How to Jazz up crap:
Pleasure is usually a by-product of hard work and discomfort. A lot of times, I exert a lot of energy creating expectations and on heavy planning and then take pleasure disappointing them. I would like to share that I find the former sentence to be trite and not good. That I am dragging myself to conjure anything substantial but I still have nothing to say. There is much to be said about drive, how important it is to will your self to create or to act upon an idea…
A daily mega dose of pleasure-giving formative hours in front of a computer or television or wall or a pillow seems to forfeit any lofty expectations I have in serving up any little talent I can muster to fill up a gallery space in an awesome way. I’ve got crap all over, marooning in my own skull. They’re not great and bright and grossly sentimental. I do not think there is anything wrong with that but I think there is something wrong in stating such useless information.
I want to talk about the self-conscious nature of things that I read and see around these days. I am tired of wit and irony and they’re very entertaining as well. I fear of being too juvenile or to seem to be trying too hard or that I’ve been browsing at too many art things that its creating a pattern for how I do things or present stuff. I am forgetting that this is not a confessional platform. So anyway, what I really like to point out is that there are days when I really am just dragging myself to work. That I am still waiting to get excited at the prospect of creating things that I can really care for. I want someone to collapse form the sheer pleasure of seeing something I made. Not really, just a pat on the back would do – not really. I just want to make things and keep on making them until I get a violent Technicolor personal lady boner for the whole art thing. In the mean time, I just want to say look ma I’m still painting!
