Exhibiting work
One realization occurred to me during the Basquiat movie a few weeks ago. The world of painting represented in this movie was so foreign compared to working as an artist. All of the parties, knowing the right people, and the shallow social world are all so removed from the process of making. Thinking about this led to a discussion on showing work all together. The first time I really had work in a show was my thesis exhibition in undergrad. It was a strange feeling, a removal from the work that I was not secure in. I think that is the first time I realized how deeply connected I was with the work. They were my memories, my observations and they did not belong on display. I especially didn’t like the way they transformed into some sort of objects that could be bought or sold like so many decorative objects. Judy asked if I ever feel excited for others to see the work or have a show. I can enjoy the party aspect if I don’t look at, or think about the work. It hangs there, so vulnerable and open to others. It feels like a friend across the room that is embarrassed but you can’t get them out of the situation.

I feel empathetic toward the paintings that have been through the frustrating process. I wish that I could remove myself further from the work, as it is important at times for learning and growth. I don’t feel (especially now) that these paintings show much of the intensity that I feel about painting itself. I have realized that I am more inclined to think of them as partners on a journey, than something that possesses the feeling and exhaustion that I have in making them. The paintings show that which is not yet arrived at, instead of my intent or the struggle. I think the empathy has also to do with a kind of failure. I haven’t reached my expectations and these things should not yet be judged. These expectations, more than the paintings themselves, (or even the fact that I try and paint at all) make me a painter. When I show this work they look fine but they stare me in the face as if to say, remember what a grand thing we set out to do? Remember what we were working on and how that felt? Remember the hopes we had to transcend? And then I realize that they did not reach any of my goals beyond my memory of the expectations. The paintings are the only ones in the room that know the paintings I can make. And these are not them. My mind and love for painting is greater than my ability to execute them. When I am alone with the paintings I can forgive them, trust that they will keep pushing slowly forward. When I first make them I am blinded by my hopes of their success. But when they are exposed, they are not as they were in my mind, yet they are all others can see. I guess that I both covet the work as my only true comrades, and I hate them for not letting others really see them.