death by paper cut

{November 10, 2006}   the tormented artist

That’s why I go to auctions, to see what’s happening to see if there’s any rationale whatsoever for the economics of the art world – which there isn’t. It’s all about psychology and perceived notions of value: who’s going to die next month, who’s going down, who’s made a few too many paintings.
Tim Rollins

Sylvia Plath got up at three in the morning and wrote some pretty good poetry. That’s what it takes to be an artist. It’s about bloody-mindedness. It’s not about living the good life. In the end, it’s just you and the art. I’ve always admired poets. They’re the last pure artist. Nobody buys the stuff. All they have are themselves and a piece of paper.

John Baldesari

My generation’s mythology involved the romance of being true to oneself. You were supposed to starve, because success means you were’t really honest, and then be rediscovered by the next generation. To be an artist meant to choose a different life-style – to live minimally, with cheap rent and minimal needs and somehow survive. Today no one can afford that romance.

The market is structured in such a way that it can sustain only about five artists from each stylistic group. Once they have been anointed and their work has sold for a certain price, it is in the self-interest of all involved to maintain that investment. But what comes to the top of the result of a combination of forces. The good have to be there of course, but there are many others who also have them. So, we’ve erected this myth of the scarity of genius, which is demanded by the market since, if there were many geniuses, prices would have to come down.

Joan Semmel

If you don’t make it when you’re very young, you wouldn’t make it until you are very old.

Agnes Denes

Studying about the operations of the art market is depressing. Art for Art’s seems to be shrouded in obscurity. It would be great to be doing what you like and making a living out of it. But when it concerns the creation of art, there is the deep suspicion that artistic integrity might be compromised. so how?

I like creating art, and I consider myself to as an artist in my own right. I have somewhat stumbled upon my signature trademark which is somewhat ethnically located between indian and chinese. My favorite ‘canvass’ is the stark wall. I enjoy entire days surrounded by mixed paints, brushed, a radio and the walls. Nothing else matters. I do not have an acute personality disorder perhaps except that I can be given to extreme mood swings. The worse I feel, the more wretched the depression, the better my prose and poetry. Better being more cutting, more piercingly astute. I completely identify with the mellowness of like-minded arts-inclined friends. Sometimes the mellow void is comforting, sometimes the rocket decent to the depths feel better. I have an astounding awe for goth chic, not the blood dripping S&M vampiress – sensationally engineered for male gaze and consumption – but the literary goth chicks like death of the endless in neil gaiman’s sandman series and liz sherman in hellboy and marla singer in fight club (played by helena bonham carter), and emily in corpse bride (voiced over and modelled after helena bonham carter), and the ‘dead-panness’ of emily the strange. you see, they loop around each other.

i think i’ve hit rock bottom, i think i’ll take a look around.


i’d like to give you something from Nightmare Before Christmas then. all those head-dropping, blood-oozing dolls. heh

steelwool says:

ooh yeh, gimme gimme =)

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