Stacks of Painted Wood and Fabric

Today my friend Taylor asked me to look at a new artist, Dana Schutz. I was very inspired by her work but seeing it made me a little ashamed of my own. Schutz’s work wasn’t political or incredibly socially conscious but it was set in time and narrative and universal, things I try to be but I often fall short. The part of me that is an artist is in a very frail state right now, with the looming shadow of my June show weakening my work’s vibrancy.

Arturo said this: That in five years post college 90% of us won’t be strong enough to keep producing art. Is this because we aren’t documenting properly? Because we don’t go to shows every week? We have other jobs? Or is it just this feeling of not being that great of an artist anymore? No one sees my work anymore… no one that really speaks the lingo. As an artist of the generation of fashionable art, should I publicly state my fears. It means I’m wearing them and no one wants to buy a girl in black, and we buy people now. No matter how much I read about this it’s still so confusing.

I will keep painting because I have to. It’s like if you have to vomit or you get a pimple. These paintings just come out good or bad, smart or not. And I want to make things but there is a huge part of me that needs these things to be seen and understood- for someone to help me figure out where they fit into the big picture. They are my ego. They are constant where my actual self, my way of speaking, my mood, my dress, morals, my aspirations, everything else is always changing. My paintings are more me than I feel I am most of the time. I feel like a complete hermit in a way. What do I do about this? I read about what other artist are doing and I feel untrendy. I plan a show anyway and dread it. There must be a better way.


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