Getting rejected is part of the creative profession. If you haven’t been rejected you haven’t tried to show your work. After 30 years I still get rejected. What do I do? Move on to the next project.
To celebrate 30 years of professional activity I’m transforming paintings into assembled sculptures, collectable art objects, and wearable art. These are marked with a stitched Scarlet X to differentiate them from my gallery paintings. Available only directly through me.
In my last post I mentioned the blue nude and its history. Momentarily I don’t have time to divulge this story because I’ve got rejects. But here is a clue: the person who bought the painting is a man…
To celebrate 30 years of professional activity I’m going to auction off some rejects.
In a few months I’ll celebrate 30 years of activity as a professional artist.
Now what does that mean?
One of my teachers at the Maryland Institute College of Art told us undergrads that one day we had to decide to be artists. We were green, full of pure Shakti, and a bit of acne.
I remember the day I decided to call myself an artist. It felt strange. I was bartending at Olde Towne Tavern in Frederick, Maryland. And I was making things. I made paintings of blue nudes.
Mind you this was 30 years ago. And this piece of junk has a big story behind it. I’ll tell you the story in the next post.
Let’s get back to what it means to celebrate 30 years of professional artistic activity.
Every thing I own I bought with the earnings from my art.
For 30 years I’ve worked for myself and painted what my heart desires. For 30 years I’ve been my own boss. For 30 years I’ve mixed paint, cleaned brushes, shipped paintings, packed paintings, marketed myself, eaten cheese and apples at the easel, worked until midnight and on Sundays, learned how to make my own website, got fined by customs, given painting workshops, made a painting a day, made 5 paintings a day, made a painting in three weeks… And I made money painting. I’ve paid taxes as an artist for 30 years.
And I LOVE it. I’ve realized my life dream. I became an artist and moved to Paris. I started 30 years ago.
I’ve tried all the cafes in Place Contrescarpe. Reluctantly, I inevitably return to Cafe Delmas. The waiters are crisp. The leather club chairs are luxurious. The lighting is low. It’s got atmosphere. It’s got this, j’en sais pas, feeling. All it’s missing is a fireplace.
Dated and noted. Colors on screen may vary from the actual real live illustration.
Will post anywhere in the world with the message of your choice. An envelope and standard postal shipping is included in the price.