When I learned that the theme of this volume was ‘Mastery’, I noted an internal twinge of resistance to the term. I was surprised by this gut reaction and even more curious to examine it from different angles; to figure out why it felt so obtuse. 

As an artist, naturally the term brings me to the focused practices of the Renaissance Old Master painters, trained in ateliers studying under reputable artists, at times for up to seven years. They would begin training at baser stages of paintings and progress to more difficult tiers only once they’d proven their consistent proficiency. The mastery they were working towards was mimesis – to recreate depictions of a person, object or scene so real the boundary between reality and image dissolves.

There is a general cultural understanding that mastery takes years, possibly decades of training. It speaks to dedication, impeccable craftsmanship, and a deep respect for the integrity of the object, image, or experience being created. All reputable characteristics worthy of praise. However, I quickly realized my aversion to mastery was because I associate it with perfection and control; more specifically, to be in control in order to achieve a set ideal. In craftsmanship, this usually involves yielding a tool or manipulating materials with complete precision to elicit a desired result; it is the glorification of perfection. 

Mastery in art elicits a sentiment of unquestionable control within the power dynamic of the creation process, and demands a submissive counter role. To be the ‘master of’ requires those to be ‘master over’. It places the artist as the driving centrifugal force and relegates the matter they work with as subservient, unruly forces to be molded. Mastery, to me, feels like an archaic by-product of European colonialist dogma; oppression in the name of an absolutist worldview or subjective ideal.

The colonizer believes their way is the ‘purest’ and highest ideal, and attempts to shape those it claims power over to conform to its conception; it does not recognize itself as just one social, political or religious possibility among many. Colonialism’s sweeping exploitation of natural resources and redevelopment of land is rooted in the Enlightenment belief that ‘man’ is master over Nature. However, the increase in intensity and quantity of devastating weather events caused by our current environmental crisis alone should be proof enough that we are no masters of Earth’s materials or forces.

So if mastery in the studio is about controlling matter or materials with an ideal end goal in sight, what is that ideal and who gets to decide? Personally, I attempt to avoid clinging to the concept of mastery in my own practice; I find it stagnant and predictable. I have a roster of paintbrushes that I’ve come to know like the back of my hand. I know which of these trusty tools to reach for when I want to lay down a specific mark. At times this is helpful, when margins for error are thin, but the repetition of slick familiarity often irks me because it is the antithesis of what I search for in my own work and what I enjoy in the work of others.

When the urge to reach for the ‘safe’ tool emerges, I tell myself to pick the one least suited to the task, and try to use that to translate the feeling of the mark envisioned in my mind instead. Those results confound the ‘picture-perfect’ vision in my mind’s eye, and their unpredictability forces me to respond to the unintended. 

The status of artistic mastery in the twenty-first century has shifted immensely since the Renaissance. No doubt there are cultures that hold fast to uplifting its tenets. Japanese culture celebrates dedicating one's life work to excelling at a singular skill, often passed down through generations. Whether it is bladesmithing or the perfecting of yakitori, there is a deep sense of pride in the pursuit of perfection.

Rapid technological advancements are squeezing out the time and financial resources required for mastery. The boom of artificial intelligence (AI) is drastically changing the general publics’ expectations around the speed of production, dissemination, and consumption of goods, services, and information. These days, much of the visual and written content on web-platforms has been birthed, if not kissed, by AI in order to keep pace with feeding the information machine of our society. ChatGPT and similar bots bombard us with AI generated images and videos – lovingly termed ‘AI Slop’ due to their rapid creation and complete vapidity – perpetuating the idea that the act of creating is as simple as typing in a description and hitting a button. The magic of instant gratification.

For artists, keeping up with the techno-capitalist pressure of constant creation and dissemination, and the rapid withering of audience attention spans can feel like trying to shoot a target made of glitter flowing down a stream. The overwhelming sentiment is that the pace of human creation, with its natural ebbs and flows, is no longer suited to the increasing sprint of society’s visual and consumer culture. We are eons away from the era of the Old Masters’ ateliers. 

So where does mastery fit in this new world? For one thing, the time associated with mastering a skill is a direct denial of the frenzied techno-capitalist drive to produce at an ever-faster pace. From this viewpoint, mastery may in fact be an act of resistance – similar to the rise in advocacy for rest and slower living as radical activities within late-capitalism's hustle culture. In addition, the inevitable quality produced by a culturally relevant and well executed artwork is also a direct opposition to the meaninglessness of AI Slop. But can the slow pace of mastery survive in the hamster wheel of contemporary demand; ever-more options, faster production, and at an economical price-tag? Mastery is associated with higher cultural and market value, which is gradually becoming less and less attainable to the shrinking middle class and accessible only to the wealthy or ultra-wealthy – consequently also a shrinking number. So who is mastery really for and does it still have value?