around the world, writing several books and founding the folk art movement he called Mingei. Below are a few criteria of Mingei art and crafts:

• made by anonymous crafts people

• produced by hand in quantity

• inexpensive

• used by the masses

• functional in daily life

• representative of the region in which it was produced

His thoughts on these things remind me a bit of John Ruskin’s philosophy surrounding art and craft, but truly echo the western Arts & Crafts Movement championed by William Morris of England, as well as our own local philosopher and Arts & Crafts evangelist, Elbert Hubbard. As I read through The Unknown Craftsman the first time I was struck by these principles and they coaxed me to deeply reconsider my own philosophy surrounding art. I was also introduced to many other concepts in Japanese aesthetics, and came to understand that is was an encompassing philosophy that could provide a lifetime of exploration.  I found other books such as In Praise of Shadows, a 1933 essay by the author Jun'ichirō Tanizak and White, written by Kenya Hara, the art director of Muji. All have expanded my spirit, but The Unknown Craftsman is where I return, again and again.

One of the first things I did was to stop signing my name to my work. In Yanagi's view, when an artist or craftsperson signs his or her work, it draws attention to the individual rather than the piece of art or the craft itself. He believed, instead, in a humble approach where the artist or craftsman remains anonymous, allowing the work to speak for itself. Of course anonymity is not entirely possible in the way I create and share my work with others; if I am sharing it on social media, for example, it’s obvious that it is mine. Removing my name from the actual work was a simple step that felt right. Instead, I have a small selection of hand-carved stamps of symbols, meaningful to me, that I emboss onto the paper in a way that compliments the work itself. I do regularly create small works that are completely unsigned that I leave near bookshop cash registers, on a table in a café, or now and again hang from a tree-limb on a well-worn path. That feels right, too.

An example of shibui, mono no aware and wabi-sabi. This Red Clay Jar was excavated in Nagano City and is from the second half of the Yayoi Period, 2nd-3rd century. It is in the collection of the Japan Folk Arts Museum, founded by Yanagi.

Another concept that I took in was to stop entering my work into juried exhibitions, or contests of any kind. When I was first beginning I was led to believe I needed to do these things to make my way in the “art” world, but even before I had read Yanagi’s work, the experiences I had did not settle within me very well. I clearly recall having two of my works in a juried show that was being judged by artist Thomas Schaller, whose work I admire a great deal. One of my paintings received an award and some kind words from Schaller, but as I looked around at all of the art that didn’t receive an award that day it was so clear to me to that mine paled in comparison to the skill and beauty to some of those works—at least in my eyes. And that’s just the point: my piece was accepted into the show by a small group of subjective opinions, and then won an award because of the subjective opinion of one man. It didn’t feel right at all, and it didn’t feel in the spirit of creation and of why I make art in the first place. Even though my work had won awards in every juried show I had been accepted into, I never entered it into another. I wanted my work to be valued for its intrinsic qualities rather than external validation that might turn art into a commodity or a trophy rather than an experience or expression. These ways of being an artist, while not conventional or popular, were upheld for me by Yanagi’s writings. They are not right or wrong, and I am not here to judge another artist’s path, either. There are as many ways to be an artist as there are people who create art. I am here to express my own way, which has been both affirmed and challenged by what I have learned from Yanagi, over and over again.

You see, I have this foundational belief that art should be for everyone, not just those who can afford to buy from gallery shows. Unique works of art are costly because there is only one of them, and, of course, the artist and the gallery must be paid for their own time, experience and costs incurred. It does leave out so many people though, including myself. It was a wake up call when I realised that I could not afford my pwn paintings. I do not have the income to purchase original works of art with gallery price tags, but I can purchase prints. And so I began making beautifully-printed greeting cards from my original art, which made me feel much better while I was still showing and selling my original work. Yanagi does not speak to the fine artist much in his writings, because of this very issue. He is writing more to the craftsperson who can reproduce his or her work and make it affordable for the masses. He also believes in the handcrafting of every day objects that should be aesthetically beautiful and also of use throughout our daily life. A hand thrown pottery bowl, for example, or a carved wooden spoon, a pair of socks knit with local wool…you get the idea. This also leaves the fine artist out. A print is not very utilitarian, but it can make our everyday spaces more beautiful.  I continue to struggle with this, in finding ways to make my work available to many at a price that almost all could afford, and especially in a way that is both useful and beautiful. It has kept me from selling my work at all at time, but I will get there one day.

The very best way I have taken Yanagi’s lessons to heart, and how I have made art into an income to support myself, is to teach others how to create their own work. To me this is the most radical and democratic thing an artist can do—to share our own processes, knowledge and ways of working. When I was just beginning to learn how to paint, I encountered artists that were so incredibly generous with their time and knowledge, but I also experienced just as many who guarded their experience and expertise and either would not respond to my questions or tell me it was their own proprietary knowledge. Something as simple as the question, “What paper is that you are using?” could be met with a detailed answer (one artist even sent me some samples all the way from Australia), or with. “Sorry. I don’t share that information.” I knew immediately that if I ever became someone that would be asked these kinds of questions, I would share everything. No secrets. I have the confidence to know that my tools and techniques are not what make my work my own. Each of us brings our own spirit to the work, even if we are drawing the same subject with exactly the same tools. As a teacher I have seen proof of this over and over again. Art is not only for everyone, but it should not be a secret how we make it. Again, my own opinion.

I believe that Yanagi has helped me forge a path that prioritises authenticity and personal connection over commercial success or public acclaim. His writings have helped me affirm my belief in the collective beauty and that we all have our part to contribute in a way that competition has no place. This way of working has lead to deeper satisfaction in my own work, but also, I hope, a more profound impact on my students and on those who appreciate my artwork. 

There are three main aesthetic philosophies I learned through Yanagi that I seek to embody: shibui, mono no aware, and wabi-sabi. Shibui teaches me to embody subtlety, simplicity, everydayness and unobtrusive beauty. It values art that does not shout or seek to be the center of attention, but instead quietly beckons respect through its depth and integrity. Mono no aware carries a sensitivity to the ephemeral, seeing the profound beauty in the melancholy truth of transient moments and the emotional resonance they can hold. Wabi-sabi is about appreciating the beauty in imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness. I seek to embrace the natural processes of my own hand and the way I experience the beauty in the flawed life that I live, especially as I continue to age and even lose some of my skills such as dexterity or clear vision, both things I have experienced in the past few years after nerve damage in my dominant hand and an uncorrectable loss of vision in one eye.

All of these concepts are vast in their meanings and I feel like I am only on the surface, even after all of these years. They hold a lifetime of exploration and curiosity within them. For now, they help me prioritise personal expression, the beauty of naturalness and imperfection, and the emotional depth of fleeting, quiet and intimate moments over competitive success. I want to explore all of these thoughts, and the concepts of Japanese aesthetics, here with you, more and more over time. It’s not the usual way a person is taught to go about a successful life as an artist in the West, and that is all the more reason to share my thoughts about it and start conversations. Are you already familiar with Japanese aesthetics or the philosophies of Sōetsu Yanagi? Do you believe in juried shows? How do you feel about competition when it comes to art? I would love to know your thoughts, so far.

End note: I hesitated to the use word artist in the title of this piece. What do you call someone who spends a good deal of time, every day, using paint, pencils, pens, paper and just about anything else to create images on paper or canvas? Images that are often are intimate responses to the person’s immediate surroundings, now and then they come from a completely inner realm, even allowing the spirit and the hands to respond to a transportive piece of music by making marks on paper with the eyes closed. Some of the images created are then shared, but most of them are not. What do you call a person who does this, day in and day out? I struggle with finding a word that is sufficient and that is humble enough, because this is very humble and often private work.

That is my other question for you today. What do you call a person who does thisother than an artist? I imagine many of you will relate to this kind of act through your own creative practices, whether you create with words, paint, pencil, food, flowers, a musical instrument… you get the idea. Is is big thing, how we create. What do you call it? How do we possibly name a person in the throes of this numinous experience?

Don’t get me wrong… sometimes the creative practice is completely mundane and maybe even just going through the motions, nothing numinous about it. But we all have those sublime moments, don’t we? Otherwise we would stop showing up again and again to have that chance of experiencing the mystery of when the world falls away and we are suddenly in the thick of an experience that might not be nameable. Still, I’d like you to try. Is there a more appropriate word than artist? Light me up in the comments, with your thoughts.