Monday, August 2, 2010
Stoneware, cone 6 oxidation, glazes, slips, osage orange thorns, cedar branches, barn board
Each piece approx.: 9"w x 5"h x 6"d, Approx. 20" across both pieces
I have this weird psychological issue. Well, maybe it isn't that weird but it certainly bugs the shit out of me on a regular basis. It is this: I am uncomfortable exercising my artistic abilities. In other words, even if I have some ideas I wish to execute, I routinely feel that actually making art is somehow "goofing off" and being irresponsible. I will go out of my way to procrastinate until some other "obligation" comes up to prevent me from simply making work. It's like I don't feel I have any value or worth unless I'm doing something for someone else. I enjoy making shit and stepping back and seeing how it all turned out, but I view that as a selfish act not to be indulged. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Grounded Flight is a metaphor for the desire to fly and be free of this and the prickly, clumsy, wooden things that keep me from cutting myself loose. It's not that I have a hate relationship with home and family, but I do not have a smooth, guilt-free relationship with them either.
Some beliefs about oneself have been taught and ingrained from such a young age, it is gruesome and exhausting to undo the effects. It always reminds me of Dali's Andalusian Dog film. I feel like the fellow dragging the donkey, piano, furniture and all the other items behind me. I am on my path and, truth is, have always been, but I still feel like I am dragging so much baggage. It's just a mental hangover. I need to let it go.