Whenever I’m indecisive about starting a new artwork or research topic, there’s this inevitable instinctual postponing of the start date. And in that procrastination things begin to pile up. I’ve thought about starting a blog for a while now. The focus of said blog would be to just trace and document how I think, feel, and work through the conceptual interests that drive my material practice. I don’t have any answers to the questions I’m continually asking myself. I don’t even know if I’m even asking the right questions. Either way, the best solution that I’ve found to this manufactured problem is to just do the work. Shut up. And just do the work.
Over the past couple of years, it worked brilliantly. Because in that material work, a lot of things that were stuck in my brain always seem to find a way to inspire formal and material decisions. It’s a working man’s way of approaching a material art practice. But times are definitely different now. And for various reasons, that are outside my control, that material work hasn’t been able to be conducted. I could keep charging on, as I’ve outlined above, force myself to work even though the conditions aren’t amicable to such a deep dive into materials, as I’m accustomed to conducting in the past. But instead I thought I’d start a blog.
There is never a drought of ideas or inspiration for artwork, at least in my own experience. Because I’ve worked for hundreds of hours, in the past couple of years, to sort of build that avenue or boulevard between my conceptual interests and the formal and material decisions I make. But right now, it’s as if it’s not so much about using that boulevard. I think right now, it’s more about going back and maintaining that path.
About two weeks ago, the city came by and laid down new asphalt throughout the neighborhood. And from my apartment I could hear and feel the work that was being done. As this old asphalt was torn asunder, the concrete underneath was still intact. The street was still there, of course. But the working surface was changing. Things change. Things grow. And as this work progressed, the city workers brought in huge machinery in order to relevel the street. Followed by pouring a new layer of petroleum asphalt over the concrete. I think that’s a good way to illustrate what and how I’m feeling these days. There’s a lot of work being done. It’s loud. Like “Hey! I’m working here!” But it’s really not that much to it. I think it’s necessary work, that needs to be done. I don’t know if any of this makes sense to anybody reading this. But I’m comfortable having a more nebulous perspective on art and my art practice. I may change my mind and rip up this new layer of asphalt and start again. Nevertheless, the concrete underneath remains unchanged. That boulevard between concepts and formal and materials decisions is not going anywhere. So why do I feel the way I feel? There’s an urgency and a pervasive frustration that keeps me going down a not so beneficial path. But through writing this first blog entry I think I am metaphorically stopping myself. Taking a deep breath. And just looking around. Let’s see what happens.