I rarely have artist or writer’s block; what others suffer as self-imposed obstacles to the creative process. Once my social security and medicare kicked in I stopped working for wage and concentrated my efforts full time in the “art” game. I haven’t looked back. I live on a shoestring and now demand the luxury of being an artist—no longer distracted by a day job. It has definitively drained my bank account, but raised my output and profile. If I drag myself off the couch I can crank out a bunch of drawings, paint a painting, sculpt a sculpture or figure out some subversion that fits with previous iconoclastic antics. I’m not bragging. It’s both a blessing and a curse. I feel I should constantly apologize for this overload to the supply chain with very little on the demand side. I know it can get tiring trying to stay apprized of my daily posts, remember exactly when the next church will convene or take in the new piece down in the Mountain Dale Social Sculpture Park. But I can’t stop myself. Try to keep up.
It gets worse as I get older. I produce more and care less about my audience. I’m not saying that I’m not concerned with quality control—I want to get better—only that I care less and less if you like it, or even show up to see it. I also know myself well enough to realize tomorrow I can feel the exact opposite, anguishing over a lack venue, crowd size, recognition and money. This is what I mean by compulsiveness. It’s doesn’t seem to matter which side of the fence I come down on when it comes to the manic production. I’m always cranking out something.
The work switches up constantly in regard to medium. These days I have introspective, confessional, narrative diarrhea. Obviously i have to tell you about that. See what I mean? Some things have thankfully dropped off. The songwriting and guitar riffs have almost entirely ceased. I can’t remember lyrics anymore when I play in public, so performing on stage has also stopped. As far as static work goes, I’m working on a series of large cowhides in the shul and in the process of completing a new sculpture for Mountain Dale. (F)ancestor, and all the research it took to write it is done. I barely read anymore. The upcoming documentary is a nice ego boost, but it won’t pay my taxes or the surprise brake job on Old Red. There again, I have absolutely nothing to complain about. A cancer was dug out of my shoulder a couple of weeks ago and the stitches came out yesterday. The scar encroaches slightly on one tattoo, but it healed up nicely. They tell me they got it all. I’m ready to move deer stands from Majestic with Bill Voegelin, excited about deer season. The leaves are just starting to turn and everybody is seeing bucks.
I’ll tell you what I care about most in regard to this writing compulsion—the few friends who take the time to religiously check in and once in a while give me good advice. My brothers, Asher Rothman and Ted Rosenthal are a few. Tony Labat is another. I also like using other peoples’ emails as material. It saves me from having to do it all. So here’s one from Labat, responding after I asked if he had read the blog. I hope he doesn’t mind me reprinting it.
Hola hermano,
Very different, I like this new approach to the personal/historical mix, one critical thing if I may as your hermano is that I always talk about you to others as an amazing and very interesting artist doing what few claim to do but are just theory and no action or results, commitment, discipline, and a willingness to go against the grain...so it makes me cringe a bit when you undermine all of that by standards of the "market" world, OWN IT MIKE! You are as genuine and authentic as they come...loved the graphics and design….
Mucho love,
TL
I’m trying to take his advice.
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