I’ve got this perceived and realized tension from family members, people I hold dear over decisions I’ve made in my career, education, generally life choices. It hinges on the younger kids, people that grew up with me, younger and older. I don’t exactly think it’s funny but I’m going to describe it as such because I can’t think of a better word and all the other language around my feelings and thoughts about this topic escape me right now, maybe in an edit I’ll pen it better. The people that have inspired me in my adolescence to become what I’ve become within my circle have disappointed me. They are the potential that I saw as being this great wealth of the future, people big enough to conquer all obstacles with the strength of their hands, feet, voice, presence, being. Along the way circumstances have submitted them to the tyrants grip and closed off the light that in its shine spoke of the brightness of all things.
It was around my freshman year in college and more over my senior year in high school that I gave up thinking that money would save me. In that release I learned hard lesson after hard lesson that not much would save me and much of the past, things existing long before my being born in their structure were guiding me toward a type of business and a train of thought that travels parallel to the history of capitalism. Much of creativity has been hijacked by trade in monetary wealth and what hasn’t been taken has been oppressed, destroyed, or twisted into an antithesis of the underground. In these fates the damage of the creative body is a kind of psychosis and tangling of will and circumstance, internal and external voices, balance and options. The opportunity rarely arises out of the void to make your mind change from the structure placed around it and in that, creativity is seen as the spawn of circumstance or in communities of faith, the wellspring of love in the universal force.
I spoke briefly last year about how my artistic practice deals with capitalism. I mostly talked around what money and value were to me and how I’ve found my way to creating the body of my practice in advancing a schedule that alternates priorities of making artworks and keeping a roof over my head and food in my belly. It has been difficult at times and easier at others. My focus has been to not skew the relationship between what I see as being necessary for my survival in creating with the sacrifice I make to capitalism. Making money is a religion and it is one that I can only view as a cancerous and vacuous mastery of self deception. In the end the clergy of this church lay empty and diseased under a false system of wealth. My sacrifice is ash and I offer nothing but remnants to the fire but even this is more that I can stand at times. The reasoning that diamonds come from carbon and pressure hasn’t escaped me and I ask myself would I rather stick my hand in the furnace to find the artificial pieces of this impossibly hard life or would I rather exist as the elemental nature of both stone and energy with the clarity of my work made complete.