When
I left art school in 1978, I was sure that becoming a painter
would be what I'd do with my life. I didn't really have a
sense of the sacrifice required, nor did I really understand
what the other things I wanted out of life were. The intervening
22 years has been marked by grand illusion and self doubt.
I wore the bifocals of mania--with the general lens glowing
a rosy genius pink, and the reading lens tinted the shadowy
river-bottom green of failure.
As with most artists, time is
the most precious commodity (--after self esteem maybe). I
had a lot of odd jobs as I tried to allow myself the time
to paint. I made signs for a music company, worked in a Wonderbread
factory, ruined someone's porch in an effort to renovate it,
illustrated accidents for a law firm, illustrated chemical-warfare
equipment for an inventor, illustrated stereo equipment, sold
t-shirts, keylined advertisements for a department store,
guarded an art museum, was a preparator in a Judaica museum,
and made a mutascope animation of a volcano erupting for a
natural history museum. Since 1989 I've worked as a book designer
for the University of Chicago Press.
The reality of being an artist
is that no artist is a full-time artist. Those that don't
have day jobs and have to spend a considerable amount of time
promoting themselves--which I suppose is therapeutic even
when unsuccessful. I've never had the temperament for glad-
handing and self-promotion, so over the years I've shown my
work in the magazine Artpolice and published a magazine
of illustrated stories called Storyhead. You can see
the archives of Storyhead at http://www.storyhead.com
where you will also find an extensive catalogue of my drawings
and paintings.
When all is said and done, I
can't say that I have regrets, but I think a quote from Nietzsche
is in order: "We have need of lies in order to conquer this
reality, this 'truth', that is in order to live. That lies
are necessary in order to live is itself part of the terrifying
and questionable character of existence." |
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