the value of art is subjective....

taking it to the street

Wish I had thought of that one too, but the Doobie Brothers did me in....

So, never, since the day I first called myself an artist because David Valdez (well know Santa Fe painter) told me too,... (It's very rare that I do what boys tell me...) have I taken my art anywhere to sell it... but that changes on Thursday.... the Last Thursday on Alberta.... more guerilla.... just lay it out there on something that won't distract from the pieces and let the art speak for itself. No prices, just a suggestion that art is indeed subjective and the piece is only worth whatever?... does that make sense?

I write a lot of thoughts while wandering galleries and museums.... about an artist's concept of their work... what I think they meant, and sometimes reflections on my own attempts in a particular medium. I've always seen my work as falling short, of what, I'm not sure. I measure myself too much against the work of people I admire... Pollack, Ono, Worhal, van gough.... my tribute to the Ono exhibition in San Francisco is my best sculpture yet. I also measure me, against me... medium to medium... what works, what doesn't.... and I'm finally starting to see greatness in most every finished piece I do... not measured against Pollock, Ono, Worhal, or the tortured soul of vincent van gough. He signed his paintings in lower case letters. I wonder why? I do too.... I think I do it because I feel small as an artist... not yet fully bloomed...

All my books, my most precious possessions, have been in boxes for months... for those that "know" me,,,, yeah, I've moved again.... I finally took them out the other day and sat there smiling, like I was seeing old friends. One of the first books out of the box had a picture of the place in New Mexico where I did my first drawings... onion skin and pastels.... the place is Three Rivers State Park and for me it was all about the petroglyphs... simple lines that made the most fabulous statement.... I've kind of stuck to that simple line style, just more styles of lines and better materials. Wonder what the artist that did the pounding at the stone would have thought of pastels, paper, and paint? I'm glad there weren't any, because I got my zap to pick up a brush and a crayon, and trash along the streetand create... all because of the simplicty and the beauty of art that was more than a thousand years old.

My art has grown, but I've not hit my zenith... I'm learning, and taking chances and being ok with making crap from time to time...

So, out I go
into the street
to see what happens
to each piece...