When you like the quality of something you’ve made, STOP! Try to make another like it, keep making other work trying to get what you liked, only go back to it once you’ve got a few similar ones you like just as much and remember to keep standing back to look at it. Overworking a piece of art is easy and it’s something you have to do, to know not to do it and you have to keep relearning when to stop, stopping is hard. I think a lot of painters have bad habits, I for one eat lots of pizza, drink all the beers and was smoking for a few years till I got really into cycling and venison. I think sitting in your own mess drunk with a fag hanging out your gob can lead to good art, but there’s a fetish, a sick romanticization of bohemian squalor and it breeds unhealthy habits amongst the impressionable under 25yos who read shit about Basquiat living in a box or Janis Jopling fucking about with heroin, you know, the thing is, a lot of these hippy dippies died choking on their own vomit and that’s no fun. I’d equate these bad habits with not knowing when to stop when you’re painting, or working on any piece of art cos when I overwork something I feel like shit, best thing I can do when I really like a line I’ve drawn is go out on my bike for a really long ride, walk the dog and eat properly, I find in treating my body right, feeding it with fresh air and good food it somehow clears my mind from clutter, from the temptation to ruin a piece by overworking it. I think what radical pieces of art have in common is they stopped just at the right time. The artist probably left the canvas in the studio after midday and went for a pint or a punch up with some rivals who didn’t agree with the way they put down paint. They’d let those marks settle, mature and aerate in the studio whilst they got wankered and passed out or meditated on top of some hill like a monk or sommet. Thing I’m trying to say is, it’s important to figure out what gives you clarity so you can let things ruminate but not in an overwhelming way that leads to headaches, depression and ultimately bad paintings. You have to figure this out, I have to figure this out and be self-aware enough to know when I’m in a rut and to kick myself up the backside to get up and out of that fucking cesspit of banality that produces commercial shite. Remember what we all want is good fucking art on walls or hanging from a ceiling in a space, you don’t get that if you try and make stuff you think people will like or will sell. Fuck that cos life is short, you gotta do what you want, always do what you want, take input, criticism and be inspired but for god sake ignore it as well, get out your comfort zone and you’ll find it’s actually pretty bloody cushy out of there. The sharp jagged cubist cones sticking up outside you comfort zone are actually made of expandable foam, go past them quick smart! Get out of your box, stay out of my box, can I push into your box? Haha, anyways I just needed to write something. I’m on a roll today, made a few paintings, had some fish cakes and a couple of beers after riding my bike for an hour round the countryside. Not been Two Queens for a few days now, Letting some oil paintings sit there for a bit whilst I get to grips with screen printing again. New prints coming soon. This blog post is getting boring now so you can stop reading if you want, it’s turning into a diary, it’s a stream of consciousness, a river of matter of being. Nihilism is optimistic and fuck authority, Don’t let anyone boss me about, my art is mine not yours bitch, said the onion to the tomato, a fire extinguisher squeezed a magpie until it’s guts spilled out on the road, a car slipped on the guts but got back in control and carried on, an argument started between the two people in the car, a man, balding, and a women with blue hair and an ear stretcher thingy, she was over 40 and wearing all black, got out the car and said “whatever mate” walked off up road to Yorkshire and had a cup of tea, she is now an old lady wearing all beige with a sparkly brooch in the shape of a frog. Sip sip sip up the tea Deborah, said one Nan to the next, sip sip sip up the tea, eat that scone with jam and cream, crunch, crunch, crunch that honey comb, honey bunny tummy funny, runny shite coming out it’s ass on the lawn, bloody hell! What’s the dog been eating? Cheese on toast with Worcestershire sauce? Cya!
