it's a funny thing, being an artist. you don't know what percent of your crazy is just that of humanity and what percent is having a psychotically creative art mind.
after a lot of deliberating and listening, i've moved most of my fine work painting tools back to my home studio. the detail brushes, the nice paints, the 70% finished tarot paintings, the stereo... the focus. i couldn't quite handle trying to do 100% of my work at the generator. so much distraction. (and by distraction i mostly mean rad people doing rad things that sort of sparkle out the corner of your eye and your brain just explodes with the words "OOOH, SHINY!") there was also that other....crappy kind of distraction... the one outlined by an underlining feeling that i was trying to force a round peg into a square hole trying to work out of that warehouse. that in some way i was kidding myself (testing myself?) and the destined outcome of me huddling back home to paint was inevitable. that i just didn't mesh with some folk, respectively. that i didn't really fit in. that my real talk was too real. that i was off kilter. under appreciated. taken for granted. wasting my time. in all fairness, i feel like i should remind people that i moved to the generator to work on MY tarot project--NOT embrace. you'd kinda think that would be no big deal, right? but no... it's... kind of a big deal down there at the gen. it's almost that by using the free space as a free artist as was first explained to me... i'm made to feel like some sort of fuck off and because i don't really give a whole lot of fuck about embrace (as it's being shoved down mine and reno's throat), it's like i should have some scarlet letter. the generator is drowning in that project and artists of other projects are made to feel inferior or are simply leaving because a) they're unappreciated b) they're told the space is limited or c) they can't get shit done. unless... that was just the idea all along and i'm just the simple sucker? maybe that's the whole ruse of the place? to build an elaborate umbrella facility to only truly house one important project for one artist and one burn? to build this project under the guise of nonprofit community work but not really put any effort into the nonprofit...community work? it's kind of like working in animal farm and all art projects are not created equal. embrace can charge you for a shitty plastic cup of beer... but the starving artist can't put prices next to his or her work in the gallery? embrace can install a cash register in the library, but i can't sell a sketch? they can throw all the parties and art shows they want with tons of booze, but you better drive home drunk cuz sleeping there is out of the question....unless you're sleeping with important people? all cigarette butts are my fault? i'm a picky bitch because i expect the place to be mutually respected by all? cleaning duties are expected to be completed, but only if you're working on certain projects, certain days? this all makes me feel like some sort of shitty and gullible art pawn. it's the yucky parts of the salvagery all over again--the ego struggle, the unrefinement, the personalities, and the violent learning curves. perhaps i moved to the generator thinking it was one thing... and now, having half left, i'm thinking it's something else. honestly, this difference between what i thought then and what i know now, an un-ignorable hypocrisy, is just something i'm not totally comfortable working under the roof of and i wanted to no longer compromise. integrity is hell of a thing to make excuses for. all these things add up in my brain and... i can't function, let alone create in a space where there's so much weird uncertainty and agenda pushing... and politics and bureaucracy. don't get me wrong. the place is not without it's outstanding fucking merits--generous and loving staff, dedicated volunteership, teamwork, open arms, and arts promotion. i've met amazing people there and done some neato things. there's a lot of good to be had from the people who make the generator. it's just that... i would do it different. clearly. and some day, i will. and that's why i'm stepping back on a personal level. don't really feel like standing on the same podium alone or with anyone else... as all that until shit gets sorted out proper. that's why i've decided to maintain my cubby there as a kids class cubby. i'll cut and prime my project, do my two days a week generator duty, but will mostly dedicate the space to wednesdays with the kiddos. if you have potty trained little ones with an attention span, sharing skills, patience and a pension for arts, bring them on by. i can do 3pm ish til 6:30pm. maybe later if negotiated. space is limited to 6 kids--depending on size and age. oh, and bring me a beer. and maybe kick down some of those art supplies you kid has strewn all over your house so we can all share and learn. oh, and it's free and also very dependent on interest so... holla. email me underpaid.artist@gmail.com or leave a comment here... or... you know, text me. p.s. thanks for the vent. i feel better, internet void. oh, and i know... i'm an asshole too.
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and then some mornings you inexplicably wake up with the song from pocahontas in your head. before coffee, before shower, before dog belly scratches--i'm up stumbling and humming along to how high the sycamore grows and don't cut it down or whatever. it's streaming inside my brain on malicious repeat. no, not that shitty vanessa williams version--the one from the hit animated disney movie of my young adulthood. it's been a long couple of weeks and i have little to say cuz my brain is fried from awesome. my tarot project is going great--the gofundme is moving along nicely and people and friends are donating toward the most great dream ever. i'm fully cubbied at the generator, i've got the gopro (which i'm still learning how to use), and i'm gonna start time lapsing this week. i've lost 8 pounds on accident over this project. my old dog otis is getting older and sicker by the day. i'm officially the poorest i've ever been in my entire life. i hardly see my boyfriend. the skin on my hands is red and worn and falling off. there is no light at the end of any tunnel... and yet, i'm pretty fucking happy. it's coming along. slowly. respectively and with discipline, i'm getting around to my favorite part of shit--actually doing the painting. ripping a bunch of new music my friends think i should hear, brewing several pots of coffee, guitar and dog by my side and just fucking painting. i've launched the campaign which is steadily resting at the 45ish% completion mark and i've built my space at the generator. now i just need to buy some more paint and a few more detail brushes.... and the rest of the hardboard....and the framing.... and.... and.... a bunch of other shit and i'm on my way to making a series of paintings that'll make this city's panties twitch. (you can quote me on that) |
Mallory Mishlerwhere i'll post the in's, out's, tween's, and twixt's of my world of art mixed with pictures, links, opinions, and rants. (oh, and curse words. lots of curse words) Archives
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