The Machine
(January of Twelve Collaborative Project: Krystal Booth)
2012, Mixed media on paper
10x18"
Above is the result of what I created for the Twelve artist collaboration. I experimented quite a bit with this one and had a lot of fun. Though what does fun have to do with it?
Fun seems irrelevent when we look at art. We don't exactly look at every work and instantly wonder "did the artist have fun creating this"? It seems arbitrary and afterall, do we really care if they enjoyed it? Our main concerns are if we enjoy looking at it and the meaning of the work. We don't necessarily ask questions that reveal a behind the scene glimpse of the artist at work. Afterall, when we are in a museum or gallery we are faced with the end result, and not the journey.
Over the past couple of years, I have come to terms with dedicating my life to art. It is a marriage, as I have noticed that it encompasses a dedication of for better or for worse. It is stuck with me, as I am with it, though I hope that we never truly mean "stuck" when describing our relationship.
Last year I noticed that some of what I was doing was extremely frustrating and not really fun at all while creating. After I finished a piece, I was more relieved than anything else. I had excluded joy from the equation. Books I have read and some sappy made-for-television movies I have seen exclaim "Enjoy the journey! Love the process!" There is valid and dignified truth to that, yet it has become a cliche statement that just sounds like I should be gluing plastic flowers to my face while singing in a commune somewhere.
Well, I think by November last year I had realized that I was making myself miserable. I would stress out over works in progress and always feel as though they were hanging over my head. The results were only momentarily satisfying, but I kept creating because if I don't create, I'm even worse off. I get downright aggitated and depressed and envious- only ugly emotions need apply.
As you know, in November I decided to do a year long session of experimentation. I realized that it was the time because it became more uncomfortable to continue as I had been than to change. It was also the right time because I don't have "a name" yet. I do not have anyone expecting a specific style or way of working. I realized that I was free to create as I chose to create without expectations. I was going through a realization similar to Virginia Woolf's Orlando when he was thirty and spent his time under his favorite oak tree after bad press and declared that he would only create for his own pleasure and tastes (please note that I am not referring to when he was thirty and physically changed into a woman without surgery, which is a more miraculous realization by far).
This year long experiment has been marriage counseling. Over these past few months, I have not felt the anxieties that were so common to me prior to this. Creating feels, dare I say, fun. It has been exciting and stress-free. The process has been much less painful, which automatically makes me wonder if I am creating anything worthwhile.
To create anything of worth, doesn't it need to be painful? I'm discovering that this could be a misconception about art that I have carried with me - some unknown baggage from an unknown source. This can apply to so many areas of life, occupations, and goals. In your opinion, is it true or a myth? Does it have to be "no pain, no gain" at all times? Is it a cultural phenomenon of the United States? All Western cultures? Or believed by the majority of our planet? What and where are the exceptions?
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