Yesterday I watched a doc. called, The Planet. I know I shouldn't watch this stuff because invariably I get totally funked out and want to not be a part of humanity. I get overwhelmed and frustrated, annoyed at people who have kids, buy things, basically anyone who lives. (that includes myself)....and that I know is not healthy.
Why blog about it. How does this have anything to do with art? In my little head it has everything to do with art because I am choosing to try to live as an artist instead of a massage therapist. Instead of a taxi driver. Instead of the office worker or cog in the big rusty wheel of life that is seemingly spinning out of control into an inevitable doomed disaster. As I sit and glue my puzzle thing, one piece after another, day in and day out, listening to music and eying the outdoors my mind wanders. It wonders outside of the now. The now is usually filled with okay. Outside of the now is usually worry, fear, anger and no sense of peace.
So I'm thinking about purpose. Not a day goes by I don't think about purpose. Having none. Mostly I have no purpose since purpose is something we make up anyhow. Real purpose I guess is when you don't even know what you do for others but do it despite yourself. And that brings me back to this documentary. I ache to have a purpose and at least be in touch with it without stroking a single hair of ego. I think art and me have yet to meet on common ground. When I look out at the world I mostly feel a total disconnection with nearly everyone and everything. I know that is to a large extent why I drank like a fish, it helped buffer the hideous screaming in my head as I failed to understand what the fuck everyone was doing. It's all madness at times and it still only makes sense when I have that one on one connection. When I connect with myself through art or with you guys or the rare occasional real life connection when I'm out there buying groceries or actually decide to do a cab ride or whatever else odd thing I might do that day. Maybe I will never know what purpose I have served on this aching earth. It makes me crazy not feeling able to just accept. Accept that maybe I will just toot through life with nothing much happening. Sometimes I don't even know what I want to happen. Art in an of itself doesn't mean very much. If I were able to just crank out art day in and day out and sell it to people I know I wouldn't be happy. I think it would feel very empty honestly, to have strangers buying my work in galleries and never meeting them or having them know anything about me. So what do I want then? I drive myself crazy with this.
The documentary on the planet detailed our over-consumptive debt to nature, to the planet ~ which is a far greater travesty than our financial debt will ever be. How do I fit in, how do I make any difference as an artist? Can I? Should I? What would that look like. I sometimes feel like god just let me get through whatever time I have left on this earth and let me be done. I want out. I'm tired of playing the game called life. But maybe I'm just tired of the rules I've chosen to play with. Maybe we can only do what we do as best we can and to put the onus of saving the world on our shoulders would cause anyone to go mad. How do you rectify the selfishness in just doing what you want to do....make art, verses making some difference. And who am I? Who are we to think we know what will or wont make a difference. And will we ever be able to be objective about that anyhow? Why is it not okay for me to just do what I want to do? Maybe that Irish Catholic DNA of martyrdom is lodged in my temporal lobe for good and I just have to learn how to skirt around it like a dangerous abyss. Maybe I need to keep searching for my people. Maybe I need to keep going forth into the thick blanket of fear that I'm ever aware of in front of me, instead of standing there frozen. Maybe I shouldn't watch documentaries about how much shit people buy and how much shit people waste and how we repopulate ourselves as if our lives depend on there being MORE of us. Interesting how I get angry. I guess I feel helpless and useless. As if my making art solves anything. Helps anyone but myself.