For artists seeking both guidance and motivation, a wealth of books exists, from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way to Austin Kleon’s Steal Like An Artist or Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act. These works collectively offer a mix of uplifting admonitions that straddle the line between inspirational and mundane, urging those who read to “Let yourself play” (Cameron), “Use your hands” (Kleon), and “Look inward” (Rubin).
However, in her latest book, Art Work: On the Creative Life, Sally Mann stands out as perhaps the first to offer genuinely actionable advice; included among her insights addressing rejection, distraction, and perfectionism is a list of home remedies she wrote in 1971: “You will notice about halfway down that intestinal worms are treated with raw garlic and rice,” she notes, “but of course you astute young folks know I was mistaken: the best remedy for worms—pinworms in particular—is diatomaceous earth.”
Naturally.
Much like her praised 2016 memoir, Hold Still, Mann’s distinctive blend of self-deprecating humor and lyrical elegance permeates Art Work, accompanied by photographs, journal entries, and correspondence with fellow photographer Ted Orland. Originally from Lexington, Virginia, Mann frequently revisits the landscapes of the Shenandoah Valley in her work, featuring her three children, sometimes unclothed, which sparked significant controversy during the 1992 exhibit Immediate Family at New York’s Houk Friedman Gallery.
While none of Mann’s subsequent displays garnered the same level of media frenzy, she has persistently continued her art practice and — leading us to Art Work — her life as well. In the prologue, she asserts, “… a creative life invariably comprises a rich, overflowing, diverse, and intricate other life.”
Across the subsequent twelve chapters, Mann employs anecdotes from her “other” life to convey insightful mentorship wisdom. Reflecting on the significance of luck, she recounts how her first flight at the age of 26 led to a serendipitous meeting with Ronald Winston (the son of the famed “King of Diamonds” Harry Winston), who casually tossed her the keys to his East Side mansion for a weekend stay. She reminisces about her second exhibition, which merely featured prints thumbtacked to a campus café wall, yet led to her first sale – to none other than Olga Hirshhorn, who graciously accepted it for her namesake Washington, DC, museum.
Beyond these fortunate moments, Mann candidly discusses more profound experiences, including the fallout from Immediate Family and her difficult choice to withdraw 14 images of Black men from her 2018 exhibit A Thousand Crossings at the National Gallery of Art. In a chapter titled “Why You Say Yes,” she recounts a visit to Qatar in the early 2000s, which came at the behest of its Emir, Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani. After touring the Qatari desert with palace drivers, Mann boldly expressed her outrage at the sight of abandoned vehicles, rusted oil drums, and plastic refuse that littered the environment of this flourishing yet burgeoning nation. Finding a shared passion for the landscapes of their respective countries, Mann agreed to return for a portrait session in mid-September 2001.
Unfortunately, the trip didn’t transpire. More alarmingly relevant today, Mann discloses that when a prominent literary magazine recently sought a new body of work from her, it declined to publish her photographs (primarily landscapes) from Qatar due to the nation’s “questionable human rights record.” Earlier this year, her images depicting unclothed children also faced criminal scrutiny and were seized from an exhibition at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth. Though charges were ultimately dropped, this incident represents a level of legal action not seen since the peak of the 1990s “moral panic” surrounding her work.
What guidance do artists have for navigating censorship? Furthermore, when should artists disengage from addressing repressive governments? Is the discrimination against migrants, women, and LGBTQ+ people in Qatar sufficient to necessitate such a withdrawal, or must the conditions escalate to genocide for artists to call for a cancellation of exhibitions? There may not be straightforward answers, and even the most profound artistic guidance can feel lacking amidst intense government assaults on cultural institutions. Reflecting on her experiences with censorship, Mann reminds us of the artist’s crucial responsibilities:
You owe it to the viewer to present an alternative perspective (why else would they be motivated to explore yours?), to challenge their deeply held beliefs with respect and perhaps a touch of beauty, and to provoke and subvert. The more effectively you fulfill this role, the more agitation—and possibly anger—you might incite.
Mann refrains from providing succinct recommendations. However, if there’s an overarching response in Art Work, it emerges not as a set of instructions, but rather through the embodiment of its author. The message? Continue creating, provoke thought, stir up discussions, and persist.
Art Work: On the Creative Life by Sally Mann (2025) is published by Abrams and is available for purchase online and in bookstores.
