|Eric Fischl does a fabulous job explaining not just how he goes about the creative process, but how his creative process came to be what it is.|
Eric Fischl’s 2013 autobiography, Bad Boy, is quite the piece of work – literally. His name was familiar to me, though his paintings were not. One of the New Kids that came of age, and fame, in the early 1980’s by putting figurative back into contemporary art. Julian Schnabel and David Salle being his contemporaries. The book is split pretty evenly between his personal history, professional life, thoughts on art, and making for often-uncomfortable reading. Finding some modicum of peace in this world depends on ensuring your personal demons don’t get the upper hand. Mr. Fischl seems to have fought the hard fight and won.
The reason to read this book, though, is the fabulous job Eric Fischl does in explaining not just how he goes about the creative process, but how his creative process came to be what it is. While it has been argued (mostly, it seems, in reviews of the book) his self-introspection borders on navel-gazing in the worst possible sense. That view is completely wrong-headed.
Eric Fischl’s conviction of the artist as a storyteller resonates strongly with me. To hear the artist as a young man was motivated by the works of both Mondrian and Max Beckmann is a testament to his longstanding desire to understand art in all its richness, contrast and complexity. Though disagreeing with, for example, his assessment of artists like Sol Lewitt, Fischl still makes a solid case for how the ideas of what really good minimalist artists were trying to say were hijacked by the intellectually lazy.
In contrast, Fischl is adamant to a degree harmful for many of his personal relationships, that the artist must have something to say. More important, the artist must have something to say that someone else actually wants to hear. The failure of Art to retain its place of pride as a shared cultural touchstone is correctly blamed on hubris. On page 341, Fischl makes the following comment, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard artists saying, ‘Fuck the audience.’ But I thought: Why fuck the audience? Why not involve the audience?”
The many, brilliant passages where Fischl discusses his creative process, for both individual works as well as his overarching philosophies, are illuminating, and oddly familiar. In 1983 the author Umberto Eco published a very small book, Postscript to The Name of the Rose. In the fifth chapter, Eco uses almost identical words to describe almost identical examples of how an author goes about creating an interesting narrative – interesting for both the writer and the audience. A touchstone for the creative process?