So, I am writing again. This seems to happen every spring. It's a great way to warm up to working in the studio. I think. Or maybe I just really like writing these days. I don't know if this counts as productive work, but I kind of don't care right now. It's good to keep track of my thoughts in a semi-public way.
Right now I am sitting in a cafe in Harlem doing research for this installation this summer. It's so nice to come back to the work, the spaces, the ideas. It's been a while -- this fall was all about running around and doing shows, and this winter all about applying for things. I miss the making. And I really, really don't know what to make next. This happens a lot -- this crisis of motivation. Why am I making art? What purpose does it serve? In my life and in the world? So much of it recently has been motivated by anger, reaction, frustration with the system. The critique isn't a bad thing -- I think it's important, but I want to take it to the next level, to a more constructive place. And in this age of relational aesthetics, what does that mean? I could just help people and call it art? Or invent new open-source tools? What's the role and importance of self-expression in all that? And if self-expression is what makes it art, why don't I just make some lovely music or paint a picture? I don't know. I love looking at good paintings, listening to complex music. But somehow I am reviled by the idea that I would make things to "behold" and "contemplate." There has to be something more urgent, dangerous, less rarefied. I wonder if the next thing needs to be performance, or action. But what's the goal of it? How does it become useful in an enduring way? How is that art?
Arg.
Many questions, little time.
Back to the research. It looks like I need to get myself million dollar liability insurance. Or a good co-producer.
