09.08.06
Preoccupations with breads and circuses
My writing on my Iridescent Art News is good. I know it is better than most of the crap I read. Most of the non-confrontational coke commercial bullshit that passes as art writing. I don’t ever want to be an art reporter – I am sick to death of just reading about art. Never once did I make a painting in a happy state of mind – although the end products always made me happy. I always work in a state of anxiety and passion, and I want to write the same way. Iridescent Art News has flashes, and this blog has a few gushes of what I am talking about.
Most people don’t take the time or effort to read my works, and it is the same when people come to see my work in galleries. There is a rawness that is uncomfortable and unelegant. There is a thought process behind each work that is confused and chaotic – and that’s the way I like it. Decisions are tough and making a work of art deals with making decision. Visions and revisions which a minuet will reverse. To hell with clearly thought out theories on art. To hell with clear vision. To hell with nicely packaged pills that slide down your throat easier to make you forget the pain.
What pisses me off the most is that the floaters, the advertisers, the commercial makers of the art world, the ass kissing back scratchers, are the ones in the loop. They make the loop an exclusive place where one has to do a lot of fake flirting to get into. And here I sit as I always have. A little to passionate and aggressive for most people to deal with. But that doesn’t mean my work is not worth looking into. I know what you see in me, I look at myself through your eyes all the time, I calculate moves, moods, and attitudes. And I am always ripped off. Within weeks after I produce something new people are ripping me off and passing it on as their own ideas – it happens all the time and I am sick to death of it all. I am not part of the club – but that same club rips me off and profits from it in their circle of back patting. Not much is more aggravating.
So here I sit exercising demons. My demons are so fit from all the exercising I give them that they could win Olympic medals. I will see how long it takes for someone to try and rip that line off from me in some way or another – because it always happens. So I know I got the goods as far as talent, vision, and passion go – and I am getting closer to that “voice” everyone talks about. You rip-off artists, you circle jerking never-will-be’s, you shits; when you do finally realize the “voice” of my art you will be to weak to ever imitate. You better keep your eyes open so you can talk about it when it passes you by.
