Walking on Eggshells

"Artists don't get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working"

-Stephen DeStaebler

Eggshell.
Acrylic on masonite 19x22"

  About 10 minutes ago I sat with a panel of two distinguished painters and an art historian to discuss my work over the past few months, which immediately became a discussion of my work over the past few days. As I sat, delivering what by definition would be an artist's statement, but what i would describe as "Why I only like two of my pieces", the three other sets of eyes in the room fluttered over to the piece I whipped together at the end of last week. 

  Continuing with my recent discovery of the almost certain benefits of uncertainty, I painted Eggshell because I needed to capture something, not because I needed to say anything in particular. The apparently misinformed designer in me was baffled by the concept of painting an image that simply cannot be justified with words, But the resurfacing artist in me could feel that I captured what I needed to capture for me and not for anyone else. Yet this thing, that I made for me alone, stood out the most to three individuals that know me the least in our community. This type of critique was so surreal to me. I felt something close to shame in narcissism as they drew meaning from something so personal. I suppose I received a taste of what it feels like to be a commodity as an artist as opposed to distributing a product made of paint and wood. And man does it make me feel guilty.

  I read somewhere that making art is like masturbation; pure self fulfilment. Whereas design is like intercourse. If you're skilled at it, you know that the satisfaction of your partner should come before your own (which is why it's important for designers to masturbate on the side once in a while). Which explains why so many successful artists in every field are said to be profoundly narcissistic. How hard would it be to resist loving yourself if you heard applause every time you finished doing the deed?