We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Rob Grad a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.
Hi Rob, thanks for joining us today. It’s always helpful to hear about times when someone’s had to take a risk – how did they think through the decision, why did they take the risk, and what ended up happening. We’d love to hear about a risk you’ve taken.
Taking risks is a regular part of my work as an artist. It’s what makes the work and my job interesting. Scary sometimes, but interesting.
It makes me think of a questionnaire I did recently. I do this kind of stuff all the time. No matter how much I think I understand about myself or my work, I am always changing.
Three of the questions were:
1. What have my biggest accomplishments been in my career?
2. List the scariest things I’ve done professionally
3. List things in the past I’ve done, but I wasn’t sure I could do
My answers were all the same.
Risk by definition, means we don’t get to know how things are going to turn out. What may feel risky for one person can be someone else’s no-brainer.
Allowing myself to be truly seen is my kahuna. I grew up in a house with a lot of conflict. Being seen wasn’t a good thing. Better to be as invisible as possible.
Which makes choosing a career as a visual artist an interesting choice.
But it also makes perfect sense.
I think we intuitively know what debris needs to be cleared to live a better life and be better versions of ourselves.
A few months ago I got the opportunity to do a solo show at the Los Angeles Art Association. I thought about just exhibiting my most recent artwork on the walls, but the little voice inside me said “No. Take a bigger risk.”
When the little voice speaks, these days, I try to listen.
But what to do?
A couple of years ago I started writing poems as inspiration for some of my artwork. I began my career in music, and the poems sort of came as an outgrowth of all those years of songwriting. But I didn’t really know what to do with them. Music still lurks in the background. Sometimes people tell me my visual work actually looks like music.
So I thought maybe I could incorporate the poems. Maybe even do an audio component where I speak the poems. Or what if I added a little music to them?
The whole concept was super uncomfortable.
And how would this all work in a gallery setting?
If it worked, I thought it could create a deeper, more intense emotional experience for people.
And if not, I didn’t even want to think about it. It’s like someone telling you your baby is ugly and will never amount to anything. And with my past, it felt like death to think about.
But the idea of bringing all my experience together in a single setting was exciting to me. I came up with a plan to draw the poems on the walls with acrylic pen winding around the artwork, sort of referencing my love for street art, while allowing people to listen to my musical interpretations in their headphones to keep it intimate and private. It suited the subject matter.
As the opening got closer, I got more uncomfortable. I took that as a good sign.
“There’s Nothing Here, Except Everything” opened in June and I got some of the best feedback of my career. After listening to, looking at, and reading one of the poems, “Reseda Blvd.” which I created about growing up in the San Fernando Valley, a girl came up to me at the opening in tears, “Oh my god. That’s me.”
I even had a Rabbi tell me the show was like a sermon. He stayed for hours.
Here’s a video taken at the show. The audio is my musical poem performance of the title track from the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?
I have a mentor who says she has two black belts. One in success and one in failure. And that her failures are just feedback from the Universe helping her to fine tune and continue forward.
I try to keep that in mind, but it’s not easy. Who likes to lose? Especially when I’ve exposed myself in some way and it’s gonna sting if things go south. Like my early music career.
This time I was successful and I’m going to double down and approach museums with the concept. But it could’ve gone bad.
I’m learning to have more trust and faith in that little voice than I did when I was younger. I believe that nudge is the voice of the person I was born to be. I’d rather die broke and alone in a gutter, having totally gone for it, than to try and keep the ship in calmer waters and never really find out what I was capable of.
Plus, what’s the use? Calm? Safety? Have you looked out the window? This planet is nuts.
Here is an excerpt from one of my poems called “What If You’re Wrong?”
Looking back
It’s easy to see
Where bridges collapse
And turns go awry
You can’t un-see in the light
Change comes from
Getting tired
Tired enough
To be inspired
To set aside
What once was a given
And reach higher
As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?
I am a visual artist. My career took an 18 year detour through the music business, but when I decided to dedicate myself to being a visual artist, it was like coming home.
I work with an array of galleries, consultants and designers, and I am showing in some museums now. I will be participating in a group show next year at The Museum of Art and History in Lancaster, CA that will be part of the Getty’s Pacific Standard Time initiative. I’m really excited about that.
Over the years, I’ve also become a bit of a specialist in custom art experiences. I get asked to do a lot of commission work, and I am very good at asking the right questions to connect and dial in with someone quickly to create something that lives at the intersection of my clients’ journey, and my journey as the artist. I love making showpieces and conversation starters in homes and businesses.
That idea of creating impact has been with me since the beginning.
One day we were studying Egyptian history in college, and the famous statue of Nefertiti popped up on the overhead projector.
Immediately, the hair on my arms stood up and I got tears in my eyes.
Have you ever had a moment like that, when something just hits you?
Something about it just spoke to me. It was like I could see the whole story of her life unfolding in a single object. I was so moved. It was romantic. But deep. The struggle. The beauty. I felt it all.
Iin that moment, I got a new understanding of the potential and power of art.
It also really drove the point home to me, that we don’t all react the same to the same art. No matter how “good” or brilliant it is.
That’s when I knew I wanted to try to make art someday that could resonate with other people like that statue did with me. Something that could be a product of its time, but also stand outside of time.
That’s still the lens I look through when I am creating art, or working with my clients.
I use a blend of photography, painting, drawing and poetry to make heavily layered assemblages and sculptures. I find the layering process to be a great metaphor for depth of our consciousness, and the complexity of any given concept or situation. I’m always looking for a new way to see something.
I like to contrast nature as sort of the original cathedral, next to urban references or some dynamic element from daily living.
I get comments a lot from people at my shows and collectors that my work is inspiring. As crazy as this world is, I am optimistic. I believe at our core, underneath our personalities, agendas, and surface desires, that we are capable of deep love, empathy and brilliance.
I think of my work as a celebration of our life’s journey, and a quest for understanding and depth, with a dash of elegance. This is what I try to bring to my work and share with collectors and clients.
Is there mission driving your creative journey?
As I mentioned, I had a pretty miserable childhood. There was a lot of conflict in our house, and I wound up trying to be as invisible as possible most of the time. It was a survival skill, and I got good at it. But the remedy had side effects.
I grew up feeling insignificant, overlooked and misunderstood. I wound up on drugs, with a distaste for authority figures who impose their will on others.
This is where the wildly expressive nature of my work comes from. It’s my liberation.
I believe we all have a desire to be seen. To be truly seen. And recognized for the unique value that we bring. That fact that we’re born necessitates it. I can’t consciously beat my heart. And if I try to stop breathing, I can’t. I’ll pass out before my body lets me suffocate myself. We are all part of life itself and respect for each of us is deserved accordingly.
My work is my search for unapologetic self-expression in a world that isn’t always waiting with soft, cuddly open arms. It’s also my way of standing up to and questioning the power structures and authority figures in our lives, not only around us, but the authority we give our past to influence our future.
My goal is to share my hope for the future, celebrate our resilience as humans, and ultimately to transcend the chaos out there.
And my mission is to connect with as many people as physically possible in and from that place through my art, music and words.
Have you ever had to pivot?
100%. In my parents’ generation, it was pretty common for people to get into one line of work and do it their whole lives. The world isn’t like that anymore. Things are changing too fast.
My career began in music. And I had a bit of success early on. I started a band with some guys from my neighborhood, and during college we signed a big record deal with RCA Records. As cliche as it is to say, it was a dream come true. The stuff of childhood fantasies. We made an album, went on tour, and a couple of our videos got on MTV (back when MTV played music). Today I still get emails here and there from people who tell me that band is still the best live act they’ve ever seen.
I felt so insignificant growing up, it feels good to have been a part of something that’s had that kind of lasting effect. Even on a relatively small scale like that turned out to be.
Unfortunately after a few years, the band imploded. I stayed with music for 15 more years, with some more hits and misses, but it was a hard slog.
The fatal blow was struck when I started listening to “experts,” trying to make my music “better.” Not that there aren’t things you can learn to make creative work better, there absolutely are. But in my experience, once the critiques get in your head, you’re toast.
The people who really have an impact in this world tend to be the ones who sideswipe conventional wisdom. So what was I doing listening to conventional wisdom? My music was never about that.
I got frustrated. And a friend suggested I take a solo trip. She said, “Close your eyes. What’s the first place that pops into your head?”
“Uh. France.” I said.
She said, “you should go there.”
I thought she was nuts. But after thinking about it, I went for it. What did I have to lose? After France I went to Spain. The whole thing turned out to be such a bizarre, life changing experience, I got asked to do a TEDx talk about it.
So I’m in Madrid one day, at the Thyssen Museum on that trip, standing in front of a Robert Rauschenberg painting called “Express,” and out of the blue an idea hit me that sent shivers up my spine. The idea was to use a layering technique I’d discovered to make cd covers for music supervisors as fine art. It kind of had the greatest hits of different mediums including photography, painting, and sculpture.
I went home and made two pieces of artwork and called my friend’s sister who owned a little art gallery in West Los Angeles. I asked her for a meeting to see if the work was any good.
She offered me a solo show. And a whole new life opened up. That was 14 years ago and I haven’t looked back.
It’s been hard, but I was naive enough to think it might not be. If you don’t know how high the mountain is, it can make it easier to climb. Sometimes being clueless has an upside!
I don’t think we ever really start over when we jump paths. Even if it feels like we are. There’s a great book called “Smartcuts” that talks about this. Without my experience in music, I never would’ve been able to start my career in art like that. My skillset and history brought me to art from a unique place. And it shows in the work.
And now that my latest exhibition included my musical and writing skills, I’m coming around full circle, You just never know.
I love being an artist. When I got into art and started meeting other artists, I knew I was home. I believe in our DNA somewhere, we know where we need to wind up. The rest of our self can be slow to the party though. And sometimes it requires a bit of what might be considered failure to redirect us to where we really belong.
Contact Info:
- Website: http://www.robgrad.com
- Instagram: @rob_grad
- Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/robgradart
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/rob-grad-b5a35426/
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@robgradart
- Other: TikTok: @rob_grad