On 21/12/12 Edward Picot <[email protected]> wrote:
[...]
>society that takes such a shine to him. It may seem unfair that he
>should get such a lot of recognition by a kind of freak of chance,
>whereas here we are expending blood, sweat, tears, talent, time and
>brainpower on our work and most people aren't even paying a blind bit
>of attention - but if you really believe in what you're doing, if you
>really get some satisfaction out of it, or if you just plain can't
>imagine life without it, then you'll keep doing it anyhow, even if you
>never earn a penny or get a single thumbs-up.
>
>If you don't have that belief, then like the Guardian's art-critic
>you'll probably conclude, rather hysterically, that the whole thing
>must be some kind of con-trick, and give it up in disgust.
My conclusion is lightly pencilled in, but visible enough for me to
not be producing/doing/making for the moment. I don't exactly see
the arts as a con-trick, more a scene which I don't understand, fit in
with, or have confidence and self belief to make any strides toward
professionalism at. I do empathise with his views about his and the
public's 'delusions of grandeur', though more with his recognition of
it manifesting in the self rather than seeing/projecting it in the work
of others.
There's also the not-everyone-can-be-an-actor/footballer/pop-idol view
of things, into which, for me at least, artist has slipped as an
equally unattainable way of earning a living.
Actually I'm just recognizing all the stuff I've ever done is just
never good enough to make the grade. I'm too negative. It's not just
having one's ("art") work lost in a sea of other ("art") work, but the
struggle of fighting one's own fears and negativity in order to get it
there, the struggle of a full time job which as far as I'm concerned
goes against everything I tried to believe in.
Existing forever in a state of being continually left behind and pushed
about. Pushed out the picture. Pushed into behaviours I don't wish to
go through the motions of. Stuck in a rut which at times looks more like
a ravine. Reacting to situations in ways which re-enforce my own
imagination's visions of other people's negative views of me. Being
malleable, forever on the verge of groundlessness, up-rootedness. Why
should I be one of the exceptions who gets to do something I enjoy for
a living? At least I don't clean toilets. At least I'm not homeless.
But my job. There are times I don't mind it at all. Sometimes a meeting
or training will put me in a positive frame of mind for it. But the
very nature of the work, and for what I've come to believe as some sort
of explanation for me reaction as an incompatibility with it, the
positivity lasts approximately two and a half hours at best.
Today as I walked down the street - a street where - shock - other
people walk too - I saw a boy in a pram pushed by his mother who was
moaning and groaning and whining his distress at what was happening. It
reminded me of me at work. I get so overwhelmed by the nullity of it
I start groaning and moaning loudly, like an old man, like someone in
distress.
Earlier I received a reply to one of my comments on youtube. I was told
crack on and stop the whinin'.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1evdEjAdjWM&lc=ZBLOnXyVkC-4N_Fn6ATRla5OLFdoUwWMYxxdgAH8SHI
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