Ditching Dollars: An Emerging Artist’s Journey to Honest Art

I’ve been thinking of you. You and your power to consume my art, once I expose it to you. You have the choice of licking it, exchanging money for it, chucking it. I’ve been hoarding my art for most of my life, I’ve refused to sell it to you for a long, long time. At the same time, my art has tried to please you, begged you to fall in love.

The art is young; it resolved to not poison its growth with thoughts of money. It’s goal is not to grow up as a mountain of cash.

Also, its direction should not be dictated by the art du jour, preferred subject of its audience, curators, critics, collectors for the goal of popularity. It should remain flexible when it comes to exploration, expansion of ideas, and general learning.

To Art:

• Yes, you can be a simple painting on canvas, your forte in the technique, despite the art world’s current fixation on concept, philosophy and process.
• You can be anything you want, just as long as you are true to yourself (as an extension, expression, and/or tool of expression of the artist or whatever it is).

and the journey of learning and art-making continues…

Brain Volcano Assploshunz for good time – Oven Studio Website Upgrade Brainstorm

How your slumped shoulders SNAP when you hit the right people. You scream: Where were you hiding all my years?! And you can’t believe it cost 30 cents a minute: jabbering aimlessly into the ears of recievers whom you have no shared interests beyond ice cream and reeling in boys by their wagging tongues.

My turning point came this summer; between sneaking into pools, boy’s windows and occasionally tripping into hipsterland by mistake; I fell into the right hole. Poib fehr from the Oven Studio found me at a commercial drive breakfast. Shaggy blonde-haired hippy must be from somewhere in B.C. He handed me a colourful band flyer. It was one of their earlier Audio Hallucinations improvisational jam parties. I hadn’t met too many artists or musicians with much talent, so I thought: probably some wannabe artist type. But, Poib is a boy, potent of surprises. He took over a bag of frozen potstickers I brought to a mutual friend’s kitchen– steamed and spiced it so hot, the Chinese peasants jumped outta their seats, out of China.

Despite multiple boys pulling at my ears half-heartedly all summer, out of boredom, I ended up at Poib’s house. I met his roommates: Potatoe of Rogue Potatoe and Augtron of Roast Beats. I’m not so fond of starchy fries, but man did I love Potatoe. He’s the Oven’s main bassist, a loveable character, full of medieval, good-spirited charm. Across the hall is sleeping bag haven, beats roasting– always fresh. Augtron is the Oven’s sweetheart, golden ‘fro aflame. If there ever were a burning bush, Auggie grew up ‘fro first, legs and body kicking love, peace and mary-jane straight out of it.

I claimed my place on their communal couch, after trying multiple seats in their house. The scariest being the Death Chair. Made of sturdy wood, it falls apart when you sit on it. Among others, there are some sleepable couches in the basement, but novelty-wise, they can’t beat the three Skychairs hanging off their ceiling. (Augtron’s uncle invented them!) Lounged and cuddled in canvas, you would think that you finally understood Zen.

I’m heading off to the oven with some fresh veggies for their corn broth… and going to make art into money with Potatoe, but I’ll be writing more later!