Art as a Performance Piece

Some of you will be surprised to hear this, but Sterling Heights, Michigan, is not known as an epicenter of the art world. I know. Shocked. Shocked. So were my parents when I told them I wanted to go to college to be an artist and to paint. 

So, off I went to learn about painting (I did promise them that I’d continue to learn about economics … that decision definitely paid off). When I tell people this story, they always ask, why didn’t you choose art? Over the years, I’ve told a few different versions of my rationale, but I think I finally have the right response to “why didn’t you choose art?” 

So, what am I painting right now? I just finished a painting that was more of a performance piece, or maybe calling it a process painting is a better description. I wanted something to hang in my house that my whole family created — something that captured the curated chaos accompanying a household run by 3-, 5- and 7-year-old children. I tried to help them choose colors and utilize techniques that helped to manage the negative space, color distribution, and the composition of the painting, but in the end, it was really up to each one of them to make decisions (kind of like an allegory for parenting). Even with some “happy little accidents,” it ended up being perfect. 

When you show your work in a gallery, it’s often accompanied by an artist's statement. Typically, this short essay is a brief glimpse into the artist's mind and what the artist wanted to accomplish with their works. I think that my artist statement for this piece would be: Controlled chaos is something we all deal with. We try to manage the process so much that we forget about experiencing the adventure. I didn’t know how my children would contribute, but I was committed to sitting back and watching them throw paint onto the canvas and express themselves. In the end, enjoying the experience is something that isn’t captured in the painting, but it was captured in the performance — in my experience. 

Most days, I’m not practicing art how I used to — in darkly lit, moody studios listening to Radiohead and drinking espressos until 2 a.m. Today, my process is really different. I practice a lot by drawing pictures at 7 p.m. for my kids’ school lunches, drawing on our kitchen chalkboard for birthdays and special events, and sometimes I’ll doodle on students’ homework, but only if they doodle first. 

I sometimes wonder if I could still paint. Like really paint. But you know what, this is how I know I’ve found the actual reason to the question, “why didn’t you choose art?” Now, I always remind myself that I did choose art (but I bet you already guessed that). It’s always been there. It never left. And currently, I’m immersed in art. Sure, I’ve traded in oil paints and canvases for crayons and scrap paper, but I’m still trying to capture and express joy or beauty, or even sadness when I’m making art for my family. After having a private gallery showing of my new piece (for my wife), I’ve now been commissioned (by my wife), to paint another picture of our family. My art career is taking off.

So, my next painting doesn’t have a title or focus just yet, but I think I’ll try to experience something new (like trying a still-life painting of a three-year-old). In the meantime, I can’t wait to paint with my kids on a lazy Saturday afternoon. I’ll help them with their drawings of princesses, Carnotaurus, and princesses riding Carnotaurus. I’ll continue to hang up their art on our walls, watch my favorite Hayao Miyazaki movies (“My Neighbor Totoro” is a classic), and, of course, take them to Raclin Murphy when it opens. It might be a cliché, but art is really in everything we do. It’s in how we experience and express ourselves and how we interact with the world around us. 

If you see me around Mendoza, I’d love to talk about art, my paintings, or what you’re passionate about. In the meantime, happy painting.

Jason Reed

Wade Family Associate Teaching Professor

Department of Finance