“Some days are diamonds,” and of others I am reminded of a friend’s slogan “I got a rock,” quoted from the Peanuts Christmas Special.
The existence of that small business – whether cafe, art gallery, lounge or cycle shop – is similar to that of the artist within the larger scope of towns and cities as they stand today: bottom feeders in the desert.
In each, the valuable stories of past and recent heroes haunt the streets and scurry through the backroom conversations and anti-climactic constructivist dialogue.
We are all living in filth up to our necks, alongside vermin with the bugs, looking up at vultures who wait for us to drop. And to think those crafty marketeers romanticize this lifestyle and hand it back revamped and fashionable – at a price no more or less perverted in our expedient economic doldrums.
It can be so because we let it be. Is all good? Is all free?
The artist makes good works, not without refinement. Who dictates this refinement – the artist himself, or is it through the audiences’ unbridled want? Does the audience want art or does the audience want what it wants? The less amount of physiological noise, to belong, to be handed the script, to not dig – OR – to be excited by unknowns, to have doubts, to dream uncensored, to be happily lost.