About wgbohrer
Monday, June 18, 2012
The art is not in the medium, the art is in the artist.
I have all the patience of a rhesus monkey on a crystal meth binge. I use a fan in my studio to dry acrylics faster because too fast just isn’t fast enough. Everyone needs to quit telling me I should be working in oils because that’s what “professional” artists use. I hate oil. All I know how to do with oil is make a big muddy mess; it's that, or I spend days watching paint and inspiration dry.
You wanna talk archival quality?? Neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor turpentine will degrade acrylic paints once they’re dry. The canvas underneath a painting will disintegrate and leave a fine acrylic skin, before the painting itself will fade.
And who cares anyway? By the time anyone ever makes any serious money off my art, I’ll be long dead. Nothing is forever, least of all me. I’d like to be remembered for a little while after I’m dead, but I’ve already made my marks on the collective zeitgeist, so my work here on this earth is complete. I wrote “exit” over the second floor button on all the elevators in the parking garage where I work. As they wear out, new people have written over them, and, someone else added to the idea and blacked out the star over the first floor button. Because the main exit is on the second floor, not the first, and without appropriate signage, it confuses visitors and new hires, whom you generally can find wandering around the basement, or staring into the bleached heat, confused, a block away, having stumbled out of the basement exit opposite from where they expected to be. That, my friends, is a concrete contribution to the human condition that cannot be compared to a mere thought-provoking nice picture.
The art is not in the medium, the art is in the artist.
I have all the patience of a rhesus monkey on a crystal meth binge. I use a fan in my studio to dry acrylics faster because too fast just isn’t fast enough. Everyone needs to quit telling me I should be working in oils because that’s what “professional” artists use. I hate oil. All I know how to do with oil is make a big muddy mess; it's that, or I spend days watching paint and inspiration dry.
You wanna talk archival quality?? Neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor turpentine will degrade acrylic paints once they’re dry. The canvas underneath a painting will disintegrate and leave a fine acrylic skin, before the painting itself will fade.
And who cares anyway? By the time anyone ever makes any serious money off my art, I’ll be long dead. Nothing is forever, least of all me. I’d like to be remembered for a little while after I’m dead, but I’ve already made my marks on the collective zeitgeist, so my work here on this earth is complete. I wrote “exit” over the second floor button on all the elevators in the parking garage where I work. As they wear out, new people have written over them, and, someone else added to the idea and blacked out the star over the first floor button. Because the main exit is on the second floor, not the first, and without appropriate signage, it confuses visitors and new hires, whom you generally can find wandering around the basement, or staring into the bleached heat, confused, a block away, having stumbled out of the basement exit opposite from where they expected to be. That, my friends, is a concrete contribution to the human condition that cannot be compared to a mere thought-provoking nice picture.
