About Being an Artist

I think it is fairly obvious that in my real life I couldn’t make a living by writing the kind of drivel that appears on my blog. Thank God I'm not trying to because I'd surely starve. The Gallows Ape, is just my silly attempt to amuse myself and it helps me release the ample flow of ca-ca circulating in my over tightened brain. I find that the occasional posting of one of my useless scribblings greatly reduces the likelihood of very antisocial behavior on my part, such as messy multiple homicides, or experiencing an unforeseen spontaneous combustion.

In my real life, I work as an artist. I'm a painter of pictures.

What did you say? Why in fuck’s name would I do THAT? Well Janie on a stick people, I ask myself that question too, and damn often.

My best guess is that it’s the one thing I can actually do with some degree of skill. It means something to me to create beautiful things that might just last for many years after I’m gone, and more importantly, that the paintings will continue to provide some pleasure to people.

Ugh! That makes me sound like a well intentioned do-gooder but regardless, I’m glad as hell I at least have this threadbare reason for what I do. It is a damn good thing being a painter has some justification to me, especially since the money my artwork generates is as rarely seen as a pink wombat wearing Doc Martins and a tutu.

In any case here is a fairly recent example of my painting style in case you're curious.

Red Pear

Being a artist theoretically provides me with a certain cache’ with the artsy crowd. The semi-dedicated art mavens I run into usually tend to make cooing noises at me about how much fun it must be to be such a creative guy! All too often I find that "art lovers" of this type have far less of an understanding about what’s actually involved in painting a picture than say, a stoned out dry wall installer.

Now even blasted out of his skull a dry wall guy would at least be able to relate to the utterly thankless nature that the work entails. He would easily identify with the severe lack of respect the work commands, and certainly he'd recognize all too well the shitty ratio of pay to the degree of effort involved.

Sometimes I’ll also run into those truly deluded art fans who nurture the sweet fantasy that being an artist is a jolly romp, filled with pithy, meaningful ideas and maybe a just a sprinkling of ersatz spirituality thrown in. To these childlike wing dings an artist’s work just sort of magically materializes, somehow flowing unimpeded out of the creative mind right onto the canvas. To these knuckle heads being “artistically gifted” means, you really don’t have to work at it, it just kinda happens. Wheeee! Wrong.

But being an artist/ painter, I generally find that the great majority of people are completely disinterested, and some are even quietly suspicious of art and artist. This bunch can tend to view artists as being beret wearing shiftless loafers, immoral commie sex fiends, or even that being artistic means you are probably gay. Folks, I'm no homophobe, but a brush wielding Queer Eye for the Stalinist Guy I’m not, even though I am a shiftless loafing sex fiend!

Sometimes an artist needs to mingle, so occasionally I'll run into some well intentioned stock broker a cocktail party who’ll say something like, “Oh, you’re an artist? That's so cool! I wanted to be an artist once, but then I realized I had to go out and get a REAL job.”

Wow, there’s nothing like respect to cheer me the hell up!

Truth be told, I find that endeavoring to be an artist can at times be on a par with trying to piss up a rope, and often just plain drudgery.

First off, I have to put up with being my own boss, and take it from me, this guy is a certified, nitpicking, tyrannical bastard! On each painting he bullies me continuously, demanding that I thinking very hard about the image I’m attempting to create. He nags me constantly, forcing me to concentrate on every stinking brush stroke and color choice. And, after finished a painting or two, he cruelly mocks my poor efforts, but then he sneeringly insist that I go out and try to sell the damn stuff!

Sales! Great Googlie-Mooglie, I’d rather file my teeth! Yet, off I"ll go, showing people my work, all the while feeling like I'd probably have a much greater likelihood of success if I was attempting to sell them toilet paper.

I’m really sounding like a griping old whiner now so I'm going shut up, which is good, because you'll be spared my distorted thoughts about art prints, working for decorators and the strange world of galleries.

Anyway, if you'd like to see more of my work its over at my other blog: http://hulseart.blogspot.com/