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Artist

Sometimes I choose the fingers over the brushes, resulting in blistered tips and splinters. In the act, however, the burning of soul and vision surpasses the burning of flesh on wood.

The artist must bleed, must be splattered, become broken, walk through the thickets and fall.

The artist wants to know, to know words, faces, ideas.

The artist wants to love, wants to believe, wants to create every second but also knows a time of observing is a fruitful thing, a time of listening and lounging, sipping and tasting in the subtle surprises, sitting in spaces where holiness is smelled, where life leaks through the roof and the thunder tumbles to the window panes, the candles lit, darkness and pajamas, yawns and praise.

I am not a teacher's painter, what I mean is, the teacher will look at my work and tell me how I should have done it. It is true, students should learn technique, how to be creative conceptionally, and how to handle the materials. These are fundamental. Thisis the system, the code, the formula to success, whatever that means. The course I am in now is called Introductory to painting, or painting 101, and for some reason I foresee conflict with my approach and the approach of the teacher. For some reason the teacher does not emphasize creativity but rather study and practice and still-life, rendering in the lights and darks, the modeling, the realism, how the subject appears in nature.

The teacher says we cannot use oil colors, only acrylics, for the reason that we are beginners, and because for some reason the board of health has banned the use of oils and turpentine in the studio at my school for the semester. I think to myself, maybe I will smuggle some in, somehow. The approach of the teacher is rational, is for the student to be successful in the art advertisement business, to emphasize technique and the ability to follow through with it over and over, to produce and produce cover after cover of magazine or web design logos, who knows. The technicalities of painting, of the art world in general, that are discussed by the teacher in the opening of the first class session seem to discourage a lot of students, I see this in their faces and in their sighing out loud, in their leaving and coming back in a daze.

Of course, I know these things are true, it is the reality of the art world, of the artist, whatever kind of artist she/he is, and must be discussed, must be made known, it is important, we must have a sense of reality and wake up, raise up our abilities and gifts, to contend with our flesh and mind and soul all day long in order that we may force out of us like a pregnant woman the bloody scraps of art that need to be exposed, to be raised up like icons that display glory and love, the artist a servant, a slave, an act of being obedient to his nature, to his spirit, to his vision given in the middle of the night, more like every second of the day. Rest is crucial, it is the healthy way to be, at all costs try to rest, but sometimes it just will not happen, the art slaps you in the face over and over, cold water, the day extended every day like the war of Joshua when the sun was commanded to hang for just a little longer.

So what am I saying, what am I writing here? Maybe I just do not want to face a certain reality. Maybe I just want to live in my own reality, whatever that is, my attic. Maybe I must learn to be humble and listen and cry and have my face become red like cadmium, maybe I am missing the essentials, the fundamentals, the code stylistic way, of what it means to be a student in an art department. Maybe, what I am saying, is, I wish the teachers would encourage studio artist as a full time life dedication, the way of living, the way of supporting ourselves, the joy one can have from it, the excitement, filling us as human, always craving, life! Its just that their are other things on our minds. Our future. Our family. Our house. Our car. Our bills. Our things. Important things, yes, but not that important. Or so that is the way I think now, maybe it is just an example of my fantasy which I am living now, and I pray to God, I will be able to live to the ends of time.

I sometimes wonder should I spend more time in learning how to paint like the old masters? The paints today are not like the paints then, but achieving a realistic painting is feasible. I think the art that I am doing now is an art that looks you straight in the eyes, bare and sharp as saw, something that seems to have no relevance or importance in this ever increasingly ideology of technological-economic-territorial-military dominance, and so in the same world, I paint popcorn or cigarettes or ants or stones or lotto tickets or trash or baking worms or saints or prostitutes or lovers or dirty feet because they happen to be greater in the realm of something spiritual, or so I believe.

In all these things, I know I have much to learn, and maybe one day I will have a change of opinion, but these are words from me now, maybe they matter, maybe they don't. All I know is that I believe in the possibility of art and the mysterious places it might take us.

Stridefull	Latest page update: made by Stridefull , Jul 4 2007, 10:17 PM EDT (about this update About This Update Edited by Stridefull 833 words added view changes - complete history)
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