Tuesday, April 19, 2011

It's just the plight of the artist, I suppose

I was walking through Good Will the other day...One of my favorite places on earth, believe it or not. I wandered into the art section. I can pick up really, REALLY fabulous frames there, for cheap! I take the piece and bust it apart, paint it or repair it, and take out the old art and put my own art in there. It's great you know. But I get really sad sometimes. When I discard the old art work. I mean, that was someones expression of their soul, non? Don't get me wrong, I have thrown out art that I found ugly, repulsive, cutesy, outdated, torn up, and I didn't bat an eyelid. But its the pieces that you can tell someone painted, maybe it isn't my style...but I wonder, one day will all my art end up at Good will? Will someone be scouring the art section looking for "good canvas" to paint over? That makes me the saddest. Not that I haven't taken the almighty Gesso erasure to even my very own paintings, but...to think of all my art discarded someday, just makes me feel, sad.

I create art from my soul. I think most of its crap, and I wonder if I am right? So then, is my soul crap? Or is my perception crap? Or is my art really crap? *sigh* who knows....I would like to sell more art, that would be validating I guess. Not even for the money, necessarily, though don't get me wrong, the money would be awesome! But just to know, someone loved something I made so much that they wanted to buy it. Art is such a frivolous purchase. It really has no intrinsic value and yet, it can move you, disgust you, pull you dragging and screaming from your comfort zone, or transport you to a moment in time that is frozen and lost....My favorite art is the piece that makes me relate to the woman in the painting...those pieces (like Waterhouse's work) that make you catch a glimpse into a womans most private moment. Where she might be smelling a rose and taking in the scent like she wants to become the rose itself. Or those paintings of women reading, late at night by candlelight...alone in their rooms, so intense and unaware of their surroundings. I like art that makes me feel. Feel anything other than apathy. Art that gives you a glimpse into the subject matter and also a small glimpse into the soul of the artist. Maybe I have lost that in my work?

i had a friend of mine paint my portrait the other day..it was awesome, abstract and warped...it was really good. Another friend mistook it for something I did and I think I let that bother me more than I thought it did. It was a fair enough mistake on the part of the viewer, but it made me think, maybe my stuff is crap. Maybe I should just throw in the towel. But the thing is, I cant quite, even if I wanted to. Being an artist is what I am. It is me. You cannot separate the art from the woman, like it or not. I feel more artist than woman, most days. Which probably makes no sense, unless you are "something". I feel more artist than human, almost like an artist is its own entity, its own race, its own class. It exists in duality with other descriptives, but it owns its own life, it exists unto itself.

So since my options are limited, rather non existent and quitting isn't an option with out bringing about certain death...spontaneous combustion or the Apocalypse. I suppose the search continues. The search for "not crap", even if every painting gets gessod over at the Good Will in the end....I continue

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