NINETY FIRST POST

February 11, 2010

That one hundredth post seems to move even further away. It doesn’t help if you don’t write anything, I know that. What is the point? I used to come here to moan, I had something to moan about. Now? Well, I am making work in fits and starts and I have no audience anymore since the MA finished and that is all I really want, an audience, even if they ignore my work. The solo show went all right, I sold two pictures, not bad.

Time moves on. Another artwalk, the artist known as Roberta Bonner filled PEEP! with embroided cock works, much to the delight to many. I took the beer mats from our dead gallery in Halifax and hung them in a pub, then managed to get very pissed. No surprise there. I like the artwalk, it is a good prod in the ribs to have a show every two months, not that you have to take part and I keep promising myself a bit of downtime which never happens. You see the same faces. I don’t like these closed worlds very much.

Time just slips away. All these big ideas of work and even the little ideas of work pass by undone, unresolved as time fucks you in the arse and makes you do other things which although they may be enjoyable, distract you from the main path. But is it the main path? Why make anything? Fuck it, wake up, do your best to get through the day without any regret, without any misery. Isn’t that enough? I don’t have a legacy to guard, no reputation to maintain. I am one speck of insignificance on a planet of six billion specks of insignificance. We seem to be surrounded by celebrity but when you stop to count them, they are so few. The majority is the unknown, unsung, unheard of. I am one of them. We win. Fuck the celebrities. I know they have money, money is the great divider. We, the specks, give them that money. We all give them a tiny amount which multiplied by millions equals millions; we make them rich. We feed them. We are grateful though, we have something to read about, people to compare ourselves to. They give meaning to our insignificance. Katy got married, Pete cried on TV. We love it. I don’t know what most of my friends did today but I know what my celebrity friends did and I can see the pictures. I might as well have been there, I love it.

So you make the time to do the big and little ideas. You go every day to the studio to make your mark on paper and canvas. Adding your touch to the universe of sensation. Does it matter that no one sees it? Make a website, add a jpeg, let some people see what you do; let them sign your guestbook: wow, hun, luv it lol x. Keep up the good work. We need creative people. We admire your dedication. When all the world ignores you, when ‘art’ moves on and leaves you behind, we admire your commitment, your stoical attitude. In time, you will be proved right. This new fangled art will never last, we’ll see past the smoke and mirrors. We like your seascapes. They speak to us, at a simple level. We need that, simplicity. We need to turn back the clock; modern life stinks. We never asked for all this progress, this carbon unfriendly way of living. We want a garden of broad beans, we hate processed food. We never asked for it. They made us buy it. We make them rich. Katy is the new industrialist; she is the mill owner and the product. We love Katy, she is a role model. Everyone has a Price.

And people will listen to this vacuous lump, respect her opinion. She has weight, authority. A university will offer her an honorary degree. Cap and gown, tits out. Click click. Phwoar! Show us your pussy. Please, now. I’m nearly there. Help me. Please, Katy. And she does. She shows us her virtual pussy. On a game playing format. You too can fuck Katy. Lucky you.

700 words