2016 the world looks very similar in terms of terrain, buildings are still tall, cities are still over run and more beautiful than the cleanest of diamonds. The pulse of humanity bleeds across each street and crossing. Between ancient stones and sleek designs, it’s hard to know what view belongs to what era, or if anything belongs anywhere. If time can be viewed from a fifth perspective or if this is all that is. It’s wonderful to imagine, however pointless, the possibility of a definitive stream. Even the majesty of infinity appears as perfection. When you are a blood vessel, the tiniest detail appears meaningful.
For me, that is where G-d is. And I spell it deliberately, with purpose. However lost I seem, whatever rage I express against the bloody and brutal, obsessively compulsive compartmentalisation of faith, I know that I am a child of G-d. Perhaps I am mentally ill. Perhaps the mentally ill are artists or perhaps the very word artist is another arrangement. An argument against an ever impending journey. One that we all must take. Ian mckellen stands in for a man I wished was still here.
You could easily be an artist, but whether you are or not defines you. The action, the choice, the decision and commitment defines you.
And still, when has the commitment to a cause been enough. It has to be the right one and for the right reason and the perfect timing, or are we all lost? We are all lost. Accept that and breath and smile for in being lost we are found and find ourself for what we are horrendous and heartbroken or rebranded as imperfectly perfect. You are perfect if you are looking for a good day. You are perfect if in your distaste journey, travel. Move to music, smile to laughter. Be with your family, with your friends. Be joyful when the time calls, be miserable when the moment is. Be. Just be and you are perfect.
Michael Caine is ageing. David Bowie remains singing on some far off planet, calling to ground control. The inevitable is a journey, or if it isn’t it should be, or if I chose to believe that let me. It makes no difference to you, aside from my smile in place of fear. Preach to a choir and you are heard.
When you reach a plateau and rest for what might seem a century, it’s hard to remember how you made the journey. There’s a false sense of security with skill that once you learn it, you’ll always have it.
As part of the production of souvenir, I made a decision to get back into illustration. Immediately I had this excitement and vision of these grand hyper realistic masterpieces. I had convinced myself that I had done it before and that I could do it again, so I had a go at it.
And that’s really the attitude I had. As you might expect I ran into a few walls before I made any progress. Even then what I created was disproportional and bizarre. I had, it seems, set the bar too high.
In hopes of reacting my old magic I went through what I consider to be my black album and discovered that realism had never really been my strong suit and does that make me a bad artist? I’m sure that’s a question we’ve all asked ourselves at some point.
The answer is probably a vague and non-committal grumble. I mean why would you want to admit you’re bad at something you’ve given half your life too.
Looking through my old works I feel like there is worth to what I created. I’m not detail oriented, I’m emotion oriented. I may never be a great painter, illustrator or even film maker ( it seriously sucks to think that but what are you going to do about it :/). I don’t think being great in the classical sense is the point. The point is what gets made. If something gets made, it can still have the same effect of a masterpiece or it can lead to one.
Or maybe these are all little master works, I’ve seen worse on the walls of the Tate Briton.
I hope some of you can enjoy these old works that never made it past my sketch book. I’m still working on the storyboard of souvenir, in a kind of minimalist style, similar to heart shaped mirrors. I hope to build on it and just BE. I’m an artist because I say I am. I will make great films because that’s what I want to do. Who knows what will come of it. All I know is, there was a brief shining moment during Sleep When I’m Dead, when I knew exactly who I was. And that’s worth giving it all another go.