Matisse's Feet Are Weird

I will never look at a Matisse the same way again.

New York Times art critic, Jerry Saltz, nailed it.

Now I know it, I can not unsee it.

Take a look next time you are in a museum of modern art. Now you won’t be able to not think about it, too.

“Matisse rarely drew feet. When he did, they are ugly flippers or paws.”

Imagine. Luxurious pastel woman leaning back on a chaise-longue in the South of France.

And then… oblong flippers.

Matisse is one of the most influential artists of the early 20th century. Yet, he can not draw feet? It is Matisse’s weak point, Saltz argues in his book, How to be an Artist.

Saltz then makes the case for artists to exaggerate their own weaknesses in their own art practice. What does it matter if Matisse can not draw feet? If it’s good enough for Matisse to keep painting, despite his sweet feet technique, here is what we can learn about our own practice.

What is the weakness in your writing?

Here’s the thing. I am a trained direct mail copywriter. In a way, that’s a weakness. Especially, when it comes to literary writing.

It is poetry, not literature. And abstract poetry. At that.

My first job out of university was as a direct mail copywriter for a mail-order wine company. Long letters, brochures — and don’t forget! The Call To Action on the envelope. (P.S. Call now!)

Direct marketing principles evolved from the 1920s in New York. For the long-form copywriting world, this is the golden era of copywriting.

It was a time when advertising liked to measure results. Famous books from that time emphasise the science behind the art. “Tested Advertising Methods”, by John Caples; or, “Scientific Advertising”, by Claude Hopkins.

My weakness is when my writing slips into a wise-guy adman from the 1920s.

Yeah? Well, I gotta tone it down.

In my imagination, my MacBook becomes a 1920s typewriter. Punching down the heavy keys, one by one, I swing back the carriage return for a satisfying PING.

After a hard day at the office, I arrive back at my lonely tobacco-stained studio in lower Manhattan. I pour myself a double bourbon. I’m outta ice. Light a Lucky Strike. Is that a saxophone is playing in the stairwell to the moonlight?

Yes, all New York clichés. That’s another weakness. Add to that: I’ve never been to New York.

But I do know awkwardness. When I move from copywriting in the day to my own writing at night. There is a stiffness that takes a while to shake.

What makes you feel awkward when you write?

Go there.

How do you find it?

Three pages of journal writing in the morning, without fail. The messier the better.

Even the great Matisse was awkward painting feet. What makes your writing unique can also be your weakness.

What makes you feel awkward? If you can move towards what makes you awkward you will find your voice as a writer.