I’m just emerging from a deep introspection initiated by my partner’s challenge: Given you’ve got no discernable talent, why do you spend so much time trying to put your creative work out there? Paint for the love of it, and stop anxting over getting it “out there”. Well, that was the gist.
This view relegates creative work to a hobby. Something one occasionally indulges in on an idle Saturday afternoon instead of going for a walk or visiting friends. It can’t possibly justify the expenses of: studio space, time off work, organisation of events; when we have to save up for new duvets for the kids’ warmth, or the luxury of a new toaster.
Creative work makes no money for me. It’s not “a career” that makes less money than the alternatives. Without my partner on board, I either have to create on a “hobby” basis, and earn sensible money with the liberated time, or leave the relationship.
The first problem is one of pride, the “discernable talent”. On reflection, there are plenty of artists who get their work “out there” whose only discernable talent is marketing. One has to be born with creative genius, but fortunately for the rest of us, marketing skills can be learned. On further reflection, I’m sure I’ve got talent somewhere, just forgot where I put it for safe keeping after my daughter was born!
The second problem is the “out there”. Many artists, including myself, have tried the line of “I create for the sake of it, without thought of Out There”. But they all (self included) dry up rapidly. Some are self-aware enough to notice this, some don’t care, the rest blunder off into something easier.
Art is a dialogue (for the BIG EGOS, it’s a monologue). To initiate a dialogue, you have to have something to say. As Abbi says in her comment (see #1), your art has to be “relevant” or “valid” today. There’s no point trying to be Picasso or Pollock … although those dialogues continue, they were initiated a long time ago.
I know what I’m trying to say. I couldn’t write it down in a blog, an essay, an MA dissertation, or even a PhD thesis – If I could, I would (and I tried), and that would be the end of the sorry affair. The reason I’m an artist – not an academic, non-fiction writer or logician – is that this thing can’t be written in a succinct, closed argument. Which feeds into my dislike of the artists’ statement (see After Rites #3).
I can get reasonably close to the thing with my closest friends, (which makes them closest friends) – I can dialogue with them without the intervals of months between events … And I got close enough with my partner this morning to restore her support.
But I wouldn’t write what I said here. That would destroy instantly any hope of future funding or exhibitions.
The motivation for “an artist” is a kind of madness. Most artists I’ve met comprehend it; meanwhile, commissioning bodies, administrators, many curators, academics, critics and art historians treat it as an intellectual game, entertainment for the educated bourgeoisie on a Saturday afternoon.
And that really pisses me off: Having to adjust one’s statements, attitudes, remarks, notes, explanations and commentary to suit the “game”; when we all know the whole thing is bonkers and we all belong in asylums. (See Susan Francis “Bare Bones” #18).
One thing I admire about strict fundamentalist Islam: 5 times daily prayers. I’m sure there are some who privately think: “Why do we have to stick our noses on the floor and our arses in the air 5 times a day, it’s so bad for business?”. But what a great thing – to subordinate oneself to the question of life’s meaning 5 times a day. Should be made compulsory here, especially during the Xmas holidays.
