Concerns

Drawing. Gouache and Graphite 2022

A few weeks ago, I strapped myself to my computer to begin a grant application. I have applied for this particular grant for about 10 years with the exception of last year. Covid really screwed up everyone’s timeline. 

Anyway, with most grant applications there is a part of the application where you have to write some sort of artist statement. Usually there are some guidelines. Questions to answer. As painful as these can be, I like to use them to sharpen the vocabulary I use to describe my work. It’s a good exercise. I briefly looked over the requirements and saw in the narrative section a space titled Artists Concerns. I spent a few days in thought and then the better part of a week composing something. I kept coming back to the fact that they had titled it Artists Concerns. I decided that my chances of getting the grant were slim so I would take the writing in a different direction. Not write about my work. Not write a carefully constructed piece on how I think my work is an important voice in the contemporary conversation and how I should be funded to continue. No. This time I would just write. About my concerns. 

After coming close to the polishing stage of the essay, I went back to reread the guidelines. Of course. Under the title of Artist Concerns in grey text. These are the things we would like you to address. Aha! There it was. The usual. No surprise; my essay touched on none of those requirements. I had not answered any of the questions. So, I began again. 

I decided though, that I would go back and look at the original essay. I noticed that towards the end I had brought it around to speaking about the usual types of things one needs in an artists statement. I guess I didn’t really trust myself to be so self deprecating and vulnerable for this application. Asking an organisation to believe in me. To give me money to continue my work. 

Anyway, here is the original essay. Edited. Hopefully maintaining some of the initial intent.

My Concerns:

Every day for the last 40 years, I worry that I won’t be able to sustain what it is I do as a career; being an artist. Sustain myself financially. Sustain myself spiritually. Sustain myself emotionally. Every day. And some days, there is so little acknowledgment of any said “career” much less if it may be an important one. Maybe a few likes or comments on Instagram. Maybe a sale. Some days, the idea of starting over; looking for venues to show new pieces, creating an audience. It hardly seems worth the effort. Daily, I wonder if the pressure will eventually crush my spirit. 

I am concerned that I don’t have what it takes to make connections. Or that I missed that opportunity when I was younger. Real connections that keep my work relevant and vital. Some days I feel brave. I talk with other people or go see work that inspires me. Sometimes I will even reach out to people I don’t know. Ask questions or make comments. Just to feel like I am connected in this sphere of making art. Other days the amount of rejections are just too much and I retreat back into the studio. Happy to be alone. It is a safe place to be.

Then. There is the concern of time. Precious time. Is there ever enough. Am I using it wisely. Whole days can slip by and there is not one particular thing I can show for it. Not that I need proof that I exist, but it does leave me wondering why. Time never waits for me to catch up. I worry that I am not giving attention to the most critical things. Two steps behind. Never there at the right moment.

Despite all these often debilitating thoughts, I continue to do what I do. Chasing time. Keeping my concerns at bay. Making art.