It would appear that I vanished but economic necessity and hardship made concentrating on anything art related nearly impossible. Somehow I managed to make four new paintings, each that I “liked” so to speak but then the feelings of doubt and failure swept in and pretty much erased any sense of accomplishment I felt.
One out of the four stands up fairly well but with the summers political bullshit and the further collapse of the economy, did we really ever leave the recession? Really? No one that I ask feels that we did and at the end of the day trying to put food on the table and keep ones roof overhead becomes a priority and the ability to make art becomes, at least for me very daunting and leaves me responding to the one good work, so what.
Over twenty years, nearly thirty years of art practice seems to be for naught. Not that I expected any great prize but survival trumps the other. I don’t think it is romantic to be starving in a garret and that model of art practice is a false one. I wonder in the face of it whether art has any importance other than as an entertainment for the economic elites.
I don’t just make art for myself but to communicate ideas that are vital but the feeling of being a tree falling in the forest and not making a sound is too isolating. I’ve come to a point that maybe I am irrelevant and the work is in the same boat, one that is sinking. Weep, weep. I don’t mean to be a sad sack or ask indulgence.
Maybe I am in a point of transition, one that will make the work tougher and stronger, one that may lead me to a new point. Any artist who doesn’t question themselves isn’t very serious in my opinion. I have a close friend working in my studio who has done just that, made a profound leap and his work is tight, on the money and breathtaking.
But even seeing that doesn’t stir me and I fear seeing the De Kooning retrospective will have the same effect. Instead of bracing myself and getting to work I might just want to fold and deal myself out. Time will tell.
Living in poverty at 50 sucks.