What I'm Reading: How To Be An Artist by Jerry Saltz

For those outside the art world, the word “artist” can bring to mind typical depictions of a practicing fine artist. There’s the misunderstood painter who died (sometimes by their hand) before their artistic genius was recognized. Or the eclectic provocateur who challenges societal norms and often finds themself in the news (or in jail). Perhaps the most beloved is the visionary who becomes a pop culture icon with their work emblazoned on everything from apparel to museum souvenirs (Warhol, Haring, Basquiat, et al.). There is a misguided belief that you must be naturally talented (or crazy) to make it in the art world and that only a chosen few can attain everlasting success. But in his book, How to Be An Artist, art critic Jerry Saltz takes us behind the velvet rope and shares his truths about the creative lifestyle.

Saltz, Pulitzer Prize Winner for Criticism and senior art critic for New York magazine, is far from an armchair critic. A self-described “failed artist,” Saltz attended classes at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and found some degree of success, enough to win an NEA grant to move to New York. While he had placed himself in the center of the art world, he would succumb to self-doubt and envied other successful artists. Discouraged, he quit making art and left the art world completely, working as a long-distance trucker until he was 41 before finding work as an art critic. It was a series of written anecdotes on his days as an artist that culminated in him writing a full-length book.

How To Be An Artist is an expanded version of his viral article of the same name, a list of 33 rules gleaned from his experiences as an artist. For the creatively uninitiated, this text serves as a solid introduction to the creative process. But for those who have experience making things, it acts as a series of familiar commandments that one should follow religiously. The book adds an additional 30 rules, with each rule explained in varying lengths that stretch from two paragraphs to two pages. Rule 25’s “Know What You Hate” is painfully succinct: “It’s probably you.” The rules are organized throughout five chapters on themes like getting started and culminating with “Attaining galactic brain.” Still, you could flip to any page out of order and find some inspiration.

Though the book is titled How To Be An Artist, Saltz reveals that he has heard from writers, athletes, chefs, doctors, and other professionals influenced by his New York article. While the rules can be applied to many professions, the book is geared to fine artists (painters, sculptors, and the like), and they will get the most from following the rules of the book. Aside from his guidelines, Saltz also throws in some art exercises designed to put his advice into practice. Some activities work the mind and strengthen the power of observation; one example challenges the reader to compare eight paintings of nudes done in different styles and think about what each image is saying. Other exercises are more hands-on, encouraging any would-be artist to get in on the action by drawing sketches mimicking the styles of famous artists. Saltz understands that the key for any budding artist to get to the next level is to hone one’s attention to detail. Understanding what you are perceiving and using those perceptions to influence your style is half of the art-making process. The other half is finding the strength to make the art.

Saltz pulls no punches and gets to the truth of the craft, in that you have to sit down and make the work. Rules like Develop Forms of Practice, Work, Work, Work, Start Now, Start Working When You Wake Up, and Finish The Damn Thing serve as motivational affirmations. Never short on examples, Saltz brings up Amy Sherald, the painter behind Michelle Obama’s official portrait, who remarks that “every single show I’ve had for the past three years, the paintings left my studio wet,” with Sherald wanting to make changes even as they are loaded into the truck. Saltz gently provides a dose of reality to the reader, exclaiming, “Your own work might just be as important as Sherald’s—but it will never be perfect. Perfect doesn’t exist.” His prescription to end our obsession with perfection is to remember that the next project can be better and that it’s essential to make something, learn, and move on. 

While the book reads like a collection of anecdotes with lessons at the end, How to Be An Artist is also a quasi-memoir that summarizes Saltz’s life philosophy. Among the more introspective pieces of advice is Make An Enemy of Envy, which is a forewarning to his younger, New York self. “Envy looks at others but blinds you,” reads the ominous opening sentence. “It will eat you alive…It crowds your imagination with the lives of others, rather than what you need to be doing in your own work. From the fortress of envy, everything that doesn’t happen to you is blamed on something or someone else.” One doesn’t publish a book of sixty-plus rules on art without having gone through some hardship first, and this lesson was among the hardest Saltz, and other artists had to learn. It’s easy to dismiss success when attributed to an art school education, natural talent, or knowing the right people. Many give up on their artistic endeavors by surrendering to their demons that impede creativity, not knowing that the key is to keep making things. As Saltz notes, “We all do the best we can. But “Poor me” can’t make your work better, and you’re out of the game if you don’t show up. So grow a backbone and get back to work.” If his advice ever seems stern or curmudgeonly, know that Saltz is trying to prevent the reader from recreating the biggest mistake of his life, in that it’s less about the world outside and more about the world we try to reveal from inside.

The reward for making it to the end of the book is Saltz’s final piece of advice, Don’t Forget to Dance. While seemingly oversentimental at first glance, this is a delightfully appropriate metaphor for the life of an artist. Imagine the relationship between a creative and a blank canvas or paper, their dance partner for the rest of their lives. What is their next move? They can opt for a spontaneous gesture or build it up slowly like a flowing rhythm. There are bound to be missteps, but it’s all part of the dance. Dance (and artmaking) exists to be experienced. It is better to make a fool of yourself on the dance floor than to stand on the side with your hands in your pockets. Saltz connects these forms of expression and wistfully notes, “…one day you won’t be able to dance anymore.”