Answering my own questions…

And just making more questions… hmmm…

My last post was a stream of consciousness and I think this post will be the same. I had noticed I was more concerned with getting the words out of my head rather than proof-reading (as one should always do). I’m an art student; I’m convinced we communicate whether or not there is language.

My last post I ended with the question; “what made me pursue the arts?” well…

I think, maybe, something like the sciences would have been too easy for me. And I would have been burnt out too quickly. The only other passion, that I realized as of recently, would be linguistics. It is why I studied Latin, French, Japanese, Italian and enjoyed English class… I think my fear of my own slow reading hindered those decisions. But I could not, and still cannot, foresee a future within that professional field. As unsure as I sound to be about where I will go after graduation, I always picture myself doing art. But did I really need to acquire a $32,000 debt to earn a piece of paper (that I could handcraft even better with my own tools) to say that, indeed, I knew what I was talking about all along? And the frustration comes from the fact that the general art world will 1) accept your work into galleries and shows if you have a master’s degree, but a lot less likely if you only have a bachelor’s degree, 2) that my degree, being Honours Bachelor of Fine Arts, simply says that I can indeed produce art but have a) no real experience, b) doesn’t necessarily mean I’m making art and c) doesn’t mean I will produce art on my own; and 3) If I’m going to fast-track my resume into becoming accepted into the art scene, then I may have to earn another $100,000 in debt to say that, yes, I really DO know what I am talking about. oy freaking vay!

To enter into a world of politics, I seem to need to spend a lot of money to make art about not having money to spend. The focus seems to be on the actual financial investment rather than doing what you love for the sake of doing what you love. And that’s where art is not free. It costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to earn a degree that will have you accepted by the art world, spend thousands of dollars more on materials over the years and the cost of your own health, to be told that “Art is free”. If a linguist and translator is paid time to simply say the same damn thing in another language, I should be paid the same wages. All I’m doing is saying something in a pluralistic language for everyone. If a civil engineer is paid to plan a city and it’s functions, then I should be paid the same for planning a way to direct people to greater thought about how we interact. And if a psychologist is paid to understand, relate and teach a way to communicate with a patient, then I too ought to have the same salary. Author’s have a deep respect within society, even musicians (though pop art often steals the limelight from our own talent that spills out their very soul performing at a busy bus terminal), will be respected as they have a “talent”. It’s hard to busk art, aside from characitures at theme parks, or to sell something that is not temporal. When people pay to hear music, they also pay for a moment in time.

I’m not strong in politics, particularly group politics, and I certainly don’t have much money to my name. But somehow, at this point in life, even in doubting my own decision to pursue the fine art route, I am the happiest I have ever been. It’s that level of honesty I have with myself, and the undeniable knowledge that I cannot see myself being anywhere else. I know I am more than intelligent enough to have become a nurse, and charismatic enough to be a teacher, and blessed to know that I am kind enough to be a psychiatrist, tough enough to have been a police officer, but I feel that I am following the path made for me. Or that I made myself. It’s hard to tell if it’s your own decisions, or something predestine when you find yourself going towards a goal and that journey, or that path, seems to already been tread. I haven’t done this before and my goals are all new and are scary to me, but I suppose it is these moments where I question myself, that proves that I am choosing this path. But it still feels like “this is where I’m meant to go”. It’s like I’ve always known I would come and go along this path. It’s not a lack of knowing differently, simply a knowledge of myself. Art… maybe… is being able to see and interpret the world and issues around you, and you are the author of the “non-language” and you reach being an artist when you understand yourself and that relationship and interpretation of the world. Maybe art is for the self-actualized..

Switching gears before I get some shut eye for day two of installations – I said I wouldn’t update without accomplishing something. So I suppose I need to make up for the last post as well… (besides the fact that I made two posts in two days) First of all I completed another two drawings for my drawing series in class. Proper photos will be done at the end of the project and likely to be posted at the end of April as I try to move. Secondly, the curator from the Definitely Superior Art Gallery has chosen four paintings for the exhibition, Urban Infill. A total of 9 complete works since the middle of December and three more to be done. I will redo 3 or 4 portraits again, As I have grown with the series and I am unsatisfied with some. I have some project Ideas lined up for after graduation but Having to move twice is throwing a wrench into my plans…  because I also want to come home, to a job, and start preparing a portfolio for graduate school. A lot of planning has been accomplished and I will also need to bust hump to catch up in sculpture, as well as document my work. We shall see what the future holds…

I was told a few times before that I was fearless. That despite knowing I could fail, or that the goal ahead scares me, I go ahead. For whatever reason, It’s not failing that I fear. And since that’s the only bad outcome, there seems little reason to have fear. I suppose I always say to myself “no use being stuck here, and I won’t be further behind if I try”… and then follow that quickly with “I can do this”. I know this sounds super chipper and uplifting, but it’s a softer voice. A much less intimidating and not even child-like voice. I’m not infallible, nor invincible and not perfect; in fact I think being your own worst critic means you are the hardest judge on yourself. But I also know, like it’s an irrefutable fact, that I am going where I need to be going… that I’m uncomfortable because I’m moving to something bigger than before… and that… I am exactly where I need to be at this moment…

It’s good to find your center again… and then jump as far away from it as possible as many chances you get.

The quietest voice in my head, and the sternest, and the epitome of knowledge within me, my own intuition – it says “just, fucking, go!”

I can’t describe the grin across my face right now.

now if I would just feel confident in the last painting series I did…

I’m hopeless and it makes me laugh.

I forgot to say this last time but…

-I am Elizabeth, and I am LovingBedlam

One thought on “Answering my own questions…

  1. Your Uncle Phil actually said something the other night that might put the type of artistic expression you create in perspective. He mentioned that whenever war breaks out, the treasures that are buried and hidden and protected are works of art by artists. Paintings, sculptures, drawings and the like are hidden away to protect them. This makes art timeless and the value beyond that which is simply put into monetary worth. Look at the great works of art that still exist centuries upon centuries. Art expresses history, social views, and ways of life in a visceral and visual means that translates across time and helps illuminate future generations understanding of their collective pasts. It may not always generate the money being paid to other endevours, but perhaps it’s worth is also greater than it as well. Everything we are and will become will be set forth for future generations to see in artistic form….a sort of visual snapshot of where we are now that future generations will see and interpret. Just sayin’. Love, Mom

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