“Why is art beautiful? Because it’s useless. Why is life ugly? Because it’s all aims, objectives and intentions.” – Fernando Pessoa
The creation of my work is mostly self-satisfying in a most destructive manner. The work exists in my head, is created in a moment of passion and then exists in a state of being that is neither alive or dead.
That final state kills me since I’d prefer to not be reminded of my mortality, loneliness and uselessness.
Life goes on–bills must be paid, supplies gotten, food eaten.
The created work sits idly by slowly being covered in dust. But what of it? Everything is slowly covered by dust and/or turning to it.
To sit in a basement, hang on a lonely wall or live in a speculators tax shelter are all the same. The preciousness of your idea is either totally ignored or sold for a premium and then ignored.
But I digress. I’m tired of stewing in the soup of pecuniary philosophy!
One must live and for me to live is for me to insist on art and to insist on an artist’s life is to insist on living uselessly.
And that is what I shall do.