I hate the Art World. It’s an elitist idiotic system based not on talent but on how much money you want to throw about. I am not interested in paying gallery curators for their vanity projects and I am certainly not happy to throw good money after bad to try to get into their world. If that is what being an Artist means then I don’t want to know. I will never be part of the system and I don’t want to be. This is not sour grapes or jealousy, this is simply how it is.
I refuse to be an ‘Artist’ in their sense of the word. I’m not following the latest fad which the latest organizations are telling me I need to follow. I have no desire to pop things out of my vagina or nail potatoes to walls*. I do not have any interest in joining philosophical symposia or spending my time filling out reams of ridiculous grant forms to try to justify my existence.
I don’t play nice and I don’t want to join in.
I make art because I need to get ideas out of my head. I create things because I need to create things. If I am communicating my concepts and people like it enough to put it in a gallery then that’s great. If not then I don’t care. I’m not going to kowtow to any industry which does not suit my purpose. If this means they don’t want to regard me as a ‘proper’ artist then that’s their loss not mine.
And yet, ironically, all my ranting, yelling, and nonconformity is what actually makes me an artist. This just makes me angrier…* “So powerful is the impetus towards the collective fake that it is now rare to be a finalist for the Turner Prize without producing some object or event that shows itself to be art only because nobody would conceivably think it to be so until the critics have said that it is.” BBC simply confirming my belief that the only way to succeed in the Art World is to conceive bollocks.