Jon Poblador
Moore, September 2000, acrylic on linen, 20 x 20 inches, ©Jon Poblador.

The interview was conducted by Ilana Stanger of TheArtBiz.com.

Can you tell me a bit about the development of your work?

When I started graduate school I did two types of work--figurative and conceptual. I used to write repetitively for the conceptual works, especially around religious themes—a passage from the bible or a prayer over and over. At Penn I took a printmaking course and I was given a piece of linoleum. I couldn’t write on it, so I gauged it with tiny tick marks. I took off from there. That aspect of repetition, which is like meditation for me, became basic to my work. My paintings have the same tiny marks, though sometimes they disappear behind the layers of paint, which I like as well.

So graduate school really influenced your work?

Yeah. I did have a hard time at Penn though. My first year I was very unhappy. I almost didn’t return, but I decided that I should just work hard and get what I wanted out of it--which I did. So, if I had a choice I’d do it again. When you begin graduate school you have an idea of what you want to do. But then you meet different people, and endure weekly crits--it breaks you, but it builds you up again.

How has your art career developed since grad school?

Very slowly. I think very minimally about marketing or promotion. I’ve never been interested in the business or sale aspect of art. Even in high school, when I worked in a music store, I was bad at retail. Ultimately I would like to earn a living from selling my work, but since only a few people do that I try to be patient. I truly, truly believe work should speak for itself. Art doesn’t have to promote itself--if the work is good people will remember it.

How did you end up getting gallery representation?

When I was at Penn Patrick Murphy, then the director of the ICA [Institute of Contemporary Art] used to come to the crits. We kept in contact and the fall or spring after I graduated I invited him to my studio. He suggested I get in touch with several people and Larry Becker was one of them. I brought my portfolio and showed them work on paper and they liked it, and said to keep in touch. I would stop by one Saturday a month and we’d talk and talk and talk--I’d arrive at 11 and plan to spend an hour and before I knew it it’d be 3:30. Larry and Heidi [Nivling] have been very supportive and encouraging, and I’m very fortunate to have gotten to know them.

There is a sense of security in having a gallery. It helps me keep painting. Before I developed a relationship with them it was very hard--you don’t have weekly crits anymore and you need to rely on yourself to produce, plus you have to pay student loans and things like that. It’s very easy for the art to be put aside. It requires a certain sensitivity to be an artist--for me it’s a very solitary endeavor. It’s physically and emotionally challenging. I find it meditative though. If it’s not enjoyable, why do it?

I wanted to ask you about the titles of your work - Amundsen, Mojave, Sulu - what do they signify?

For the longest time I kept the paintings untitled. Since they didn’t represent anything I felt they didn’t need titles. But eventually I couldn’t separate ‘Untitled July 96’ from ‘Untitled December 96.’ I needed titles for identification. Meanwhile, people always asked, ‘When are you going to move to color?’ I knew eventually I would but I wasn’t ready yet; color didn’t mean anything, and I think everything you put on the canvas should have meaning. Then I read the letters of Vincent Van Gogh and was really inspired by how he viewed color in nature. I started putting color into painting, inspired by the colors I saw around me. The paintings are named after deserts, bodies of water, Antarctica sites, clouds, stellar objects…but it’s misleading, because if the painting is brown and titled “Kalahari” it isn’t really about the desert. It has nothing to do with deserts, really. But I enjoy it because it adds mystery. Titles are like names--Jon, Sara. They don’t really mean anything, but they help identify.

What advice would you give to other emerging artists?

Patience: there’s no hurry in making money or being famous. And integrity. And faith in your work and what it’s about. And stay away from New York City. People leave grad school and they have to go to New York. Why is that? Yes, it’s the center of the art universe but it’s also a market place. It just swallows you up. Try to establish yourself somewhere else--build confidence, build your work. Work doesn’t mature until your late 30s or 40s anyway. Build your strength first.

Anything else you would add?

At a group show at Penn I once overheard two undergrads talking about my work. One of them said to the other, ‘What a waste of time!’ People don’t understand my work. Even I don’t understand it--I can’t explain it, which is why I paint it. When you listen to music with lyrics you understand the words, but when you listen to pure instrumental music, that’s abstract. Listening to music invokes feeling. I would like my paintings to be like music. Everything in this culture is so fast. These are slow. You have to take the time to listen.

This article was originally created for TheArtBiz.com. It appears on NYFA Interactive courtesy of the Abigail Rebecca Cohen Library.