an unprofessional artist

http://momus.ca/how-to-be-an-unprofessional-artist/

“The professional always makes the right moves, knows the right thing to say, the right name to check. Controlled and measured, the professional never fucks the wrong person or drinks too much at the party. They never weep at the opening, never lay in bed for days too depressed, sick, broken to move. They say about the professional, “so easy to work with” or “so exacting but brilliant.” The professional takes advantage from every encounter, employs every new acquaintance as a contact, always hits the deadline. When asked about their work, they know what to say, a few lines of explanation sprinkled with enough filigreed intrigue to allude to abysses of research, the mysteries of making. They answer emails in minutes. Their PowerPoints are super crisp. Look at their website, so clean, so modern, so very pro.

You don’t feel like any of these things.

You are hungry, tired, overworked. You drank too much at the party and then slept with the wrong person, and then the really wrong person. You missed the deadline, it just thrushed past with a whoosh. Hustlers around you disappear into wealth and fame. Your dealer tells you to make more with red, those red ones are really selling. Maybe, she says, you make only the red ones for a while? Your student skips class to go to an art fair. The most pressing collectors are the ones holding your student loans. They keep calling, you wish you could trade them a drawing. It can take days to answer the simplest email. Your website, if it exists, is in shambles.

You wander. You doubt. You change styles, media, cities. You experiment, you fail. Again. And again.”

The Death of the Artist

http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2015/01/the-death-of-the-artist-and-the-birth-of-the-creative-entrepreneur/383497/

“When works of art become commodities and nothing else, when every endeavor becomes “creative” and everybody “a creative,” then art sinks back to craft and artists back to artisans –a word that, in its adjectival form, at least, is newly popular again. Artisanal pickles, artisanal poems: what’s the difference, after all? So “art” itself may disappear: art as Art, that old high thing. Which—unless, like me, you think we need a vessel for our inner life—is nothing much to mourn.”

Henri Rousseau. The Dream. 1910

Henri Rousseau. The Dream. 1910

paintingsnapshot

paintingsnapshot

Are art professionals today too hyperactively busy to produce work of lasting importance?

http://conversations.e-flux.com/t/are-art-professionals-today-too-hyperactively-busy-to-produce-work-of-lasting-importance/528

“Art professionals today are notoriously busy. They are ceaselessly writing, networking, traveling, tweeting, attending openings, managing their “brand,” and responding to emails. This level of hyperactivity is perhaps required today in order to earn even a modest living in the art world. But how does it affect the work that’s produced, and the discourse about this work? Has the obligation to produce something eclipsed the slow, patient work of producing something good? Does the endless stream of art commentary, on the internet and in print, sacrifice depth of analysis for sheer quantity?”