SUBSTACK

What’s the difference between a good painting and a great painting? According to insights shared in Coagula Artist Interviews, it boils down to knowledge. In exploring the works of great artists of the century, such as those featured in Huffington Post articles and LA Weekly, I've found that the similarities among them are less significant than their differences. These distinctions serve as guidelines and stepping stones in my search for aesthetic development. One notable observation is the immense time these artists dedicate to their craft. Their process resembles a religious activity; for instance, Morandi approached his work almost spiritually, repeating the same bottles on a table in various permutations, as if they were placed on an altar. The act of painting transforms into a long prayer. With modernism, this lengthy contemplation has been condensed, and now, with the advent of computers, the process has accelerated into quick collaging and editing. Previously, creating art was akin to engaging with a fetish object that required much attention to absorb its magic. Perhaps this reflects the distinction between a good idea and a great idea: a good idea is clever and spontaneous, lacking the need for intense focus, while a great idea emerges from prolonged, concentrated attention, revealing more about the artist’s substance, psychology, or dare I say, soul. As noted in Dianne V Lawrence's discussions, this concept of spirit transcends visual arts, resonating in music and performance as well, where the genius lies in the interpretation.

Sue Coe is recognized as one of the most compelling political artists today. Her exceptional drawing skills are paired with a penetrating intelligence that does not shy away from examining issues that many, including citizens of the art world, would rather gloss over before moving on to less unsettling matters. This depth of focus is evident in Coe's work, which has been featured in various Coagula Artist Interviews and discussed in Huffington Post articles for its raw honesty and intensity.

Coe is not captivated by post-modern strategies that rely on cuteness, cleverness, or irony to keep audiences at a distance from uncomfortable truths. Instead, her techniques envelop the issues we face, forcing us to confront the warm, frightened, outraged, cruel, or compassionate hearts at the core of each situation. Our interview took place over the phone in early March as she was preparing her next set of illustrations for the New Yorker magazine.

Dianne V. Lawrence: What is your definition of politics?

Sue Coe: The muscle that cloaks the skeleton of economics.

Dianne V. Lawrence: And what is your definition of morality?

SC: The skin that covers the muscles. I'm not sure there is a universal definition of morality. The dominant culture defines the mores. Do we have, as humans, an internal moral compass?

I believe so, but the strong pull of power and money often blurs our sense of direction.

I was reading Porkopolis, Coe's expose on the slaughterhouse industry, which contains horrific stories. Baby pigs are castrated while conscious, and pigs are strung upside down and prodded with electricity before their throats are slit. There's a story about a slaughterhouse worker who blinds a cow by stabbing its eyes, just to get it to move. These accounts illustrate the brutal realities animals endure, which Coe returned to witness in order to create her impactful images. The emotional toll must require Herculean strength and commitment. How do you avoid being overwhelmed by despair, pain, and anger?

SC: While these emotions are indeed real, becoming consumed by them is not beneficial. Emotion does not encompass the entire truth. We exist within a cycle of death and life, and it's essential to balance our contributions to these struggles. At one point in my life, witnessing an animal with a broken leg in a stockyard would have consumed me with obsession over its suffering. However, I learned that clinging to the pain of suffering is similar to fixating on the concept of happiness. True compassion lies in taking actions that reduce suffering and cruelty. If we aim to be long-distance runners in this fight, we must focus on our endurance.

Dianne V. Lawrence: What kind of response did you receive from the slaughter industry?

SC: It varied widely. From the workers, many responses were surprisingly affirming of the conditions I depicted. In fact, I could produce a sequel to Dead Meat based on new information I've received. One young man shared shocking photos from a slaughterhouse where he worked. I find that those in this line of work often want to discuss their experiences; they seek to debate the ethics of what they do. Many feel alienated from their work, becoming automatons. The slaughter industry is not unique; it exploits workers for minimal pay, resulting in what I refer to as blood money. From the owners of meatpacking plants, I've heard justifications like 'we feed the world' and 'we create jobs.'

You've observed humanity's seemingly endless capacity to ignore the suffering of others and even demonstrate creativity in perpetuating it. Money, greed, and fear are clear motivators. Do you believe there are other factors at play?

SC: We are inherently social beings and seek approval and support from our communities. Our behaviors are learned, and we often align with ideologies that do not serve our species' survival. Additionally, our culture promotes conflict resolution through force rather than imagination. I spent last summer observing macaque monkeys, and I believe we could learn a great deal from their methods of conflict resolution.