Criptic Critic Conscience and Known for it

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

I’m Sorry, you’re not an Artist

I’m Sorry, you’re not an Artist

    The Artist needs to get paid like everyone else, the artist needs to work
    like everyone else. The artist needs a job like everyone else. Art work is
    art that needs to be paid for! Ah billy, billy, the kid. Work needs to be paid for,
    the question around art isn't a real question. Just a weak distraction, a defense
    mechanism of confusion, to protect you and those sitting like spiders milking the
    jiggling rigging of the web. The market endorsed, sponsored, or not. And congrats on that.
    Well done. People who work without getting paid are volunteers, not professional. And deserve to be exploited as the back door opportunists that they are.
If you're not in the business of art, then fuck off.

Artist are paid for their work. You are making art, perhaps. We are all artists, and everything is art, we make stuff that is what we do as a species. But what kind of art is it that we make. Well Artists make work that is sold in a market so they can live. Sometimes these businesses are subsidised or invested in by other jobs, like teaching in a university, or working in a cafe. But when it comes to sponsorship, artists are terribly embarrassed by this. As if somehow what they made was trapped in another more important dimension, that if we only were chosen enough, could see it, benefit from its charms. Art is like this. Self assured of its own importance. You can feed off it in this way. Like a battery of righteous power. My work is very very powerful but very very smug, like someone laughing while watching their planet blow up. Like a three second scene with Princes Leila, the mass presentation of a humans reaction to their planet being completely annihilated. (Imagine showing that to a little boy, to the whole human genome race, from the beginning of conscious time, sees for the first time itself destroyed).

So Artist for most occasions, means professional. Now don’t cry, don’t jump to feel the bloodied ends of your stumps, hands, heads being forever severed from the pomp and pageantry of royal court participation. There is a path around this endgame and it’s called include the universe. Given that everything is art, and everyone is an artist. That a particular specialisation calls itself Artists, let these be the ones that make a living at it. Make art economics clear, make them ring out with the clarity of the very vividness of money built into all historical western art expression, let them at their very best say it, say that we judge our selves on the amount of money this makes, this is the art of our art, we love the material value of trading it with another. This is holy to us. Let them have this, let us see it clearly, and let us let them have it. For of course, we don’t need that. That is about 1% of the spectrum of livable values, that 1%, over inflated due to their standard operational procedures, (promote yourself or die) but nevertheless no more important than a wet rubber balloon, inflated or deflated.

I‘m finding word right now, sex, the letters them selves little ink tattoos still dripping with luscious black mouths with filthy wet kisses of a turned on slippery tongue of a hidden whole being.

So I’m sorry you are not an Artist. You do not make your living from the selling of your work. Ah but there’s the catch see, ‘work’ what is work? When does it start, where does it finish. Is breathing work? Is thinking? Is taking time, work? So you are not an Artist, you make your money doing something else, can you see the art of that? Can you see what you are making, spending your time on is art, an art, and that maybe, just possibly you are really shit at it. That as artists go, your art is about as bare able as something really bad and not bare able at all. If you, say were to recognize this as familiar, would it be mad to say that you could be a better artist. That as work goes you’ve barely started, barely done anything to take what you do and make it good art. Really good art, see at the moment class structure hierarchy, advertising for that 1% I mentioned earlier, have got you under their spell, got you hating your job, your art, feeling totally unable and un-interested in making it better, being a good artist, because that is not where art is, that is not where you have freedom and power and skills of articulation. This is the opposite of the truth. You are never more powerful than when you have the reins of the horse in your hands, the fear is that you will see this, see the rein in your hands and set a direction away from the palaces. How without being able to trust the way they have bound you to a duty of work, with out art,  that you commit so distractedly, wanting to do your art somewhere else, where the artists are, wanting to be an artist, express your commodity fetishisation somewhere else. In the courts arena. You disvalue your job. You spit on the face of your own employer whose stupidity proves the 1% complicity in the deceit, in the thievery of the world, in it’s very appearances, which all serve them, their market place. here we have an answer to the question what do we do?

You will never get there unless you take what you make money at, and become a better artists. See that is all it takes, that is the secret of contemporary art, if you can take what you do and make it even better, make it balanced, holistic, all encompassing, you not only make art, in a historical colour within well known bounds of arts accepted polite conversation. You spill past this dance with the 1% into the larger more important cosmos of unrepressable giggles. That obliterate, just be sense of being there, against the rain of their constant barrage ( the original stars in the sky still out shine those in the movies ). We have a long way to go before the market art professions are able to shoot a real star, here on earth, given that they can’t see them. (to blinding, they retreat back into their dark holes, Chomsky cave trolls, plato-nizing death star buttons. )

Keep feeding the margins back into the center good people, keep paying attention and taking time to do your books on where you get your money from, report on who your audience is, what’s been moving and whose work are you buying this week. Whose art will make you feel good, feed you, move your car. That’s the real world of art baby, it’s time you started living, catch up with the rest of us that already live this way. Here in the swirl you can see that all your senses are working fine that your attached to that bigger question of human evolution that can ask and perceive the necessary questions to avoid the nother time around,  see our way out of this cave, walk, calmly and knowingly out into the harsh light, embraced, back to where we sit on the plains/ fields of inter dimensional being.

You want to laugh, go on, it’s true these words have an effect on you, as on me, they make me laugh, cosmic giggle, knowing juice trickilling down my chin as I laugh at my imagination and how such silly ideas affect my every whim. Every whim, trickilling down my savior, trickling down to save ya, wake up to the trivillisation of your times greatest joy, the laugh at a whimsical joy that makes sense of the universe and the way you move through it. Trickster. Know thyself. I’m sorry you’re not an artist.

    Next week:
    Pop music played at work making us emotional basket-cases,
    trapped in teenage angst !

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