Art Whore

I actually painted those two auspicious words in bright red letters on a brown t shirt I was wearing during the nineties when I was still defining myself as an artist.  I wasn't able to find sufficient work to pay all the bills and my paintings weren't exactly selling like hotcakes.  They were hardly selling at all.  I was already despairing of ever seeing commercial success as an artist and had taken a decidedly sour grapes perspective about it.  I concluded that in order to be a commercially viable artist I would somehow have to sell my soul or barter off my integrity.  I would have to prostitute myself, I would need to become an Art Whore.  I made a joke of it and actually nearly stepped into a couple of morally and ethically dangerous conundrums.  I did not try to sleep my way to the top and really, being already in my forties even I could no longer dispute that I might already be...er...a little bit past my prime?

I was sorely lacking in connections.  I did know a famous artist but she had already distanced herself from me and didn't appear to care a fig about my ability as an artist.   She was a conceptual artist who didn't like aesthetic beauty and for this reason truly looked down her refined nose at my talents.  I knew she wasn't going to lift a finger to help me get anywhere in the art world.  I also didn't really know if the art world would be the best place for me to end up in.

Then came my mental health crisis, followed by homelessness and the whole struggle towards recovery and reordering and re-establishing my life.  I continued to paint.  I was, and still am growing and developing as an artist.  I soon had to accept the importance of working fulltime in order to pay the bills, something I had assiduously tried to avoid, not because of laziness, but because I wanted to have time to paint and to promote my art.  I have since come to accept that this has been an impossible dream.

I still paint and I carry my sketchbook with me everywhere since I am drawing every day in public cafes.  People are sometimes attracted to my art, and will stop to praise or ask questions.  I suppose I could start carrying business cards with me.  As far as getting into a good gallery I really don't think that will happen during my lifetime and if it does I will be truly amazed.  I have already stated in my last will and testament that should my paintings survive me and appreciate in value that all the proceeds of sales of my art are to go to the Mennonite Central Committee.  No fat greedy art dealer is going to make so much as one single Colombian peso (worth .004 cents Canadian) from my work.  In the meantime I continue to draw and paint, not with the hope of becoming a commercial success, and not to be an Art Whore, but out of pure, joyful and loving obedience to the creative force of the Holy Spirit that guides, inspires and motivates me.  The rest is not in my hands and I am happy with this.