Have you ever painted something and felt the urge to self-censor and disown your work immediately?
I’m going to show you something that terrifies me. Both of these are in progress. It’s a pair of cute owls and a puppy. They are fun to paint. I am using bright acidic colors.
That is all I know so far.
I know, what the hell? Right? How is this confrontational to any normal person?
You have to understand the dialogue I’m having with the inner critic.
IC: Are you fucking KIDDING me?
Me: I just…making marks, just making marks, they make me happy. I have no control over this.
IC: Black Lives Matter. People are dying. Things are on fire. And this? This isn’t even smart-stupid. And what is this “I have no control” pigeon poop? Excuse me, is this 1850?
Me: Dude, cosign. I just don’t think that art is the best way to fix the world all the time, sorry, just my experience. There are other artists more qualified than I am to call attention to the Things That Matter. Words work better for that purpose, for me.
IC: Well then art has no purpose. If you’re not Glenn Ligon or Mel Chin you are the problem, bourgeois pig dog. You are completely irresponsible.
Me: I’m scared. These ARE stupid. Aren’t we supposed to do the things that freak us out? Is it always bad to be stupid? I’m tired of playing with the Intellect all the time.
IC: Of course it’s bad to be stupid, stupid. You’ve never let yourself go like this. What’s next, cat lady art?
Me: What’s wrong with cat ladies? Why are middle aged women the punchline of the cosmic joke every. single. time?
IC: You’re just justifying commercial capitalism and feel good narcissism. What, are you going to eatlovepray next? Besides, you can’t even make money when you sell out. HA.
Me: I’m uncomfortable. But I’m having fun. I think I’m having fun? Fuck you!
I’m only winning this round because I’ve had this argument for YEARS literally, and I’m tired of losing.
When I decided to do illustration and mixed media, instead of installation and failure to actually make things, I wanted to make things that made me happy. That was my mission statement. I feel myself wander away from it, sliding out for a cigarette and a scotch the minute that cupcakes have been handed out and everyone else is smiling and distracted. I still keep sneaking out and trying to be SMART. Trying to make sure that my drawing is competent, rather than just moving my hand in time with the music. Trying to make sure that my fingerpainting is relegated safely to a background. Trying to make things “complicated” through a mismatch or an obscure piece of text instead of an affirmation or a heart that’s just a freaking heart.
I’m going to have to lock myself in and really really figure out what makes me… and not my ego… happy.