!!! SUMMER PAINTING STUDIO IN CHICAGO!!!
Week One: Doubt *for weeks two and three, just scroll down*
Oh how I’ve missed you Chicago! Granted I was here in May on my way Philly with half Mexican partner in crime Josh Fernandez, but that was a whirlwind two days full of drinking, Slayer, Thai food, Zack’s disgusting “poo pics”, Derail “ black cleric” Howery , strippers, etc . etc. etc. Granted it was fun, but now I’m here to work and now I can explore the city more thoroughly and revisit with old friend I didn’t get to see last time. Since I’m here for a while, I have access to one of the greatest museums in the world, a classroom type setting in which to paint, access to other art professionals, and a sweet downtown apartment!
The main purpose, the reason for my visit is this:
Yeah I know, heavy shit. Having seen the Whitney Biennial in April and blasted the shit out of it, (see Yawn fest 2010 below) I felt it was serendipitous that this opportunity came up. The chance to attend a lecture, even possibly talk with a heavyweight like Julia Fish who was featured in this year’s Whitney, and other Chicago based art professionals like Andrew Falkowski, Molly Zuckerman-Hartung, Anthony Elms, Diego LeClery, Michelle Grabner, Kelly Kaczynski, and Phil Vanderhyden was just too good to pass up.
After a few “challenges” and by “challenges” I mean dealing with grown adults who act like irrational paranoid retards, I was accepted and it was full speed ahead. But when the reality set in, when the weight of what I was doing, the packing, the prep work, when all of it appeared in front of me, I had to confront my feelings of fear. Not the fear of being away from home or being away from family/friends (fuck you guys I’m in Chicago! HAHAHA! No seriously I love and miss you all) but the fear of my own work.
Much like the purpose of this painting studio, is what I do with my work valuable, how does it fit into the contemporary cluster fuck art world, does it need to, and am I smart enough to pull it off? I have always felt, like most creative people I know, self conscious about my work; in that does my method of old school figurative painting have a place in the post modern clutter of “conceptual” and “intellectual” and “abstract” work? I consider myself to be level headed, without too much baggage, and extremely lucky to have been raised in an environment that never told me being an artist was a waste of time.
However I know I don’t have the brain power to think about art/life in terms of theory or contemporary ideas. Some of you may read this and say, “Don’t doubt or be so hard on yourself, just believe in bla bla bla” That’s not entirely what I am saying. I know where I excel and I know where I don’t. From time to time, this of course creates problems for me in the world back home at the Verge.
One of my friends/studio mates has a spouse who is so well read, so informed about art, music, and life that I often have a hard time engaging in conversation with this person. This person is not a snob in any shape or form. This person is genuinely funny and interesting and I believe is sincere when they inquire about my work. But I am soooooo intimidated that I just shut down and give one worded answers like I’m partaking in a “yes or no” survey.
Throw in my genetic predisposition to depression, add the absence of an MFA degree from my resume, sprinkle in the pressure of American fame/accomplishment, and you have the hot mess that is my artistic brain. I suppose that just makes me normal. Hopefully I will be able to resolve some of these issues while I am here and find a way to deal with it through my work.
Week Two: Welcome To The Shit Storm…Inspiration Is For Amateurs!
At some point the eager anticipation dissipated, and now only anxiety remains. Perhaps I was misled or wasn’t listening, but I was under the impression that this painting thing was supposed to get easier.
I have been dealing with conflicts about my work for quite some time. Some of the issues being raised inside my head, as well as issues raised by those around me here are:
Maybe it’s the late hour at which I’m posting this, but I don’t know how else to say it, I feel fucking lost right now. I knew that taking this leap, the act of being here with these questions and con fronting these issues might lead to this. But I had no idea that the doubt would smother me in this way. I had no idea I would feel so stupid and inadequate about my craft and why I’m even bothering to make art at all.
There was a point about 2 hours ago, when the uneasiness was so heavy, I seriously thought about coming home. Then taking it a step further by packing up my studio at The Verge, resigning from the board, getting rid of all my work either at cut rate prices or the garbage dumpster, donating all my supplies, getting all my finances in order, throw a huge party, do all the drugs I’ve never tried, and then kill myself. Or just skipping all the fun stuff and cut my wrists a warm bath.
Then the rational section of my brain said,
The moderator (Andrew Falkowski ) for all this, told me I obviously know how to paint, I have a solid set of technical and craft skills, and I just need to find the bridge between technique and concept. I agree with this notion but how is my biggest question.
Andrew said it best when he summed it up this way,
End of Week Two: Bitch Didn’t Give Me The Cold Shoulder; She Gave Me No Shoulder!
How does one round out one of the most stressful, humiliating, and anxiety filled weeks of one’s life? What do you do when basically you realize you don’t know shit about art, the contemporary art world, or that you posses a 5th grade vocabulary compared to those around you? My answer, leave the studio and drink until you go blind. Well the whole blind thing is a bit of an exaggeration, but a few whiskeys here and there couldn't’t hurt.
Saturday night I traveled to my old stomping grounds, the Damen/Milwaukee/North Ave. intersection; the epicenter of hipster coolness and home to the once vibrant and once relevant Wicker Park art scene. Some of the places I remember from the late 90’s early 2000’s are still there: Flash Taco, Double Door, and Niche are all relatively unchanged. But everything else, all the old bars, coffee shops, clubs, corner atms, have either gone under or are “under new management.” Yes it is still hipster central, (with the hipster uniform being the universal tight pants, plaid shirts, fixed gear bike, stupid/ironic pedophile creeper mustache) but somehow Jersey Shore has sprouted clones across this nation and BROS ARE EVERYWHERE!
Like these assholes:
I know. These guys are perfect candidates for my large scale sterilization plan that I shall implement once I take over. On the plus side, with Bros come Broettes and Broettes always trump hipster chicks in the hotness category.
Boo if you want, you know I’m right.
Example:
Exactly.
Sorry grandma, your grandson has to be the filling in this hipster girl love sandwich, so I guess you’re just going to bleed out. Hot hipster girls are there, just finding one is rare, and trust me I went to art school and I function within the art community so I know.
Now the problem with Broettes is they are like Bros, plastic, hollow, and dumb as 10 a pound bag of rice. Try talking to a Broette about something other than: Keeping Up With The Kardashians or ANY show on the E! network for that matter, house music, cats, their nails, tanning, doing cocaine to stay skinny, MTV, the hottest club, makeup, Dane Cook and how funny he is, like OMG what is she wearing, or her stupid little dog and how cute it looks in her Dolce &Gabbana handbag, and you might give yourself a stroke from how boring the conversation has become. But if that stuff interests you, you’re either a Broette or a Bro, in which case don’t worry, everything will be OK.
Where was I going with this? Fuck. Oh yeah Saturday night.
I arrive at a place called, well I don’t remember what it’s called, but it was on Damen near the train and it looked interesting. Its 11:30ish and as you would expect, it’s packed. By some miracle the crowd near the bar parts like Moses has just walked in with his divine walking stick, and a space opens up! So I swoop in, secure my spot, and try to get the bar keeps attention. A second after I get my spot and lovely dark hair, dark eyed Broette about 5’ 3” squeezes in on my left side. There is room for both us to stand side by side, but it’s a tight fit. As I yell out my drink, I turn to her, smile, our eyes meet, and I simply say,
“Hi, how is your night going so far?”
Now with my hand to God, cross my heart & hope to die, may a lightening bolt strike me down, when I say those were the exact words that came out of mouth, those were the exact words that came out of my mouth. What happened next is not all that unusual, but the way in which it was delivered and the person who delivered it, will forever stand out as one of the worst moments of my dating life.
As only a woman can do: she gave me one of those disemboweling head to toe stares, followed by the patented “Are you fucking kidding me?” eye rolls, followed by the “Now you’re looking at the back of my head guy, because I just turned my back to you,” moves, and finished off with the snicker/shit talking to the friend next to her maneuver.
Yeah I know, ouch.
As Rick James said to Eddie Murphy circa 1985,
As the frost from her cold shoulder routine started to chill the air around me, I noticed something specific about her shoulder, something I didn’t notice when we were still side by side. Her dress, near her left arm, fit funny. Something about it just didn’t form right to her body. As I looked closer I found out why.
I’m sure this was the look on my face:
I can understand her reaction if I had said something along the lines of:
*Feel free to add other amuptee one liners in the comments section
The situation was even more fucked up because two weeks earlier, Zack and Celia put forth to me “How flawed pyshically would a woman have to be before you declared it a dealbreaker” scenario to me. Of course missing limbs came up, to which I replied, sure that’s cool. So we can’t hug normally, big deal. She can always get a prosthetic or once technology improves a sweet robot arm!
I know I'm a vain asshole but, fuck. I don’t know where to go from there. I suppose it’s best to just brush it off like everything else and take comfort that my dating life has hit rock bottom and the only way to go is up.
Week Three Wrap Up: Damn You Animal Planet!
I don’t know if it’s my depression about the amputee slut from the above post, or it’s because I have been without cable for soooo long, but the last few days have been wasted away watching TV. I could be researching artists, writers, sketching ideas, jogging on the lakeshore etc. Instead I spent hours upon hours watching some old British guy travel around the world catching/tracking down/hunting exotic, rare, sometimes, dangerous fresh water fish.
Perhaps I’m just burned out and want to get back to my CA. studio so that I can hash out ideas, but watching a crazy Brit risk his neck to catch a giant devil catfish is fucking fascinating!
Maybe it reminds of a simpler time when I was much younger, long before I was serious about art, and long before puberty set off a whole series of problems. A time when my father and I would go fishing every chance we could. Whatever the reason, I wasted valuable time watching T.V. and drinking mountain dew. I know, sad face.
So what would be my overall assement of this residency? Has it helped enhance my process or has it exposed glaring holes in my work? It will take sometime to fully digest all my notes and reading materials, but I would say it was beneficial, in a negative and positive fashion. Aside from looking good on my resume, I realized that my work IS interesting and VALID and that I should TRUST my instincts when they tell me to explore what I have been exploring. As to the glaring question/problem of “How do I bridge the gap between old master technique with a contemporary subject and does the work need to be framed contextually EVERTIME it is displayed outside my studio” my answer would be, fuck, how should I know?
Actually the answer to the first question would be I don’t quite no yet, but I have some ideas I’m going to toss around and see what happens. Stayed tuned.
As to the context question, shit, isn’t that up the viewer? When Jeff Koons displays his puppy vases or his aluminum Bob Hope figures, do you think most people at first glance know that he is supposedly questioning middle class values or whatever Larry Gagosian puts out in a press release? Are you kidding me, of course people don’t, it always has to be framed. And if you give everything away, there is no room for interpretation, therefore what’s the point.
“I made this painting about my dog fluffy. He’s dead now and I cry. Roll credits the end.” Some people can do it, but I can’t, and more importantly I don’t know how. And if I knew how to, if I did have it all figured out, what would be the point? Does any artist at my age, or any age for that matter, have it all figured out?
The answer is clearly no; which brings up the question of graduate school. Where, if any place, would I fit in? Is an MFA a mute point at my age? From what I have seen, Yale or SAIC or Columbia would most certainly have a good laugh, then send my slides to the rejection pile, before sending me one of those letters we have all received at some point that say, “you’re work is strong, however we receive many qualified applicants therefore we regret to…bla bla bla”
But I’ve made it this far without on MFA (and so have a few of the artist in this years Whitney) so how much further can I go. Maybe if I found the right person to sleep with, or um, I mean connect, have lunch with at Yale’s admitting office I could somehow squeeze a free ride out of them. In any case I have a lot to think about when I get back home.
Oh how I’ve missed you Chicago! Granted I was here in May on my way Philly with half Mexican partner in crime Josh Fernandez, but that was a whirlwind two days full of drinking, Slayer, Thai food, Zack’s disgusting “poo pics”, Derail “ black cleric” Howery , strippers, etc . etc. etc. Granted it was fun, but now I’m here to work and now I can explore the city more thoroughly and revisit with old friend I didn’t get to see last time. Since I’m here for a while, I have access to one of the greatest museums in the world, a classroom type setting in which to paint, access to other art professionals, and a sweet downtown apartment!
The main purpose, the reason for my visit is this:
Evaluating Contemporary Studio Practice through the lens of the 2010 Whitney Biennial
We make work that matters to us, but how does our work connect to today's art world? Does it need to?
Using the recent Whitney Biennial exhibition as a benchmark for today's critical art dialogue, this painting studio intends to assess and challenge the criteria artists use to define their individual work as it relates (or doesn't) to a larger context. Working in a dedicated, 9am to 9pm group studio, artists experiment with and critique their current paths in a supportive peer environment. This studio practice course includes presentations and discussions with a number of leading thinkers in art today.
Yeah I know, heavy shit. Having seen the Whitney Biennial in April and blasted the shit out of it, (see Yawn fest 2010 below) I felt it was serendipitous that this opportunity came up. The chance to attend a lecture, even possibly talk with a heavyweight like Julia Fish who was featured in this year’s Whitney, and other Chicago based art professionals like Andrew Falkowski, Molly Zuckerman-Hartung, Anthony Elms, Diego LeClery, Michelle Grabner, Kelly Kaczynski, and Phil Vanderhyden was just too good to pass up.
After a few “challenges” and by “challenges” I mean dealing with grown adults who act like irrational paranoid retards, I was accepted and it was full speed ahead. But when the reality set in, when the weight of what I was doing, the packing, the prep work, when all of it appeared in front of me, I had to confront my feelings of fear. Not the fear of being away from home or being away from family/friends (fuck you guys I’m in Chicago! HAHAHA! No seriously I love and miss you all) but the fear of my own work.
Much like the purpose of this painting studio, is what I do with my work valuable, how does it fit into the contemporary cluster fuck art world, does it need to, and am I smart enough to pull it off? I have always felt, like most creative people I know, self conscious about my work; in that does my method of old school figurative painting have a place in the post modern clutter of “conceptual” and “intellectual” and “abstract” work? I consider myself to be level headed, without too much baggage, and extremely lucky to have been raised in an environment that never told me being an artist was a waste of time.
However I know I don’t have the brain power to think about art/life in terms of theory or contemporary ideas. Some of you may read this and say, “Don’t doubt or be so hard on yourself, just believe in bla bla bla” That’s not entirely what I am saying. I know where I excel and I know where I don’t. From time to time, this of course creates problems for me in the world back home at the Verge.
One of my friends/studio mates has a spouse who is so well read, so informed about art, music, and life that I often have a hard time engaging in conversation with this person. This person is not a snob in any shape or form. This person is genuinely funny and interesting and I believe is sincere when they inquire about my work. But I am soooooo intimidated that I just shut down and give one worded answers like I’m partaking in a “yes or no” survey.
Throw in my genetic predisposition to depression, add the absence of an MFA degree from my resume, sprinkle in the pressure of American fame/accomplishment, and you have the hot mess that is my artistic brain. I suppose that just makes me normal. Hopefully I will be able to resolve some of these issues while I am here and find a way to deal with it through my work.
Week Two: Welcome To The Shit Storm…Inspiration Is For Amateurs!
At some point the eager anticipation dissipated, and now only anxiety remains. Perhaps I was misled or wasn’t listening, but I was under the impression that this painting thing was supposed to get easier.
I have been dealing with conflicts about my work for quite some time. Some of the issues being raised inside my head, as well as issues raised by those around me here are:
How do you let the viewer know these are constructions and not actual tattoos?
What does it say (the tattoo) and what is being said?
Do I always need to frame the context or does it stand on its own?
What is more important, the figure, the tattoo, or the way it’s painted?
How do I destabilize the painting?
How do I balance contemporary subject matter with old master technique?
Why make a painting of a painting of a painting in flesh?
What do you bring to the table?
What is the historical significance?
Maybe it’s the late hour at which I’m posting this, but I don’t know how else to say it, I feel fucking lost right now. I knew that taking this leap, the act of being here with these questions and con fronting these issues might lead to this. But I had no idea that the doubt would smother me in this way. I had no idea I would feel so stupid and inadequate about my craft and why I’m even bothering to make art at all.
There was a point about 2 hours ago, when the uneasiness was so heavy, I seriously thought about coming home. Then taking it a step further by packing up my studio at The Verge, resigning from the board, getting rid of all my work either at cut rate prices or the garbage dumpster, donating all my supplies, getting all my finances in order, throw a huge party, do all the drugs I’ve never tried, and then kill myself. Or just skipping all the fun stuff and cut my wrists a warm bath.
Then the rational section of my brain said,
“Stop being such a fucking drama queen Musser! So you’re questioning your work, your methods, and your intent. Big fucking deal. Join the club. Isn’t that what you came here for you whiny little bitch?”
The moderator (Andrew Falkowski ) for all this, told me I obviously know how to paint, I have a solid set of technical and craft skills, and I just need to find the bridge between technique and concept. I agree with this notion but how is my biggest question.
How do I confront the tremendous loneliness I have been feeling these last few years, but when I truly think about it, it has been present all my life?
Will it ever be resolved?
Can it be resolved?
How will I deal with this giant legal issue I have in CA and the shame it has brought me?
Do I need to deal with it in a tattoo format or painting for that matter?
How do I take that shit, process it into a painting that makes sense?
And the bigger issue for me
Does it matter and will anyone give a shit?
Andrew said it best when he summed it up this way,
“Welcome to the shit storm of contemporary art.
Inspiration is for amateurs!”
End of Week Two: Bitch Didn’t Give Me The Cold Shoulder; She Gave Me No Shoulder!
How does one round out one of the most stressful, humiliating, and anxiety filled weeks of one’s life? What do you do when basically you realize you don’t know shit about art, the contemporary art world, or that you posses a 5th grade vocabulary compared to those around you? My answer, leave the studio and drink until you go blind. Well the whole blind thing is a bit of an exaggeration, but a few whiskeys here and there couldn't’t hurt.
Saturday night I traveled to my old stomping grounds, the Damen/Milwaukee/North Ave. intersection; the epicenter of hipster coolness and home to the once vibrant and once relevant Wicker Park art scene. Some of the places I remember from the late 90’s early 2000’s are still there: Flash Taco, Double Door, and Niche are all relatively unchanged. But everything else, all the old bars, coffee shops, clubs, corner atms, have either gone under or are “under new management.” Yes it is still hipster central, (with the hipster uniform being the universal tight pants, plaid shirts, fixed gear bike, stupid/ironic pedophile creeper mustache) but somehow Jersey Shore has sprouted clones across this nation and BROS ARE EVERYWHERE!
Like these assholes:
 |
| Our tans looks sick as fuck bro!!! |
Boo if you want, you know I’m right.
Example:
 |
| The stuffed animals are a bit much. |
Exactly.
I would stab my own grandmother in the chest with a rusty railroad spike just to have sex with her! So would you.Not that hipster chicks aren’t hot. Take for example these lovely creatures:
Sorry grandma, your grandson has to be the filling in this hipster girl love sandwich, so I guess you’re just going to bleed out. Hot hipster girls are there, just finding one is rare, and trust me I went to art school and I function within the art community so I know.
Now the problem with Broettes is they are like Bros, plastic, hollow, and dumb as 10 a pound bag of rice. Try talking to a Broette about something other than: Keeping Up With The Kardashians or ANY show on the E! network for that matter, house music, cats, their nails, tanning, doing cocaine to stay skinny, MTV, the hottest club, makeup, Dane Cook and how funny he is, like OMG what is she wearing, or her stupid little dog and how cute it looks in her Dolce &Gabbana handbag, and you might give yourself a stroke from how boring the conversation has become. But if that stuff interests you, you’re either a Broette or a Bro, in which case don’t worry, everything will be OK.
Where was I going with this? Fuck. Oh yeah Saturday night.
I arrive at a place called, well I don’t remember what it’s called, but it was on Damen near the train and it looked interesting. Its 11:30ish and as you would expect, it’s packed. By some miracle the crowd near the bar parts like Moses has just walked in with his divine walking stick, and a space opens up! So I swoop in, secure my spot, and try to get the bar keeps attention. A second after I get my spot and lovely dark hair, dark eyed Broette about 5’ 3” squeezes in on my left side. There is room for both us to stand side by side, but it’s a tight fit. As I yell out my drink, I turn to her, smile, our eyes meet, and I simply say,
“Hi, how is your night going so far?”
Now with my hand to God, cross my heart & hope to die, may a lightening bolt strike me down, when I say those were the exact words that came out of mouth, those were the exact words that came out of my mouth. What happened next is not all that unusual, but the way in which it was delivered and the person who delivered it, will forever stand out as one of the worst moments of my dating life.
As only a woman can do: she gave me one of those disemboweling head to toe stares, followed by the patented “Are you fucking kidding me?” eye rolls, followed by the “Now you’re looking at the back of my head guy, because I just turned my back to you,” moves, and finished off with the snicker/shit talking to the friend next to her maneuver.
Yeah I know, ouch.
As Rick James said to Eddie Murphy circa 1985,
“Damn darkness, you as cold as ice!”Now it took me a second or two to process what has just happened. As I stood there stunned, her friend peered over at me from her friends left shoulder, and laughed. Not like she just heard a good joke or someone told her Palin has a shot in 2012, no she was laughing AT me. When did I loose my charm and turn into a twisted, hideous freak worthy of mocking? How severe would the punishment be if I just choked this bitch out UFC style? See this is the problem with Broettes, if you don’t mention you have cocaine on your person or Vegas immediately, game over.
As the frost from her cold shoulder routine started to chill the air around me, I noticed something specific about her shoulder, something I didn’t notice when we were still side by side. Her dress, near her left arm, fit funny. Something about it just didn’t form right to her body. As I looked closer I found out why.
What the fuck?It was all down hill from there my friends. I knew that by the end of this evening, many vodka tonics were going to call my stomach home. To be shot down Rick James, cold as ice style is one thing. But to be shot down by a Broette who would be useless in a goddamn row boat is another.
No.
No it can’t be!
Is she…
…missing her left arm?
SON OF A BITCH, SHE IS MISSING HER LEFT ARM!!!
I JUST GOT DISSED BY A BROETTE AMPU-FUCKING-TEE!
I’m sure this was the look on my face:
I can understand her reaction if I had said something along the lines of:
Double high five we just ordered the same drink
We should hangout out and go bow hunting later
What’s the sound of one hand clapping?
I may not be the best looking guy in here,
but I’m the only one talking to you
What’s it like to constantly swim in circles?
Let’s put that special sticker you have to good use,
and go makeout in the handicap space at Walgreens down the street.
Hey stumpy, wanna fuck?
Or given her this shirt:
*Feel free to add other amuptee one liners in the comments section
The situation was even more fucked up because two weeks earlier, Zack and Celia put forth to me “How flawed pyshically would a woman have to be before you declared it a dealbreaker” scenario to me. Of course missing limbs came up, to which I replied, sure that’s cool. So we can’t hug normally, big deal. She can always get a prosthetic or once technology improves a sweet robot arm!
I know I'm a vain asshole but, fuck. I don’t know where to go from there. I suppose it’s best to just brush it off like everything else and take comfort that my dating life has hit rock bottom and the only way to go is up.
Week Three Wrap Up: Damn You Animal Planet!
I don’t know if it’s my depression about the amputee slut from the above post, or it’s because I have been without cable for soooo long, but the last few days have been wasted away watching TV. I could be researching artists, writers, sketching ideas, jogging on the lakeshore etc. Instead I spent hours upon hours watching some old British guy travel around the world catching/tracking down/hunting exotic, rare, sometimes, dangerous fresh water fish.
Perhaps I’m just burned out and want to get back to my CA. studio so that I can hash out ideas, but watching a crazy Brit risk his neck to catch a giant devil catfish is fucking fascinating!
Maybe it reminds of a simpler time when I was much younger, long before I was serious about art, and long before puberty set off a whole series of problems. A time when my father and I would go fishing every chance we could. Whatever the reason, I wasted valuable time watching T.V. and drinking mountain dew. I know, sad face.
So what would be my overall assement of this residency? Has it helped enhance my process or has it exposed glaring holes in my work? It will take sometime to fully digest all my notes and reading materials, but I would say it was beneficial, in a negative and positive fashion. Aside from looking good on my resume, I realized that my work IS interesting and VALID and that I should TRUST my instincts when they tell me to explore what I have been exploring. As to the glaring question/problem of “How do I bridge the gap between old master technique with a contemporary subject and does the work need to be framed contextually EVERTIME it is displayed outside my studio” my answer would be, fuck, how should I know?
Actually the answer to the first question would be I don’t quite no yet, but I have some ideas I’m going to toss around and see what happens. Stayed tuned.
As to the context question, shit, isn’t that up the viewer? When Jeff Koons displays his puppy vases or his aluminum Bob Hope figures, do you think most people at first glance know that he is supposedly questioning middle class values or whatever Larry Gagosian puts out in a press release? Are you kidding me, of course people don’t, it always has to be framed. And if you give everything away, there is no room for interpretation, therefore what’s the point.
“I made this painting about my dog fluffy. He’s dead now and I cry. Roll credits the end.” Some people can do it, but I can’t, and more importantly I don’t know how. And if I knew how to, if I did have it all figured out, what would be the point? Does any artist at my age, or any age for that matter, have it all figured out?
The answer is clearly no; which brings up the question of graduate school. Where, if any place, would I fit in? Is an MFA a mute point at my age? From what I have seen, Yale or SAIC or Columbia would most certainly have a good laugh, then send my slides to the rejection pile, before sending me one of those letters we have all received at some point that say, “you’re work is strong, however we receive many qualified applicants therefore we regret to…bla bla bla”
But I’ve made it this far without on MFA (and so have a few of the artist in this years Whitney) so how much further can I go. Maybe if I found the right person to sleep with, or um, I mean connect, have lunch with at Yale’s admitting office I could somehow squeeze a free ride out of them. In any case I have a lot to think about when I get back home.
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