2011 painting is physical

I have finally started to paint again after a long time of shilly-shallying and I’m enjoying it quite a lot. I have basically not touched the paint brushes for about one and a half year now. The last time I painted I was within the SRA course in the process of dissecting and investigating the starting point of me painting and how I had come to form the persona as “the artist” and all the definitions I had attached to that whole persona, which affected the whole of me. Instead of painting or drawing as an unconditional physical self-expression in the moment I was trying hard to fit into the idea I had in my mind of how an artist is supposed to be. And when I couldn’t reach the expectations I had set-up for myself to fulfill the definition/idea of “artist”, through participating in comparison with other artists, I went into depression. And this was also part of the idea of how an artist should be – namely self-judgmental and never satisfied with his work, always striving to exceed himself – and if I wasn’t participating in that I wasn’t “a real artist”. And the depression validated the point of “I need to try harder” and so I was in a seemingly never ending cycle.

During my whole upbringing I was surrounded by art, as my grandfather was an artist. Seeing him getting appraisal and admiration in exhibitions and magazines was always very exciting and I used this as a point to validate my own ego with by bragging about my grandfather in school. The first time I remember being really fascinated by art was at an exhibition with monumental paintings when I was about 7 years old. I was completely captivated and amazed by the colors, forms and compositions and sat for hours and just stared. It was here I decided to become an artist myself and I wanted to achieve what I saw in this exhibition. I wanted to achieve the same “greatness” and perfection. When I was about 8 or 9 my elder brother started taking painting lessons and had an exhibition in a hair salon and I remember being quite jealous of him getting all the attention and appreciation. This jealousy possessed me to the point where I actually painted on one of his paintings, to sabotage for my brother. At home we were always encouraged to paint and draw, and the point of comparing my paintings and drawings with his and within that judging myself as less than was quite prominent.

It was after high school that I seriously began painting. I was fed up with school and I did not want to have anything to do with society, so I basically isolated myself from the world in my parent’s garage and started to paint daily. I thought that art as a way out of the system – a way to free myself from education, career, society, norms – I even saw myself above of all that and started to judge people who wasn’t artists, started to see myself as above and “more free” than everyone else. I was reading a lot of artist biographies and started to identify myself with the artists, especially the ones who were the most “misunderstood”, the most miserable – the outsiders and the misfits – and I justified my fear of the society and my self-isolation through these artists.  And I saw these artists as geniuses whom I worshiped with great reverence. I began believing that I as an artist was god-sent to “enlighten” humanity and started to form this “dark”, “deep”, “mystical” persona that wasn’t concerned with “worldly matters”.  I began living ascetically and even starved myself before painting, as I believed that suffering was an essential part of being a great artist. The geniuses I worshiped I was becoming more and more jealous of as I was in constant comparison with them. I was never satisfied with my work and always chased “the perfect painting”. Sometimes I wanted to quit, but I believed that my grandfather had passed on an important “legacy” to me and that it was my “duty” to maintain the “gift” I had inherited.

At 25 I sold my first painting and saw the money as “validation” and proof of my “worth” as an artist and myself. I got the opportunity to exhibit my art in a busy downtown restaurant and sold more and more paintings. After the “highs” of feeling “accomplished” I went downhill pretty fast and shifted between highs and lows constantly, either loathing my art and myself or loving it/myself. When I wasn’t able to “progress” I sunk in to a state of depression and drank a lot of alcohol.

I became more and more spiteful in my expression and my anger and frustration with myself, which I blamed on “the world”, “the society” and “the system”, was quite overwhelming. I wanted to say “fuck you” with my art and started to embrace the nonsensical. My art transformed from something “esoterical” and “spiritual” to nonsense – yet another polarity – from “higher purpose” to “pointlessness”. I still perceived myself to be “free”, “independent”, “special”, “otherworldly” though and believed that “I can do whatever I want to because I’m an artist”.

After thoroughly and specifically taking this construct apart I no longer had the same urge or desire to paint and I made it quite secondary as there are obviously more relevant points at hand within this reality. Although I’m now painting daily since a couple of days and make sure to stop all comparisons, self-judgments, separation and beliefs – and painting is certainly so much more a physical thing for me now than it was before I had a look at this construct – it’s more like dancing on the canvas with my hands and as such so much more enjoying.  I don’t require to be “an artist” to paint – all I require is to be Here physically moving the brush as I breathe, within the realization that I am painting me as who I am in the moment.

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