Medium: A little bit of everything
I make work about nothing. But to understand what I mean, one must understand that ‘nothing’ is not without substance. I’ve always been prone to daydreaming—fantastical scenarios enraptured me, and were far more enthralling than the mundanity that is my life. I spent more time in those worlds than in my own reality. These fantasies have served to fill that void of mine, the lack of something more… what that really is, I’m unsure. Excitement? Adventure? Or maybe simply escape? To speak on nothing is to acknowledge what is not—to discard the preoccupation of materiality and focus on the negative space. I am NOT rich. I am NOT successful. I am NOT productive. I am NOT the greatest (although I strive to be), But… I am NOT a machine. I am NOT a slave. I am not defined by my art, but rather the work is defined by me. That statement may seem asinine, but some of my contemporaries are shackled by their work. They fabricated an audience, and in doing so, preconceived notions of their work arise. In this mode of being, man becomes machine, and machine produces a product for consumption. I’ve yet to be tempted by such Faustian pacts, but I can only hope not to give in to neo-capital temptations. For the artist to answer who they are is presumptuous, or perhaps I just lack that confidence within myself to commit to a solid identity. No, I’d rather a liquid identity, maybe even gaseous. An artist who can conform to the circumstances of life—whether rich or poor, deaf or blind, manic or depressed, art will persist. Returning to my daydreams; All this life came from nothing. All the beauty in the world: love, laughter, memory. All the ugliness in the world: hate, violence, oppression. To be the god of your own personal world, to stamp out all the ugliness and replace it with pure beauty. To create something from nothing. Excuse the ramblings. I hope after reading this, you can understand the true weight of nothing.
