What do Artists do?

A discussion piece.

Sweet F.A. according to many. Too many?

Note; I am approaching this topic from my own personal point of view, not as an attempt to write the rules for everyone
One of the few personal faults that I don't have, is a desire to rule over anyone. Well I wouldn't mind ruling over my dog pack, but that's a different topic. And only for their benefit and mine. :)

I have been struggling over the last few years with trying to decide what I do.

• Do I make art?

• Do I make product?

• Am I a "content creator" and if I am what content is that?

• Do I save the world?

• Do I love the world, 'cause that's what the world needs, and that's how you save it?

• Do I go insane and cut off some body part?

• Do I keep pushing through another ten years of silence?

And since I burnt my (internally anyway) bridges five years ago almost to the month, I have no other choice.

I keep pushing through. Even though the external world says I should probably just give up.

I had the most insane (and inane) and terrifically annoying argument the other day, and with all that's been going on, I can't get it out of my head.

A sad sack retired (early retirement too) bloke who moved to this village a few years after me, keeps talking about all the sad sack retired people in this village, and keeps including me as one of them.

When I pulled him up about it again, he exploded "FUCK OFF, Daubing isn't working" And started storming off.

I told him he was getting stranger by the day and that I for one didn't like it, he reiterated that I could "fuck off, you wanker"

Now, I might have given up going to work, but I haven't given up work.
I work every day of the year.
When other people are out having fun, or watching a movie or whatever, I am working on some project or other, or trying to run my website, or putting products up in one of my shops, or trying to come up with texts that are going to win me an audience finally.

Even when I still went to work (I worked as an English teacher in Madrid for about 7 years, the last paid work I had, and let me assure you, the way I was doing it, it was work and that's an understatement) I used to then work nights and daytimes and weekends working on artwork.
And building the first version of my website.
And trying to run my first three blogs and so forth.

I was also racing bicycles so obviously I am a masochist.
And in 2009 especially, I also worked as an indoor cycling monitor. Insane in the membrane. (I actually have a title, granted by the Madrid Federation of Cycling certifying me as an indoor cycling monitor, although since I have had the qualification I have almost never taken a class.)

But I was reflecting today on how little I enjoy my life, although I am in one sense right where I wanted to be.
Maybe I used to enjoy my life more when I had the cycling going on.
I certainly remember that the bicycle is the smile machine, even though it's also a torture and tears machine.

I don't mean it to sound like the artists life isn't for me. But I am tired. I have been making artwork pretty much all my life, I sold more as a fourteen year old then I do now.
Certainly as a proportion of my output.
I hardly have anything left from then (I personally literally have nothing of that, but my dad and my mum have some things) whereas I have the enormous majority of my last few years production still sitting around unsold.

I spend all the money that I do get on more stuff to make more stuff with and there it sits, used or unused, stuff just loses all its value as it leaves the art supplies shop and never seems to get it back again.

I had a conversation a couple of years back with an old and dear friend, although I don't have friends, like normal people have friends.
This is a girl I met in med school and I credit her with turning me on to drugs, so she has a real special place in my heart.
Also, I hung around with her and her boyfriend, still partner, for many years when I lived in Australia.
In fact, I worked with him for a couple of years. My favourite work memories, and we made things you can see from space. And then I had a business putting in skylights with the guy for a while, although the business fell apart and that was hard on our friendship.
But these are certainly people in the top ranking of friends from my point of view. However, since I moved to the other side of the world I don't see them of course, and don't call often. Nobody calls me, and I call people seldom.
Lucky people just know I love them, even if I don't let them know it, right?

Anyhow, we were catching up a little and I was obviously complaining that I don't sell enough to actually survive, and she said the following immortal line.

"you will have to paint what people want to buy"

I was super flabbergasted (must check spelling when online) and really incredibly hurt too I suppose, and she suddenly needed to be off the phone for some sort of household emergency, and we hung up.

I haven't called back, (not that I won't, it's only been a couple of years after all) but that comment has lived on to haunt me.

How the fuck do I paint what people want to buy?
What does that even mean?
Who are people?
And what do they want?

If anybody knows, be sure to let me know in the comments. :)

I think this is going over length for what I could seriously hope to get people to read, and in the end I do write this with the idea of people reading it. I am not doing it for the therapy, although it's possibly just what I need.

I'll finish up with a quote but that great opposite case study to me Pablo Picasso.

"A painter paints what he can sell, whereas an artist sells what he can paint."

He had some good lines the Pabs, even though he is quite possibly my least favoured incredibly important artist.

Thanks for reading and I would really love it if we could get a conversation going down there in comments. Although I'll have to sleep soon.

Big hugs