there is no bad art there is first year art there is mature art context is the art god we all worship there is only art today I find it satisfying tomorrow maybe not my glycemic index goes up due to the oatmeal my eyes from the glycation distort my lens and blur the art then looks like shit tomorrow maybe not the art doesn’t change it is only satisfying to the artist or not It’s art because the artist was interested that’s interesting or not art marketing is “manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.” for profit Whoever Controls your money Controls your art Art doesn’t care. Art has no rules. Anyone can view it from their viewpoint. You can’t keep such an exhibitionist as art in a cage.
I had a stroke. Reality is reality, not the way I think it has “got to” be.
Although I keenly prefer not have a stroke, a preference does not equal a “got to.”
Although I have extra financial and employment hassles with a stroke, that’s all I have—hassles, not horrors.
It could be nice to have a respite from work, which would provide a longed-for break to make art and write a book or two.
I have savings and pension income I am able to live on for life. I am able to take my time and do a really excellent job of rehab & recovery.
Having a stroke could give me just the push that I have been lacking to take a chance on my dream—returning to my profession as an artist.
Having a stroke has given me a golden opportunity to practice accepting misfortunes, rather than needlessly worrying about them.
I can see, concretely, that even the worst-case scenario is not as bad as I had anticipated.
Having a stroke, this is a bad situation, but it would not make me a bad or worthless person.
I am more money-conscious, for example, move into a shared apartment, eat at home more, and buy a new car in five years rather than immediately. This would mean some deprivation, but I’ve survived deprivation before, and I will survive it in the future.
The simple fact of having a stroke, by itself, can never disturb me. Only my bellyaching about it can do that.
Even if I never get a job as well-paying the one I lost, I accept that and still considerably enjoy life, although I could enjoy it even more with a better salary.
Having a stroke provides an opportunity to eventually get a position that may have certain advantages over this one: self employed so a more supportive boss, more friendly co-workers, less pressure, more interesting work, shorter commute times, less crowded work space, or potentially better pay.
Pressuring myself saying I shouldn’t have had a stroke will not help me recover. Moreover, it could turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy: the more I demand this, the more stressed and distracted I get, and the worse I perform in my recovery.
In the larger sense, health is temporary. Health changes, unemployment, and lost jobs are part of life.
I started at “square one” at relearning to walk, I worked my way up out of the wheelchair and continued to improve.
Everyone has significant discomforts, inconveniences, and hassles in life. This is part of the human condition. No reason exists why I have “got to” be exempt.
It is a relief not to be so focused on competitive work and instead do contemplative art.
What is the intention of the artist? How are the participants elicited and acknowledged? How does the methodology employed by the artist enable or limit the agency of the participant? How does the artist reflexively address their own assumptions, and challenge dominant preconceptions about the participant and the subjects of their imagery? Where does the artist disseminate the work, and how do these contexts affect the representation of the participant? How has the artist used models of documentation to make the questions, problems, constraints, and subjectivities explored throughout the duration of the practice explicit?
How do I know what I don’t know? “Please know we are still very interested in having your perspective on a future jury, but we will creating each jury for each program as they roll out throughout the year.” What perspective is that? And on what subject and in what context. I was not informed that I would be part of a pool. I was making myself available and making a commitment to be on a jury to offer a professional opinion, as part of my professional responsibilities to recognize and nurture talent, and as a contribution to my community. The reason I do not like secret pools is that it gives the impression of stacking the jury so that political agendas are served. This hidden process that is done in secretive back rooms smacks of censorship. I have served on juries for 25 years, and generally there is an open context, and an agenda. Like the New Gallery has a focus on contemporary art, for example. Your jury selection conext and agenda are not obvious or open to the public, yet I see artists picked for the banner project for example for the last seven years, not only for the quality of artistic merit, but for membership in social groups, apparently. Perhaps it is just coincidence. I recently was offered a show as a handicapped artist. I was recently turned down to show as an emerging photographer due to my age. What do my physical attributes, choice of gender of sexual partners, age, choice of gender of myself, have to do with my art in anyway at all. Well, lots, if you have that as a curatorial agenda but it needs to made clear at the outset. The national gallery of Canada changed their age requirement for their emerging artist competition when I pointed out it was ageist and bigoted. You can emerge as an artist at any age. The optics of this selection committee, and it’s vague catch all of artistic merit and ‘social impact’ are terrible. Without clear and specific information as to curatorial theme, specific reasons why I was chosen to be on the jury or not, I am not interested in being part of a secretive process in a back room where for all I know the selections are made on the basis of social groupings and political agendas. Thank You
A study of narcissists indicates that you can’t create empathy, or teach it and things like observation of the human body isn’t a magic solution to the problem of caring for another when you only care for oneself.Reading the article it shows that the author has created over-anxiety by extreme self downing. Things like repetitive concentration, yoga, meditation, prayer, drawing, music are good distractions from over-anxiety, though not a cure. When I worked in prisons as a drug counsellor everyone said what good artists the prisons created. But it was all the same, detailed , repetitive concentrated work, a distraction. It wasn’t art unless art is the medication of symptoms of poor mental health. When I worked with suicidal ex-military it was the same, extreme conditional downing of self and others, an objectifying learned and encouraged in order to ignore empathy long enough to kill. Empathy is acceptance without condition of self, others and the universe. It requires using free will and power of choice to accept the randomness of life and the hope and beauty and tragedy contained therein. When I see a show of any kind of art that is highly repetitive, highly skilled, rubber stamp art all traces of humanity removed I know what I’m looking at: mental illness. When I see the opposite, from the cave paintings to Egon Schiele, I am filled with the beauty of the hand made mark an act of acceptance of self, others and the universe. My best art prof Alan Dunning (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_Dunning) said, your work is looking stylized, you’ve gone back to emphasizing fundamentals. Ya, my wife has a terminal genetic brain disease, and I’m freaking out about it. He gave me a A for the honesty of my work.
Why don’t you get model releases? Well it’s collaborative, so they get half. I get verbal permission to use their image, how they have chosen to present themselves to the world after my work is finished, if they don’t approve I destroy it. Two artists working together. Some people like to be nude, but not painted blues and nude. *shrug*
From across the restaurant, “I hear Jerry Blackstock
was arrested for sodomy!”
“You got me pregnant ya bastard, I had to have an
abortion because of your herpes!” I yelled back
Lunch with a poet…
Murdock Burnett and I met at poor kids summer camp, we were age 6. His Dad was a drunk and his Mom a codependent abandoning her 11 or so kids for a life in AA. The kids were entirely fucked by their parents narcissism. Murd’s oldest brother became my dearest friend, we had keys to each others homes, shared a place a few times, consoled each other through the repeated loss of our mothers that we kept finding for girlfriends. Addicted to the sun (kids of alcoholics are always cold) and cigarettes, 2 packs a day of comfort for anxiety, he died of skin cancer, living in my camper, my guest room, till he moved to the hospice where he lived without skin, on morphine for months.
Murdock and I shared the Edinburgh abandoned street kid
sense of outrageous sexual imagery humour, learned on the streets of Calgary, it
was still a Scottish immigrant working class town while we were growing up.
‘Cunt’ wasn’t a negative word describing a female body part, it was everything
from a term of endearment to a password of inclusion and acceptance on the
Murd lived off various women, using the narcissists charm,
and writing really awful poetry, for which his various women got him gigs in
the Calgary art scene.
When he got throat cancer from his 2 pack a day habit, he
married his publishers daughter. His publisher was a former high school teacher
at my school, who got punted for sleeping with his students. He started a book
store and imported The Georgia Straight from Vancouver, which I sold on the
streets of Calgary, for food, while living alone in a boarding house, trying to
complete high school. His publishers daughter inherited, then moved them to the
Caribbean, so he’d be warm, where he died.
He was a lot of fun.
In 1988 we had the Olympics in Calgary, my personal Olympics started the
following New Years eve, I quietly had my last drink and toke of booze and pot.
I started to search for other ways to manage lifelong
over-anxiety to be able to learn to be alone in comfort without mind freezing
shame and embarrassment of over-worry.
I tried yoga, meditation, living ‘in community’ aka an
ashram cult in the Kootenays, Taoist Tai Chi.. even living with a woman and
lots of great sex and though all were nice distractions, nothing was a cure
until I went to the hospital, where it took them 10 minutes to diagnose and
Very common condition.
A lot and I mean a lot of kids are emotionally abandoned,
essentially orphans, used like
bargaining chips in a business deal, in order to get welfare money or hang on
to a partner, or generate self esteem, conservative family values, whatever, for
parents who are no more than dependant life long children themselves.
The hospital suggested cognitive therapy, now I use the original form REBT.
Relief from life long over-worry is like being given a million dollars, simply
knowing the evidence of ‘I’ll figure it
out, whatever it is, eventually’.
19 years ago I quit cigarettes.
10 years ago I quit sugar.
8 years ago I quit grains and over use of carbs.
All are self comfort strategies with negative consequences
that are so self defeating they cause slow miserable squalid death.
So I tolerated short term pain for long term gain.
That’s what adults do.
They do this in order to care for children, by caring for
themselves, staying strong and healthy and keep the species going.
It’s an evolutionary imperative.
It takes a lot of over-indulgence in feel good behaviors to
suppress an evolutionary imperative.
An incredible force of will, to kill yourself slowly.
Or the same force of will to tolerate short term pain for
long term gain…