Wednesday, December 2, 2009

I've got some figuring out to do.

I am a writer. No, I am an artist. A concept artist. Or was it a printmaker? Didn't I love ink-stained hands? The impact of it all, the record of the print on my own body. My own body is the body of work? No, I paint. I love the texture when I paint. It is because I don't know how to paint. And fabric, don't even get me started on fabric. It is like paint, but fleshier, flexible; I could have a love affair with fabric. And sculpture, am I a sculptor? I swear I am not, but look at this 3 dimensional form presenting itself, I'm not going to flatten this out, am I?


  1. Stop it. You just make shit. Who cares what category it's in? And who the hell WANTS to belong to a category?! Just make stuff and let other people with too much time on their hands try to cram it into on of there silly categories.

  2. THIS is why I love having you as an advisor. And I think that I will take you on as a "life advisor" when seminar is over.

    In unrelated news, does Joe (that is his name, correct?) have an interview Friday?!