My knowledge is converging into my artistic personality. My artistic personality is a revelation of myself. I do not want my art to be simple manifestation of id. I want it to measure self-discovery deeper than instinct, deeper than my primary intellectual and emotional processes. This is about me finding the reason I am; the reason I exist; the reason my actions have meaning beyond action itself. I know my being has importance. Everyone has importance. Me, the artist, wants to manifest my reason to live through visual imagery. The game I play is this: I actively reveal myself to myself; I make the effort to communicate that revelation to my viewers. We have commonness in self-worth. I am hoping my art allows us to be together, to simultaneously be uplifted by self-glorification. Our existence has value; it has significance because it is consequential.
Yesterday's drawing is immensely important to me. It gathers accumulated knowledge through deep-rooted conversation with myself. I did this in the act of making it. It is simultaneously the convergence of knowledge and the creation of new knowing. This is the process I define as art-making.
Given my discussion today I believe I have made a larger discovery. The current art market revels in found images, i.e., images made by Banksy, Jeff Koons, and (from the the past) Andy Warhol. My art is vastly different in concept; different from those successfully marketed artists. It is not about simple images defined by our cultural camaraderie. It is about images that are layered with nuance of selfness.
Easier than usual is seeing yesterday's drawing as study for yesterday's painting. Miracle it is that never two days, never too actions, are the same. Now is now! This is the only way to decipher my veiled constancy of self. Calling this constancy is not absolutely correct. I do believe I am built to last. There is stuff in me that is constant. Origination and inception are not excluded from renewal and self-surprise.
It does not really look like mayhem; perhaps upheaval is a better word to describe that which I feel. The stuff I am producing has order, but each surprises me like a riot in my mind. It is better for me to approach without intent than to plan and to organize prior to execution. The odd idea here is the precision of attack is deceptive. This painting, and these drawings, look organized, premeditated. They are not! When murder is committed the question is asked, is it one of passion or one calculated and preplanned. Well, my work has become the former, not the latter. The problem with writing this is the problem of being. I am stuck with who I am, so no matter how much effort I make to remain open to the chaos of discovery, behold the stuff I produce is about me. Personal psyche, ego, id, cannot be escaped! According to Sigmund Freud, the super-ego is the critical and moralizing portion of psyche that can stop one from doing certain things one wishes to do. I am trying to subjugate my super-ego! Of course, my self-analysis is inaccurately Freudian, but I hope I get across my point. I am trying to find my mythological origins, as abstractly disorganized as they are. I am seeking to find images which sing the border between chaos and order, between living and death.
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