Truth lies within.
We become our neurosis.
My psychological well being is tied into how I’ve learn to adapt to my living environment. To live we must occupy space.
My first apartment was bare down to the hardwood floors. That was my first experience of having space uncluttered. Space for the sake of space. Looking back on my raising, a home was something left over from the 1950’s in that we were living out a dream that Mad Men had marketed.
My mind had found solace that first night walking around the apartment with no furniture. I must admit I was also under the influence of Thoreau’s Walden Pond. Much taken in by his ideas when he numerated his chairs to three: one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.
A sentence formed that first night that became a conviction: don’t be in a hurry to fill up space with conventional crap.
Also, I had witnessed many times when my friends would get an apartment and then go for broke trying to fill it up with things that their parents had modeled.
What it got down to was open spaced fitted with my budding sense of aesthetics. I had embarked on a path of self discovery initiated by the act of reading. No longer did the world view of those around me influence me. How could their plebeian points of view compare with the large canvas of John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath or even begin to touch upon the existential views on becoming. They were children and books had become the adults in the room.
Back to this notion what constitutes my art?
It enters upon my fundamental make up, this idea of becoming an artist. You are not an artist; you become an artist. Art in the true sense of the word is a verb. As a noun, it is a dead throbbing reminder of how inadequate we are.
At our core, we are inadequately prepared. From the moment we are born we are told what to do. Life is a crap shoot filled with winners and losers. Luck has everything to do with it, or not. I choose the not in that I believe we can make our luck. My art does not depend on luck it depends on me waking up early and applying myself towards formulating ideas that will manifest itself as my art.
I am existential artist born from the ideas of existential writers such as Albert Camus, Sartre, Dostoyevsky, Kierkegaard and many other writer imbued under the guise of becoming.
From Sartre, existence is not something which lets itself be thought of from a distance; it must invade you suddenly, master you, weigh heavily on your heart like a great motionless beast – or else there is nothing at all.
That has been my experience of art.
What is my art?
It relates to how I relate to space. Not comfortable with conventional notions of space, I find new ways to relate to space. My art is to transform space into the confines of my developed aesthetic sensibilities.
Even to design a tea cup for me relates to space.