The Frustrated Artist

"Hello. My name is David M...And I'm an artist." The group replies in unison, "Hello, David". "I've been sane for fourteen months." I get a heart felt round of applause. "My media of choice was whatever was layin around...Acrylics, clay, camera,  pen and paper, guitar,....Man, I've done it all. One time, I was so strung out I made a tree with an eagle in it out of a breakfast taco wrapper sittin in front of a convenience store."...Someone yells out,"We feel ya,David!"..."But now, I've beaten those demons! Now I feel reborn! No longer am I waitng around for someone to buy a painting , just so I can take the money and buy more paint! No longer do I spend hours contemplating my next creative work, no longer do those "made up" songs replay themselves in my head, Why, I have even stopped picking up crap off the side of the road in hopes of "Making a sculpture" I don't make up stories in my head anymore and I stopped viewing the world through the camera lens! My friends...." I begin to cry. A voice speaks softly as I try to catch myself."We're here for you David." My friends I am a new man. Today I feel...I feel...well, I feel dead." And, scene.
I've always wondered what truly defines a person as an artist. Is it the quality of his work? Is it the passion that a person devotes to the art? Could it be the personality and behavior of the artist?... Quite frankly, I don't know and at this point, I don't really give a rats ass.At some point in your life you just have to swallow your pride, and lack of self confidence, and just come to terms with the fact that your art is your art...That's it.You are not going to be a rockstar, you are not the next Ansel Adams, I'm pretty sure Stephen Kings' job is secure, and Andy Warhol is dead...Let him rest in peace. You paint what you like and if someone else likes it, that's great! If they don't...Meh. Just do it because you love it. Art for the sake of art.
There have been many opportunities in my life to meet, and speak to, artists of every type imaginable. The scary part is that, as an artist, I can relate to every one of them on some level. Trust me, that can be very eye-opening experience at times.
At this time, I would like to impose my judgemental, self-righteous, pseudo-intellectual classification of the artists I have met, upon you, the reader.
Having said that, I must tell you that ninety-nine percent of them are some of the most interesting people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting in my life...Good people..Unique people...Very,very,unique. I should know. I fit the bill as well.
Now these folks can be broken down into sub-groups based on many different factors, however, I have chosen a heartless generalization strictly for my own amusement...And it goes like this...
1. Closet artist - I used to work with this guy. I told him I liked to paint one day, and from that point on that was all he would talk about. Now, mind you, this was a real button-down kinda guy.A real "mover and shaker". He was the sales manager and the typical eighties "Reaganaut". Pleated Dockers,maroon suspenders,penny loafers (with the tassels), opaque button -collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up! Go get em' tiger! He would slick his hair back with a pocket comb as the last of his "eight-ball" rolled quietly out of his nostril onto his shirt.Still...overall, a pretty nice guy. So why the hell is he pestering me about my art? I thought he might have been looking for an investment opportunity.He would always ask about places that sold art. Finally I figured it out. I brought some photos of some of my recent art to work. He saw me come in and I asked him over.When he saw the photos he began to look over his shoulder, as if he were about to look at pictures of the boss' wife naked (Shudder). Next thing I know, he is telling me how "This one is awesome, but this one... Well, I would have shaded this area in a little darker so it would blend into the next layer.You should have used a fan brush...you definitely didn't use a fan brush." I just looked at him and smiled. It was almost like outing a gay friend.I thought we were gonna start a fucking TV show, after that. He would go to the bathroom and get coked up and stroll over to my desk to giggle and whisper about all his knowledge of the great masters...The consummate "Closet artist"
2. The Flake - Often "hippie-like" in nature, the Flake can be deceiving. The first lesson when hunting flakes is to remember...Flakes don't always "look" like flakes! Lesson two - pretty girls can be flakes! When a beautiful girl is in a room full of "artsy" guys and rich douchebags and she's single... One of three things...She's gay, she has been paid to be there ( In which case she would be a "prostitute artist") or, congratulations my friend, you've bagged yourself a flake!
An interesting note: A few, of the many, sub-catergories of Flake are, "Hippies who think they're artists", "Artists who think they're hippies" and the scariest..."Frosted Flake" (See previous drug reference) Hmmmmm.
So the Safari begins! We began our journey through the darkest reaches of a neighboorhood close to the railroad tracks. My guide is none other than the world reknowned jungle hunter, Sir Reginald Wendell Scott III in the royal service of the Queen. His powder rifle is loaded for rhino, but we seek a different type of beast...Dreadlockus Hoodiebong...The elusive Flake.
We creep quietly past the rows of native dwellings. The tops of the trailers grow red as the sun begins to set. We inch our weather beaten Landrover ever closer to the Flake breeding grounds.We see it. A thriving den of flakes. Nestled deep into the balcony of an apartment complex two blocks over from the community college. Sir Reginald breaks the silence..."Smell that my boy? The pungent odor of insense and bongwater!...We are now in Flake country by Jove!"
I open the door and I can barely see the floor.Three people are sitting on the floor in a candle lit, efficiency sized living room. There is a guy about fiftysomething wearing a dirty tye-dye t-shirt,and torn jeans with, what looks to be, homemade sandals. He almost looks like Jerry Garcia, but skinnier, He sticks his hand up from the floor. "I'm Jack! How are ya?".I return the offer and shake his hand."Good, thanks.I'm Dave". He stands and waves his hand towards a young guy,maybe in his late teens,early twenties. "This is Tyler,He is our musical artist" The kid looks like he's worn the same clothes for months and is all "Chinese-eyed" with a big cheesy grin on his face. His hoodie is up and it looks like he might be wearing a beanie.I think to myself "This kid is high as friggin' kite." Jack turns and waves his hand in a circular motion and points to a very attractive young woman, definitely in her twenties...Latter twenties for sure, but very youthful complexion."And this is Alicia our painter slash poet." He turns back to me." Have a seat boys.Get comfy!"
My friend, Allen, who is just here for the weed, thought it might be a good idea to introduce me to some of his "Other" artist friends and get a free buzz. What the hell" I thought. We have a seat on the floor and instantly, the bong begins to circumnavigate the circle. It gets to me and I swear I'm already high just from being in the room.I begin to ponder the dynamics of the group we have visited."A young girl, a young guy, and an articulate old hippie.Hmmmmm.What goes on around here?" I begin to giggle and I realize I am blown out of my mind. I look at Alicia and start to analyze her situation. Jack is talking and I'm not registering what he's saying, but I notice Alicia is sitting very proper, wearing a black sweater dress with styled blonde hair about shoulder length. She is speaking, but again I'm in lala land looking at her face and watching the confidence and conviction with which she speaks. Jack's apartment is very clean yet it is obvious someone paints here. She still looks out of place."One of these things is not like the others." I sing in my head as I begin to giggle. Suddenly she turns towards me and asks,"What do you think?" I definitely heard that and I soon realize I have no way in hell of faking my way out of this. I choose the honest route."I'm sorry...I am so high right now I didn't hear a word you said.I was humming a song in my head.".They all begin to laugh.Thank God, that could have been a real buzz kill. She began to speak to me in a nurturing tone."Let me start over for you." I just smiled and said "Sure. Go ahead.". She was so interesting, The words she used, the way her mouth moved when she smiled, I was getting "Tingly".I began to listen to her and, at first, I was impressed. She spoke about the depth of emotion she conveys through her art, She spoke of famous artists that did the same. I began to regain focus about the time she started to explain how everything on the planet gives off an energy and she has learned to tap into that energy through meditation. "Okay....That's not a bad thing... a "Kharma Dogma" kinda thing.That's cool". Then she began to explain how she has to have these physical things close to her before she can create. "It's sometimes hard to explain to guests why all my kitchen appliances are piled up around my easel. But once I explain they seem to understand." She scoffed,"Why else would I carry a microwave in the back seat of my car?".I soak it up... Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!I think to myself, "Oops,I'm sorry. It seems my flake alarm has sounded and I must evacuate the area." Instead, I just smile and say "Wow. That's really something..." "Sooooo...Allen, you bout ready to head back?" Allen looks up as I am standing by now,"Huh?...Oh... Yeah, I'm ready."We head towards the door. I look at my watch. We have been here for three hours..What the hell?
Alicia stands " Do you guys have to go now?" I look one last time at her face. She grabs my hand and shoves a little piece of paper in it."You should call me."... I just smile..."I should."....but, I won't. She was a Flake.
"Good shot, ol' boy! Looks like you took down a big female!" Sir Reginald packs up the gear and we traverse back to camp.The hunt was a success. The weary hunter has returned from the den of flakes alive, and ready for a shot of brandy by the fire to relive the days events.
In our next class, I will continue to list the different type of artists. We will also continue to analyze how these people have made an impact on my life and gave me the right to judge. If we have time I will discuss how my lack of self confidence manifests itself in harsh judgement towards others. Oh..And remember there is no smoking in the student center!