Overdose Hanging Out At The Cafe
In 2003 I formally changed from working as a professional artist (c.v.) whose work was making objects for limited sale in galleries to one whose work became primarily digital and available to the entire world on the internet. For Free. I do have work for sale at Fine Art America if you want a print, and I publish art books on Google and Amazon, but there are no gatekeepers with an agenda that is not in my best interests. Photographize publishes me to millions simply because they like my work, and I love their magazine. They show less than 3% of the artists that apply. But basically, it’s art because I say it’s art. I have the formal education combined with lifelong study and practice. If you like it or not, that just describes you and your agenda.
Formal critique is, what were you going for, how close did you get and how does it compare to genius in the field. That is fine if you are trying to paint like Rembrandt. Or you can do what Picasso prescribed, start with an idea and see where it goes, no one has to make an artist’s statement, the language of the work speaks for itself, it is the artist’s statement. Brick and mortar art theorists hate that, and claim Picasso was so abusive he caused a bunch of his lovers to suicide against all evidence-based knowledge of mental health. I mean people have choices, they can simply walk away if that’s the case, we are not enthralled by painters with secret mind-controlling powers. Only your choices can cause your depression.
I had begun to get deprogrammed from a cult and began to view the gallery system as a form of bronze age rite of passage, similar to religion with the gallery space as the temple, run by gatekeeper priest businessmen and women whose aesthetic was and is primarily one of marketability. As Alice Neel is reported to have said, “finding a businessman interested in the arts is like finding chicken shit in your chicken salad” — Humorous Wit, page 42, by Djamel Ouis.
At the same time as my growing displeasure with indentured servitude system to a gallery’s stable of artists, my wife, whose genetic Huntington’s disease had kicked in, packed up my studio complete with all my equipment and storage of works, and had it hauled off to the dump. Woody Gutherie’s sister in the 1930’s had a similar Huntingtons event, she set fire to her kids.
I went out and got a camera, a computer, a copy of photoshop and a coffee shop to document. Well, many coffee shops actually. The rich closeted conservatives habituating these places avoiding their spouses to meet their gay lovers tend to kick up a stink about recording devices.
So, here in 2021, are the more recent results of my work of documentation, carrying on a process that artists have been doing forever, recording and interpreting the coffee shops around us.
Coming soon to Amazon and Google.