Inevitably someone always asks, “what kind of artist are you?”
I find this a difficult question to answer. More precisely, I find it difficult to discern the kind of answer the person is looking to hear. Most people, when asking a question of that sort, are actually asking, “what subject matter do you focus on?” or “what medium do you primarily use?” This is akin to asking someone you just met at a mixer, “so, what do you do?”, with the idea they’ll probably tell you what they do to earn money and make a living. It’s the kind of superficial question you’d expect during the getting-to-know-you phase of a relationship.
To answer this question I’m generally vague (”I’m a visual artist,” I say. “I work in oil and ink predominantly.”), and I rarely delve into specifics. This is not because I am timid or uncertain and don’t feel comfortable speaking about my work — it is because I am certain the person asking the question doesn’t actually care all that much, otherwise they would have asked a better question. I don’t feel like wasting my time, or theirs, explaining the deep meaning or exploratory nature of my practice if they don’t want to hear about it. Better to give them the nibble they asked for than the feast they didn’t.
But every once in a while when someone asks, “what kind of artist are you?”, they’re actually asking for the feast — they want to hear about the nuance, the exploration, and the deeper meaning behind my practice as an artist. These people are the rare ones, however, and they can be hard to spot. They are like the people who, rather than asking “how are you?” with the expectation you will answer “fine” and move on, instead ask “what’s life like for you now?” with the expectation you will elaborate and share something meaningful. This expectation is a generous one, and one that tells us the person asking the question cares about what is important in our lives. They are asking for something more, asking for permission to know you at a deeper level, in a more intimate way. And that is important because as social creatures we require meaningful connections.
So the next time you’re at a mixer, or passing someone on the sidewalk, or greeting them in the office corridor, instead of asking “how are you?”, why not ask “what’s life like for you now?” See what happens.
And the next time you ask, “what kind of artist are you?” I might answer that with a question of my own: “how much time do you have?”
Because I have a lot to say about that.