Maybe “Late” Is the Wrong Word
I recently came across a piece in Radar about nine artists who found major recognition after 60. I knew several of their stories, but seeing them together stopped me.
It wasn’t their success that interested me as much as their persistence.
They kept going.
Carmen Herrera sold her first painting at 89. Luchita Hurtado painted for more than 70 years before receiving major museum recognition in her late 90s. Frank Bowling received a major Tate retrospective at 85. Rose Wylie didn’t really capture the international art world’s attention until her 70s.
Then there’s Joan Semmel, El Anatsui, Howardena Pindell, Suzanne Jackson, and Dan Droz, who turned seriously to sculpture at 69.
Nine artists. Nine very different lives. What I found so encouraging was their drive to continue making work, whether or not the world was paying attention.
We tend to think of a creative career as having an arc. You emerge, establish yourself, peak, and eventually become part of the past.
I’m beginning to think that idea is bullshit.
Experience Is Material
I’ve spent most of my life working creatively. I’ve designed brands, built businesses, taught, painted, made mistakes, changed direction, and started over.
Why should any of that become less valuable because I got older?
You see differently at 70 than you did at 30. You’ve looked at more things. Lived through more things. Made more mistakes. And hopefully you’re less interested in pleasing everyone.
When I’m painting, I don’t think about my age. I think about the painting. What’s wrong with it. What it needs. Whether I should leave it alone or destroy half of it and start again.
The work doesn’t know how old I am. Maybe “Late” Is the Wrong Word
We call artists like these late bloomers. I’m not sure I like the phrase. It suggests they somehow missed the proper moment.
Maybe they weren’t late. Maybe it took that long to make the work. Maybe the culture had to catch up with them.
Or maybe our idea of when someone is supposed to do their most interesting work is simply outdated.
That’s a big part of what I’m exploring with GenHouse and The Expansion Era™. We’re living longer and staying engaged longer, yet we still behave as though the interesting part of life happens somewhere between 25 and 55.
I prefer another possibility:
What if some of our best work is still ahead of us?
Not because age automatically makes us wiser or more talented. But because we have experience, perspective, and less time to waste worrying about what everyone else thinks.
That’s what I take from these artists. Not a comparison, but permission to keep going.
So I’m going back to the studio. Apparently, I’m not late at all.