Thursday, August 29, 2013

Friday, August 23, 2013

1277 City of Living Metal

Drawing from a dream is like trying to draw a portrait of a well known friend standing in a fog about 10 meters away. One draws more of what they see in their mind than what one sees with their eyes...

Monday, August 19, 2013

1273 A Day in the Life of the Claw Machine

Lucky guy...

Dreams of today

I believe this is the first time sharing a dream of mine. The one I had last night was full of fascinating imagery. Our fair city was a gigantic metropolis. It was a mechanized marvel, a living organism of steel and concrete. What struck me the most was the immensity of this world which I had conjured up. Everything seemed like a vital organ in a giant creature. Off in the distance I would see cables falling from their position which seemed as if they traveled to earth in slow motion even though they were simply falling a great distance at the regular speed. It is like watching a sheath of ice breaking off a glacier and falling into the ocean. Time seems to slow down but nothing could be farther from the truth. I am quite inspired by this dream. I would definitely say that it is a dystopian view of what is today but where could such imagery come from. Certainly not this sunny paradise I call home...

1271 Lightness of Being

What a grand day...

Sunday, August 4, 2013

1263 Sleeping Atop a Tree

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 
  To toll me back from thee to my sole self! 
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
  As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades  
  Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
    Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep 
          In the next valley-glades: 
  Was it a vision, or a waking dream? 
    Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?


Saturday, August 3, 2013

1262 Birds Flying High

Yeah you know how I feel...

Return of the Wayward Son

I have been a self imposed exile from art for over a year now. This silliness must end and it shall soon. First of I should explain the reason for my exile. Long ago when I was a bright eyed young lad in art school I was deluded by the fact that my art would someday save the world. That as an artist I was serving a higher purpose by creating "art". Megalomania of this level is something of a pandemic that spreads to every student of art. As the years went by  my marble statue of idealistic theorems was worn down to an unrecognizable lump of rock.

When I graduated I found myself lost in the world. Everything that I created seemed to be devoid of passion, meaning, and value. I continued on with my gallery and studio work because I thought that by doing so I would someday find my way in the world as an artist.

I never did find my way. The work stagnated in my eyes despite the reassurances of others. I have always garnered many compliments on my work but now these praises seemed as hollow as my former beliefs in art. When the gallery closed down I stopped making art for a long time and I did not feel the need to create. Even the daily drawings ceased for a brief period of time. I was a shadow of who I once was, an insect shell left behind after molting.

All of this was because I realized that the art world was simply a machine where in order for artists to survive they must create these commodity items bought by a very small audience of people. I felt obliged to create things that would sell. Is this so different from someone performing on command to please a passer by? This all seemed like the opposite of what I once strove for. So I walked away and the world did not miss my work, only more assurance that my art was not something that would of any importance.

Tonight has sparked change in me. I took part in the gallery walk, something I had not participated in for many months. There are no alternative galleries left in old town. What people were viewing was the same thing from gallery to gallery. Bland and generic art. The kind made devoid of passion.

This made me think that I do have something to say that is certainly different from the local vernacular. I also have something to contribute to the greater discussions in art. It seems that each artist must participate in the discussion for it is their duty to do so. A duty to further the progress of art. As an artist I know that my art can't save the world but it can add to it. Perhaps it will inspire someone to change in some way. These days being free of a gallery and the need to sell art to support myself I am able to create work the way I want to and talk of things important to myself. I am not bound to fulfill any destiny of greatness. In obscurity there is freedom. I am returning to the art world, even if it does not welcome me with open arms.