Selections from Alec Soth’s newest series Advice for Young Artists will be on view at Fraenkel Gallery from April 17 to May 23. Soth’s photographs made at undergraduate art programs across the country upend the exhibition title’s promise of mentorship and wisdom, tracing instead the artist’s pursuit of the spirit of freedom and experimentation that belongs to beginners in every endeavor.
Soth does offer some limited words of advice in the monograph featuring the series, published by MACK. Written on neon-colored Post-it notes and scattered throughout the book, Soth presents enigmatic phrases and fragments—intentionally vague aphorisms that speak to the challenges of creative practice. The book also includes a “self-interview” in which Soth asks himself questions about the series and his own evolution as an artist. We take a closer look at a selection of images from the series, through Soth’s own words.
Among the subjects Soth photographed are formal arrangements of props used to teach drawing and painting. The stark simplicity of the still life becomes a blank canvas for students to hone their skill and project their imagination.
In his self-interview, Soth asks himself questions about the origins of the series, and mentions the influence of Walker Evans’s Polaroid portraits.
“You’ve been photographing young artists. How did you meet them?
Shortly before beginning this book, I became fascinated with the late work of Walker Evans. His best-known pictures were made when he was young. In middle age, his work petered out. But near the end of his life there was a burst of energy when Evans discovered the Polaroid camera. The most reproduced Polaroids look like classic Evans—old signs and such. But the work I love are his portraits of young people made while visiting universities. Despite his skepticism that art could be taught, Evans found his time with students invigorating. There’s almost something vampiric about his Polaroids, like he was feeding off their youth. I’m not Walker Evans, and I’m hopefully not at the end of my life, but looking at these Polaroids sparked something. So I started inviting myself to undergrad art programs.”
“Do you ever give specific advice?
I often recommend making maquettes to physically visualize one’s dream of exhibiting or publishing. For photobooks, I sometimes say that they should only have as many pictures as the photographer’s age.”
In the image pictured on the monograph’s cover, a pencil sketch of Soth’s face is framed behind cracked glass. Drawn by Soth’s intern at his request, the work’s shattered surface undermines any authority or self-seriousness it might otherwise embody.
Soth pairs a photograph of miniature books with a note that might allude to their content. The playful sense of scale surprises unsuspecting viewers and suggests the curious objects that fill the halls of art schools.
Soth photographs art students framed by their work and their tools, peeking from behind canvases or holding a shutter release cable. In Ricky, Soth pictures one student sitting for another, complicating the relationship between artist, subject, and viewer.
“How old were you when you fell in love with art?
Sixteen. I even remember the moment. I’d been given homework from my art teacher. Alone in my bedroom, I drew while I listened to Hatful of Hollow (an album by The Smiths). The music and the sketchpad sort of merged with my imagination. It felt like a whole universe opened.”
