Art Dealers Hate Me

Art, for many, certainly for me, was/is a distraction from over-anxiety. The ‘therapy’ of art therapy. Not a cure a relief. The same process as meditation or mindfulness, whatever that is. Essentially to ignore your problems, hopefully after dealing with them as best as possible, by focusing on something more satisfying. Once the tools to deal with ones creation of over-anxiety have been mastered a bit,, what happens to the art?For me, it changes from a detail oriented, time consuming distraction from the usual and constant discomforts of life, to something more interesting to the artist and hopefully the viewer. 
My painting becomes start to finish in 45 minutes, I am more interested in the immediacy of photo, voyeurism and the photoshop darkroom. I admire Rembrandt for the loss of his many children and and his wife, while keeping the immediacy of his hand made mark, see his feathers for example. ( He didn’t avoid his discomfort by diving into detail. I admire the work of Cliff Eyland, for his ability to make art his satisfaction but not his therapy.How many times have I walked into a gallery and a collector corners me and asks my opinion on their spending thousands of dollars on a piece. In all honesty I have to say you are committing to mental illness on your wall. The 20 pieces in here all look the same, seen one you’ve seen them all, the artist was essentially obsessively and compulsively being a 4 year old complaining that the world is uncomfortable and trying to avoid it. Art dealers hate me.

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