Sometimes my surroundings seem impossible.
At 47 I’m re-evaluating my life, at a time that feels like it’s too late to change anything. I know it’s never too late and all that, but it’s disconcerting to realize that maybe perhaps this isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing. I look at the internet and I look at what art is supposed to be–no, not supposed to be–just what is out there and celebrated as art and all I can think of is what the fuck. I’ve never liked the art world, and it never liked me. In the past few years not only have I come to terms with this but it’s actually been a revelation to me: I really don’t want to be a part of the art world. It’s exclusive, attracts posers, charlatans and wannabes and is extremely intimidating.
I bake incredible cookies and I would always joke to my friends that if I were to ever stop ‘being an artist’, the cookies would be my fallback plan. I’ll never stop drawing, painting and experimenting, but more and more it looks like that little plan B is about to become a reality.
Also, I love my blog. I’ll always do this.