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Living with the success of failure

November 3, 2015


The art of my reality is all I aspire to, and all that I can hope for. That reality being my reality, the only reality that is there for me at all times in whatever guise it takes. The reality that is present when I close my eyes and go to sleep, and is there when I open my eyes to embrace the challenges of a new day. The reality through which I perceive people, place, predicament and possibilities. The reality which is my conscience and guide, the point of reference for me to know that what I’m doing is true. The reality which I can do no more that honour with what I feel is my truth as an artist, even though it may not be enough for those who neither offer or gain the mutuality of respect or admiration. This reality of mine is too precious to manipulate and bend into a convenience for the sake of chasing falsehood and so my work must be a reflection of what my reality compels me to believe.


As an artist I feel quite successful, I’ve innovated in my field of equestrian art and produced dynamic and exciting sculptures and in return I live on the bread line a failure in the eyes of my society and I simply can’t understand it. So just how can I still believe in myself after thirty years of struggle? and why do I continue? Two questions which bounce around in my head on a daily basis. The crazy thing is that I do believe in my art and potential, yes I can improve greatly, but my only motivation is the powerful driving force within. A force excited by possibility and hope. A belief that art is so utterly important that it’s worth any sacrifice to further the possibilities of human creativity. And so I accept my fate and struggle with a ludicrous existence trapped in the  sea of an oppulent and boastful society in which I have no currency beyond my passion.


Do I feel trapped? you bet I do and frustrated too, as I live my life in a metaphorical straight jacket unable to do anything but form the intimate gestures of my art. I feel trapped in a dichotomous existence of success and failure which affects my moods, encouraging a wild and free artistic temperament. A temperament which drives me to tear down all the meaninglessness out of my life and say it like it is, because there is no room for bullshit and pretence in my life, because this life has stripped me down to the bare bones of my reality. I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter how good I feel my work is that it simply will not be acknowledged by those who promote art. So I say fuck it and move forward creating my own trajectory and space, a place to be me and in that space my art will take form and grow. In that space my courage and belief will be tested and the art I produce will be the deliverance of my reality.


As for the practicalities of being an artist trivialized through societal bias, I ask myself the question, exactly where do I go with my art and what do I do with my art beyond exhibit a few pieces in commercial exhibitions, whilst storing the rest in boxes or on shelves. And the answer is I no longer care because thirty years of caring has been no more than an awkward side-show, a salutary lesson in rejection and an exploration of worthlessness. Condemned by a judgmental society drunk on the excesses of consumerism in this savvy generation. If I believed in my society I would have given up by now, but I chose to believe in myself. So I have no definitive answer beyond developing as an artist to satisfy my own little soul, and existing within the mirage of an existence.


I look at my society and all I see are fractures to the facade, and through the gaps I see dissatisfaction and injustice a world bound together by difference and division. A society bound together with a collusion on values and currency, based on abstract concepts put in place through institutional convenience. I see a world and a society that does not have a place for my art and the values which form my reality, because they are inconvenient. I’m not a competitive man and I don’t seek to climb over others to prevail at their expense and I have no ambitions within society. I have no need for material status or notoriety and because of this Im overlooked, but my art is me and I am my art, it is one and I cannot pretend to be anything else.


You see an artist is the whole of their being, it’s not separate and so our existence and values are reflected in our art, because that is our substance. It may sound like a cliché but I truly feel like a misunderstood artist and I always have as I searched in vain to find some commonality somewhere, a place in this world where I belonged, a place where I wouldn’t be belittled or patronised for just being me. But I never found it and I was incapable of fully committing myself to compromise and dilution, and this has made me feel defiant and rebellious. It also means I disappear into the wilderness of self so that I can exist.


From my perspective art and creativity is a gift, both to the makers and to society and has nothing to do with ownership, status and fiscal value. For me it’s something to be shared and so we can have an ideological connection which transcends the trivialities of capitalism and consumerism. So we can meet and greet at a higher level of consciousness without judgmental bias. But as an artist I’m not allowed to share my work because it does not fit in with the institutionalisation of humanity and I have to accept a fate of a life of torture. A benign existence to the world and yet inside I burn with passion, belief and hope because that is all I have , which is quite a plate full.



❤ ❤ ❤

Don’t forget to be beautiful

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