Getting very doubtful about my progress. Feel like I'm illustrating a girls comic (albiet rather well). Back to <Art; What is it Good For?>
Spoke on Skype to Toby Churton who is having his own creative struggles. Whilst talking I remembered the time I decided the life of an artist was for me. I was probably 14, newly in love and following the adored one up the hill on my bicycle.We'd been in Cobham, talking about the future; he was studying hard, expecting to get to university and study agronomy in order to save the world. I thought, all I have is time. And Im not selling it until I've spent it.
Over the many years since this has led to some internal confusions about productivity and the nature of life.
Will finish the current pic of Leto and the toads (=dont want to do frogs, too green) and start getting serious. Feels too slick, pretty, small, boudoir-esq.
The Adored One, Nick, got to Reading and then postgraded at somewhere in the North - have forgotten, despite having gone there with him. Published papers, did good, moved to NZ with a lectureship. Where he killed himself after his wife and kids left him, apparently bi-polar, untreated, isolated.. ach. The older you get the more memories are shaded by black.
No comments:
Post a Comment