Meet Paul Tamanian — or The Tamaniac as he’s been dubbed.
They say Don’t judge a book by its cover. But in this case you must trust your instinct.
What you see in this pic is exactly who The Tamaniac is:
A no-holds-barred artist who breathes a creative force like few others.
For example, this is not Paul’s artwork, that car. That car is a side project.
And yet here he is on a sweltering day after working outdoors in sun and heat and bugs and sweat on his artwork, jumping into his side project for the fun of it.
Zoom in a little on the background in the upper righthand side of the image. That’s Paul’s house. One he designed and helped build on a lake outside of Tallahassee.
Zoom in on the background in the upper lefthand side. That’s an open carport Paul uses for his studio.
Some of his work his tackled in that shelter, though much of it happens just outside on the gravel driveway.
We’ve represented Paul Tamanian at Studio E Gallery from our first exhibit 25 years ago.
If you click the link you’ll see Paul slightly cleaned up, only slightly — because this dude tackles life like he tackles his art. Full on. If he’s not attacking the aluminum surfaces he works on, he’s full tilt into a side project.
Or he’s swimming. Or hiking. Or golfing. Or in rant mode about the state of the country.
I bet even his dreams are action sequenced. No floating fairies and lightning bugs over a shimmering sylvan landscape for him.
We were the first gallery outside of his local area to pick him up. And it’s been a ride the whole way.
He started in ceramics and over time moved to two-dimensional surfaces before finding his ultimate home on aluminum.
He easily moves back and forth between the flat surface of wall art to curvilinear sculpture evoking sails or clouds, ancient totemic forms even.
My point is this: Art maniacs find a way.
When the Studio E team is looking for artists we look for committed zaniacs like Paul. People who commit to their art.
Because the committed always find a way.
You know this.
And you know this too. Commitment is merely showing up each day to do the work.
If you’re stuck, if you’re waffling, if you’re scrolling through your phone hours a day rather than doing what you claim is important to you, take a page from the Paul Tamanian playbook.
Jump in every day.
You may not have a glorious air-conditioned workspace stocked with lattes.
Neither does Paul.
But he found a way decades ago to do the work around his full-time gig.
And he did it consistently enough till his art became his full-time gig.
Ladies and gentleman, if you’re looking for inspiration, scroll back to the top of this page.
Check out Paul in the photo.
There’s nothing glamorous here.
He’s not sipping from a brandy snifter. He’s not reclining in a plush fashionista armchair. He’s not surrounded by coffee table books or pretty assistants. He’s not toking exotic sinsemilla.
Not that he wouldn’t mind some of that at the right time — quitting time.
You can tell by the pants and shirt, by the hat and gloves and footwear. These are clothes a working artist wears every day.
That’s all you need.
Keep at it, and you too may be lucky enough to find yourself on a Florida heatlamp summer day enjoying the hell out of your side project.
Only after you’ve done the real work, of course.