(A snide polarising oppositional comment designed to alienate divide and galvinse my friends and fans alike, For a while now I've been struggling to realise my art, the plans i've laid, cause of a single thought dominating thought, saying there is no audience out there, that in all reality, i have tried to connect and have failed to find anything really that interesting out there in the art world, the scene. They (you) all really really bore me, especially the heads, the gate keepers the gallery dealers. Sure Mcleavey was interesting, and worth going a few rounds with, but there's a huge drop off. And even he left my ring. )(though he's still in my corner)( This has had me wondering what is it that I think I need to keep on doing, for what am i doing this for. And just now I realised that I don't do it for the crowd. I do it cause right now I need to draw a picture, called Mining the sun and that the shear possibility of discovering some physical and mental fun in this act, has me compelled to jump on the front of this train, despite knowing it's carrying a load full of nazi's. All my working life, I have tried to find, build another railway, another road. And I'm closer than i've ever been, only not there yet) . beace
- Rob Ueberfeldt I like your rambling snideness, your audience (we/me) needs it. Give us more (we all want more). Railroads are history, replaced by cars and random access vehicles (though airships will come back(I hope)). Your art is realised, though your audience isn...See More
- Wells Tao The above rant is a kind of homage to Ron Hanson, and his style of delivery, that I can't help admire and enjoy as much as it annoys, perhaps because it does so. Please take me literally I am letting off steam and all you hole pluggers better ready your stop gap guns as I crack the surface of this sealed crock of shit.
- Barry Thomas there's always the two things... in and out... the challenge is balancing the two eh? if we work only for the claps ... well that's never gonna stay afloat... conversely if we only wank in a dark corner... y'never gonna get many nourishing pats on the back. It's a struggle - esp after the media has come to play and then left you... I suggest read, write, keep posting, draw and kept a journal sop at least when one is writing in it it makes sense... and giz a ring once a month?
- Murdoch Stephens There's a great book title (haven't read this particular one) from Jarett Kobek that this reminds me of 'If You Won't Read, Then Why Should I Write?' - http://www.penny-ante.net/pa006.html
- Wells Tao I have long been an advocate for the kind of artist that is considered backyard, or hobbyist, as in "Everyone is an artist, notice your audience" in your neighborhood. Not just your any old ignorant (though that can be fine too) enthusiast, but your genuine not afraid to know what they are doing and able to articulate that under pressure, especially capitalist pressure, My theory was, as written about in issue 10 by moi; about Don Drivers work and career, that those that fashion their own sheaths, their own shields and eventually their own swords to protect, survive and attack the continuous bombardment of capitalism's designs for our souls, from the very exploded shards of material that is being sent to them. To refashion, to weave in the very gods of mod to po-mo to classic Renaissance to pre pre everything (so you can see easily debasing and replacing jesus times' pole in the ground), this sends a powerful message to real people, the kind that no advertisement can compete with. The real deal existing, doesn't mop the floor, it cleans up. Theory being explained as: these people are your real artists, as in each neighborhood, each tribe, trible area where people live actually has a structure of shamanic like healers, who are practicing the voodoo, doctor like hands on with life and death of the patient, who ever, what ever that is deemed to be. But to see these people in your local gallery, never. To see these people in you celebrated gallery maybe, celebrated under some fashionable frame selling yes to the capitalist mind set, nothing to do with the socialist communist value set, inherent in a indigenous living being with a reality that is sustained, because of the presence of an actual healer, not some wrapped in plastic, stuck on the shelf to rule by raining down the vacuum sealed power of sterility, sciences delusion of unchanging laws, something fixed. This neurosis, this part of sand that has gotten in the bloodstream, pre egypt (that's no accident that Egypt the desert was once egypt the garden paradise, they introduced machines mechanised economy, slavery, ). So it looks like I will finally step down from my ivory tower, and mingle amongst my people, my tribe, like it or not. To face their jests, mockery and friendship. To see if I have actually learnt something, in these fifteen years in the monastery. I am one of those artists.