It's now nearing the end of March, and I am barely hanging on to the notion that I will be able to continue making work this year. The Wake the Dead show was a fair exhibition but towards the time of the opening things went wrong. My computer crashed making my presentation go sort of lousy; George and I presented a series of videos to document our efforts in the desert. One picture sold to a new woman I had not met on the sixth during the opening. That was a relief because my failsafe out of Redford was now accomplishable. Many people were interested in the statements my work was making, even in the handling of the media but most were not serious enough to buy. It seems still I am only worth compliments on my use of line and color.
After the Wake the Dead opening I was down and out. Mad, angry, frustrated that the core of my vision would once again remain unfinished, not even close to being realized. I struggled internally with terrible feelings, trying to figure out just exactly how to engineer a break. It seemed my only option was going to be a return to the highway. Driving a semi truck 24hrs a day, seven days a week. Back down to the mortal jail cell of Hell. I had done that already, it was destroying me physically and mentally. But it appeared there would be no other choice.
A week or so later I visited some very important friends around the Central Texas area. They are a fine couple whom recently had a baby, a girl, who is absolutely fantastic. They have a business that involves driving and offered me some employment to retrieve a tractor in Michigan. It was another positive my way. They flew me up there and I drove the 1459 miles back to Roundrock, Texas. They paid me a handsome fifty cents a mile to do so, beats the heck out of the over-the-road companies who pay about thirty cents to kill you slowly with muscle atrophey and diabietes. That was a cool drink of water to my finanial siuation. Gave me some breathing room in the ole back pocket. I t also was a good two to three days worth of reflection on the road, enough to remember that truck driving was cool for the first six months, gettig paid, seeing all the sited of the road, visually documenting the skylines of America. But after six months every road is the same, and each mile comes off the odometer like an eternity. It made me sick to think of going back, even cringe, but if I had to, to keep the vision of art alive, then that's what I'd have to do.
The wake the dead show comes down on Wednesday. I've had a few calls of interest since the opening, people want to know more about me and what my story is. They say that they are interested in the subjects I'm depicting, the dialogue, the issues raised. I'm no good at talking to them, I can never verbalize the right words with my mouth. I don't like to talk about it. I'd just rather show them.
I've got a bit of odd job work lined up moving into April. That's a good thing. I'm even considering participation in a pharmisuedical study, where you take medication and they study your body's reaction to they drug. They pay well, and in a short amount of time. My computer is fried, I need a new one, not to mention that I'm in a desperate hour, and willing to do whatever it takes to see my work through. On the bright side, this post has got me to thinking; about writing up the story of my life to now, about my perspective and the towering, unmovable post of influnce art has had on it. I'm better at talking about things this way. There is no one to interupt me in the middle of progress towards the answer with questions about when the answer will come. At this rate, however, it seems the same thing keeping me alive, will likely kill me. Sacrifice = Message = ART. Words to both live and die by.
Adue, there is more to be written.
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