In front of the American public, God, and my beloved stuffed animals, I want to admit my ignorance. Let it be said that I have recognized my ignorance and am trying to own up to the fact. The whole occasion may be a matter of reading the right book, watching a timely produced program, or asking the question. I pose to you that none of those is the remedy. My cure is wrapped up in experience and I am making the intention to have the time. When my clarity comes it may be as gentle as a dragonfly wing on the wind. Accuracy could reveal itself as maintaining my direction in the slow lane. Either way the frustration has not left, but since finish reading The Artist's Way, I know I am not the only one with this condition. I must stop wrapping my worth as an artist up in my market value. Continuing is a surefire depression.
I thought my ignorance of the market ultimately determined whether I would continuing working or not. This peril comes up every few months as my obligations and needs change. Yet, working was never a matter of making money, that was happenstance. I walk more akin with Van Gogh. Art is a matter of sanity. What drives my work again at every reevaluation is a matter of rest, instinct, peer conversation, news, and discovery. Thinking in terms of competition, I continue to create out of both fascination and envy filled limbs, but where is it going? To stay in line with right ethics, is it time to reconsider my need for the gallery scene? Other venues exist and I can not remain selfish about my work. Do I give up on the vision for money's sake? Reinventing myself never felt so painful.
“Everyone's shutting it down,” comes through the darkness too clear, too loud, and too obvious. He says those he knows have given up, donated supplies, thrown away paintings, and sold equipment. All of 'em, done for good. For those who switched from studio work to education or big box blues there seemed hope. The rest frittered away for months trying to find homes for old work just to make enough to settle bills on the homestead. For some, finding out that museums are not dumping grounds was painful. Then there was the last resort, group shows. He said those are a little boring these days.
If there is no where to place the work, then what is the point in making it? Does the fact that there seems no product demand mean you should stop producing? The spiritual in me can not argue that end to art. Art has loftier goals than just to rest on commercial needs. So I say to you, now what? Ars gratia artis doesn't always feed an empty stomach. How does one see to the several functions of art so as not to lose direction with our own work? There is a range to resolve in spirit, commercial, and craft. Before any of us loses our heads any more over the economy and housing, let us set a few priorities for the sake of not giving up on art. I read once that art is the point at which the growth of the mind reveals itself. Making art testifies to sanity. Let this call to order be a matter of preserving the mind.
I learned my own angle in 2008. Trying to hike out five miles to the post office and back is not going to happen with a pack filled with oils, canvas, and brushes. Impractical and heavy are the only watch words anyone need gather from that scenario. Rethinking, retooling, reinventing art in the field cracked my consciousness more than once. I refused to sit on the sidewalk dejected. Letting my mind waiver was never an option. As necessity is the mother of invention she sharpened my wits with a handful of rocks and a bundle of sticks made for primitive survival in midwinter. Out there, on the street, I don't try the shit you would in a museum. Every natural space has its own promises. Adhering to that means other possibilities are required to continue. I will continue. I will evolve. I will stay sane.
Right now I am lost. One thing I do know is not to give up. Even if it means working smaller and finding every nook for storage. Another thing to get over is hoping to be discovered like some ingenue in the 1800s theater. Keith Herring is a street dream. Thinking methodical is the best place to go. Somewhere in my head is Marge Simpson admonishing that slow and steady always wins the race. Somewhere in October I fell though my security and started looking for steady ground a midst all other's frenzy. I do not know who I am outside of the arts. Holding on is sanity. Finding a new identity is confusing.
As ever, stay hungry and curious.