Friday, June 13, 2008


The adages that trace over this quirky pondering about who an artist is amuses, bewilders, annoys and enthrals me simultaneously. Being blessed/cursed with this beloved and derisive existence I can say that the question is what not who is an artist. An artist is an entity, a quality of being. It is not the person but a manifest. I do not blink or wink or itch with any special talent. Nail and hair growing are effortless. 'Artist' is an embodiment of a way of living that occurs because there is no filtering - sensory overload, if you like - art is the filter, what we can manage to capture for articulation of our existence. This process and the result may seem coy or persuasive, banal or exotic, lively or suppressive. It may engage joy or spirituality to awaken. A response is not required, but sincerely feared and appreciated or despised or rockets the doer into a spiral of self-loathing or ecstasy. What can I say... each work I make is a compulsion, a vent to exercise my psyche into another realm of contemplation. Each new idea propels me towards the next, and without a physical explosion of work, I cannot realise the enormity of what was given to me, an ability to incise and perplex or reveal the ambiguity and precision I endure and love. What a gift!