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| ratatat collage on paper |
Art: My level of engagement with it, and it is intense at the level that I do engage with it, is in its making, its viewing, its studying, and in the teaching of it; but rarely in its showing. For some reason, I am not very interested in engaging in the dance necessary to get my work displayed. This makes me a very bad artist, if one at all.
I’m not afraid of criticism. I believe in my work. I’m just not interested in the networking necessary to get something exhibited. If opportunity knocks, and occasionally it does, I happily show it. Also, sometimes when I am totally disgusted with myself for not being a real artist, for an artist needs to show his or her work, I engage in the rigmarole necessary to do it. But this has become rarer and rarer. The good news being that I no longer get too disgusted with myself; though this might not be one of those days...
For the past 28 years I have studied and taught art. All these years, I have questioned it and wondered what it is all about. Art is ever changing, and these days its raison d’être is to be ubiquitous. It has no single meaning and no single goal, as at times in the past, when movements could coalesce within its caldron of shifting winds, it fooled us into thinking that it did. Teaching it to and sharing my love for it with young people, some of whom will get addicted to making it and might chose to dedicate their lives to it, becomes morally suspect at times like this when I am blue. I worry about how my young students will make a living in this rapidly changing and fickle environment.
My father retired to Europe where he and my mother started making and exhibiting their art. My uncle retired and became a photographer. My other uncle, before he died, started making sculptures. Except for my father, none of these people have any formal training; and unlike me, they happily engage in the bullshit necessary to exhibit their work.
These days, everybody is an artist.
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