The Pontoon Art exhibition in Oxford seems to be slipping away. Less than two weeks to go and there is little progress. I can’t find any enthusiasm for any ‘art’ project at all. I did manage to send some images to a project run by Luke Drodz, who seems to have an unstoppable level of energy. At least he gets things done. (http://www.myfirstbillboard.blogspot.com/)
I seem to be in a hole of some kind. I don’t have the drive or energy to make new work, other than the odd doodle, which is making me feel really down, which stops me making new work. I just want to work, but can’t. I think I have it all there, ready. I can draw, write and so on. I can think of things. I am happy to self-publish, self-curate, document, and fuck to any gallery and so on. I would be happy in that life; you make work, you show work. I have scribbled notes. I have stuff to do. I have the studio now. Of course, the school holidays mean that I will be treading water to some extent. I knew that.
I want to write but can’t be arsed. It is like jumping around from clump of earth to another clump, without ever walking a continuous journey. My art life, that is. All powers of description and so on are leaving me too. Little pies to stick my finger in, nothing else. Of course, some of that is fun, you need a bit of a distraction, a side project and so on. I thrive on it though, there is nothing else. I want to be too busy to bother with all these other projects.
I don’t know who I am. MTS appears to be so slight now as to almost not exist. PEEP! is stagnant, twitching. How can I write about context when my context seems to be a vacuum? I think I am capable but not brilliant. Grumpy, nothing more. There is no depth or even any humour anymore. Just moaning. I am bored of it all. I should possibly be more careful as although I am writing in WORD, the end result will appear on-line, for all to see. Perhaps I should only ever be ‘up’ when I write. Fuck it.
The trailer idea seems to have collapsed as the one I intended to use is beyond use. Maybe I shouldn’t even put ideas on here, someone with more dynamism and energy will do it first. Oh no! I don’t care. There is nothing new or original. Recycling. Boring. Bored. Bollocks.
Trying to read William Faulkner ‘As I Lay Dying’. I think I am searching for a ‘format’ to which I can add words of my own. As with the Will Self ‘The Book of Dave’, my other book on the go. Not going very far, can’t seem to focus on either. So blows away my own theory. Ideally, I think I would like to make work and store it in a room, let the room grow and layer it and leave it at that. Seeing ‘art’ on the net and watching how people grow ever more reliant on virtual communities and contact makes me feel sad. I don’t know why. Reputation seems to be everything, a visible presence.