The other day, I managed to get into a community winter art show at one of my favorite art spaces in downtown Durham. This is the only showing I have this year. In fact, this is one of the few pieces that I was able to finish before the baby was born. So if you look at the brush strokes of this piece, you'll see that it is crude. I was 40 lbs heavier and huffing and puffing as I was was balancing on chairs in order to finish this piece called "In the Valley of the gods"(sometime last January, I shared the story via facebook/blog.) And I got into a discussion with my partner over why I'm making this difficult, herculean effort in order to show this piece. He said something about this being about my ego. And I'm thinking to myself, ego? What ego? It's a fact that Nobody cares about art of the little, not famous, artist. Making art has cost me $, along w/ tears and sweat, for one random like, and often dismissal by too many people, for this to be about ego. And here I am w/ a screaming baby and I'm still working on my ego??
So, I replied, nursing school is about serving others, doing fundraiser for typhoon victims is for others, playing music is for the enjoyment of others, when do I get to do something that is purely for me?-- This is it. This is for me. This is my art. This is an expression of me beyond the duties and demands of everyday life.
"And isn't that the root of every despicable action? Not selfishness, but precisely the absence of a self." Howard Roark from The Fountainhead