Stephen Aiken
Some artists paint pictures. Others paint the way they speak.
Conversations with Stephen Aiken rarely travel in straight lines. They wander through memory, mythology, Provincetown history, dreams, rock and roll, and philosophy before arriving somewhere unexpectedly beautiful. As an artist, mentor, and longtime member of Provincetown’s creative community, Stephen has spent decades exploring not only what we see, but how we experience the world around us.
We asked Stephen the same ten questions we’ve asked everyone in our series.
His answers could only have come from him.
For those meeting you for the first time, who is Stephen Aiken?
You read your own name on the page and look at it and say, this should be easy, I know this guy. Then you pole vault back and try and get a broader view.
Him? Yeah, you.
He’s a…
I’m a…
I is…
“Je est un autre,” as Rimbaud so blithely said.
Shall we move on.
Editor’s note: Rimbaud’s famous phrase is often translated as “I is another.” It is frequently misquoted as “I am somebody else.”
What first drew you to Provincetown, and what convinced you to stay?
Me and a pal were bumming around down from Harvard Square. It was still the mid-’60s and there was a car spinning in the sand outside the Provincetown Art Association. We got in behind and gave a push and the car escaped the rut to the applause of all gathered.
We followed the crowd back into the PAA. It had been intermission and a play was commencing again. It was a Norman Mailer play, maybe a reading of The Deer Park. Actors were mixed in with the audience, which spun my head around.
I thought, this was different.
How do I join this club of people?
Another precedent was a watercolor of the fishing boat Angeline docked in the harbor, signed Joe Aiken, Provincetown, 1940.
My father loved the salt and the sea.
How has Provincetown influenced your work as an artist over the years?
Back in the day I thought about driving a stake in the dunes and attaching an imaginary line that I could swing out fearlessly into the vast unknown and always find my way back.
Of course, back is never where you left it in Provincetown. The sand migrates and the wind whips the grasses, which in turn draw circles in the sand.
It’s a curli-cue world that defies the compass.
The wind governs, and gulls cry like jesters.
Decent pizza is available.
Missing Time explored memory, transformation, and alternate realities. Did that theme resonate with you?
The informational mechanics of the brain are like a slot machine randomly trying to pair up symbols.
As it has been said, everything is everything and probably happening again and again.
I like the way dreams roll around in the night. Sometimes I wake up and wonder, was that just one single thought caught on a conveyor belt or am I forgetting something?
I tell myself, “If there is any profit in this, you won’t really know until you cash out.”
Artists spend their lives learning how to see. Has the way you look at the world changed over time?
One dawn in my early teens I woke up and went to the window and looked out and the world was a single color.
The color was red.
I was not surprised.
I went back to sleep.
It was a deeply satisfying experience.
Epiphany is a loaded word, but that’s what it was.
Epiphanies only come when they come and briefly cleave existence just enough to let you know things are fine.
In my case this preternatural event was enough to fashion a creed.
Shortly thereafter I rejected all organized religion with the exception of rock ‘n’ roll.
What role do curiosity and experimentation play in your creative process?
Curiosity and experimentation are lovely words, but I would also add boredom and anger.
I daydreamed through a lot of my schooling.
I’d put my head down on the desk and imagine a cavernous stage. The tales I invented were repetitious and accompanied by the sound of a chugging train—the blood pulsing through my brain.
The other way you come to the artist’s life is that you simply don’t have much talent for anything else.
It’s a fallback position where you can have things your way.
Enduring becomes your stock in trade.
What part of Provincetown’s creative spirit should never disappear?
It’s no coincidence that Stellwagen Bank is just off the coast of Provincetown.
It is an integral part of the magic that happens on shore.
The Nausets called the town Meeshawn. They knew the spirits firsthand.
The little Pukwudgie people like to hide around Devil’s Lake.
The Nikommo prefer the woods.
Once you believe in them, they are easy to find.
As my mother used to say,
“Just open up your baby blue eyes.”
If you could place one work of art—or one object—in the Provincetown 300 Time Capsule, what would it be, and why?
Three hundred?
Three hundred what?
My view is we are all from Pangaea before time was even considered.
If we are talking about the discovery of this spit of land—by whom? Indian, Chinese, Portuguese, Nordic, Irish, English, Spanish, Maghreb, or any other rambling soul blown off course intentionally or otherwise—then know this:
We are laggard evolutionary creatures on the cusp of a tidal wave of rapid change.
Grab a flotation device and hang on.
What advice would you give a young artist just beginning their journey?
Look to the past.
Travel to put yourself before the works that call to you and give them some time.
Be aware that the miraculous is rare—but it does exist.
Enjoy your beautiful youth with your loves.
Finish this sentence:
“The outsider inside us all…”
…is searching for companions on the journey.
Interview by Chuck White & Annabelle
Camp Provincetown | Missing Time Oral History Project
Presented by Camp Provincetown as part of the ongoing Provincetown 300 initiative documenting the artists, performers, thinkers, builders, and creative spirits shaping Provincetown today.
One Artist. Ten Questions. One Provincetown.
