Oh dear, the fact that I can have such an existential crisis at nearly 50 is a thing. A good thing, as I am still existing obviously, but a bad thing as one would by now hope to be firmly entrenched in something so as to lend stability. So a crisis. An active or a passive crisis? A painter or a poseur?
I think often of how we have perceived rivalries.
How within these rivalries one person is most likely more filled with rancor than the other.
So much so that one party doesn’t know that there is even a rivalry at all.
Like the cat and the dog.
I once had a dog who would wait for hours for the reemergence of her enemy– staring, waiting, still and taut.
The cat would pop over the fence, surprised each time anew, with an attitude of, “oh! well hello! I think we shall engage in some fuckery with you!”
The long awaited hostility would begin!
But as soon as the dog was out of sight she was completely forgotten by the cat.
While the dog would return to the wall, staring and waiting, and, I imagined–replaying the incident ad nauseam.
So back to my crisis.
Am I literally a painter or figuratively a poseur?
Why would I be painting if not for the result?
What would the result be, if not the viewer?
why then would I be painting at all–
Because for me, the concernment of a viewer becomes intertwined with my motivation for painting. It always leads me to destroy any painting I might complete.
Which makes me think of my first husband and our music.
We would go to the studio and record and send off the tapes to the press.
Then, when he would receive the heavy shipment of LP records and tear open the box with the greatest excitement possible the same thing happened again and again.
Listening to the records caused him to evaluate his music from this perspective, one from the outsider’s point of view.
He would find a flaw.
Which would then become magnified to the point all the records ended up in the dumpster.
So is it the perceived perception of the viewer, magnified a thousand times through ego and anxiety that stumps the painter? The fear of being perceived as a poseur?
Oh it all bores me to no end. Needless to say, no art show this month, leastwise.
I am scratching off everything and repainting just for me.