It's a good thing, everybody. Everybody is looking for the same thing.

I want to be around other artists, around my age, all of whom hang around and live around an art co-op of some sort, that is preferably very big.  It is no secret now that I best make friends around my work and theirs.  Being around other artists is also a way of saying, then, that I want to be around friends, old and new alike (Damn SoCa).

I want to be close to NYC, but not in it.  I think NYC does not live up to the hype, but it does have a lot to offer.  But so does the countryside.  And suburbia on occasions.  This could mean Philadelphia, but I just don't really know.  Philadelphia is about an hour and a half or so away, from what I recall.  Being close to NYC will allow me to reap its benefits, but will also potentially allow for cheap(er) studios to rent.

I also am interested in creating UBS2.  Bring back those that are interested into some large communal studio space.  Ideally, folks like Jo, Ailey, Rach, Nadeem, Alex and Devin.  At least anyway.  I can't say I was close-close to people like Beny or Win, but they seemed like good folks whose company I'd enjoy.  And Addison is just too cute to not have around.  I would definitely like to extend this to Zak.  I'm just not sure how into it he might be, being so adverse to art-making-money.  I mean, hell, I don't want to bend over backwards for anyone, and I don't like the common of do-it-somebody-else way of art making.  I have a feeling he is a shade too nomadic also.  But regardless the informal, unofficial invitation to a nonexistent place is extended to him.

Wait... so, what about work?  I got to pay the bills, and currently I don't seem to have a skill set that can viably support me.  I think that maybe I could get my foot in the door at a construction agency if I were on the east coast.  Maybe Judy or Roman could help me out.  Or I could work with an artist.  That's possible.  Really to muse on what work I want to make money is still pretty pointless to do, primarily because it still remains in the "transient winds."  Instead, I will just list a couple dreams jobs:

1) Working with an artist that does mold making, who may potentially use plastics or fiberglass in his/her art making process

2) Work as a graphic designer after knowing photoshop a good deal better

3) Working as a laborer in either construction or landscape

4) Any job requiring welding

5) Working as an apprentice to a skilled carpenter, plumber or electrician (preferably all 3).

6) Working in an amazing book store or library

7) Working with some film/video company that would start me off doing very simple editing, per se, and then also show me the limits of programs like final cut pro, photoshop, etc.

8) Being a technician or technician assistant at some college or university.

9) Any of the above only with employers that were comfortable with learning-on-the-job training.

Thus far, these are the things I think I would enjoy.  And these are the things I want.  

What "Walker" and August Experiments Have Revealed

I am not sure where to go next, how an artist is "supposed" to work (and I do get hung up on that "supposed"), and I am confused right now.

"Walker" has shown me though a couple of things that I can't ignore.  

First, the figure has returned to my work while my installations are about The Body more than ever before.  I get how they relate, but I don't see how they can look more natural together, and what that looks like.  I don't think me drawing more anatomy is even close to the solution; it is as if in order for me to resolve the figure, I need to not think about the figure.  I mean, drawing this comic for Eric Holmes was wonderful, but it really, ultimately, has nothing to do with my art or how I make art.

Second, what form will my installations take later?  "Walker" also has made apparent that I may start using different media.  I used to really dislike multi-media installations, in fact, I think I mostly still do!  The audio in "Walker" is important.  It helped me wrap language into the project in a very useful way, and might be of great help with my long and growing list of words I'm keeping in my journals and records (kerrywessell.blogspot.com).  Audio is god speaking to you, audio can't be ignored if it is right in front of you, audio is the mentor advising you, it is your superior.  Performance is clearly important and after doing so much video editing for my application to Sculpture Space and making pieces that were supposed to be videos (read: NOT documentation of a piece, but a video in its own artistic right).  

These video works were done in August, as an experiment.  I sort of decided faces were important after I did the bust of Nils Y. Wessell.  I liked the result, but it wasn't enough, it didn't make sense and I didn't know where to go from there.  But then I looked at the rubber mother mold, and I took one more step.  Speaking from the perspective of a process, the face wasn't nearly as important as the mother mold, which here on in, I'll refer to as a mask.  Masks are a face over a face, they hide the face, they allow people to take on different roles, masks force people into roles.

It is a more metaphorical version of a ramp, of a corridor.  Nonetheless, a mask sets a path, it sets expectations.  

The time I should try to be my best

I might be breaking one of the few standards that I believe I ought to hold to myself.  I am not working my hardest, neither am I trying my hardest.  This is a day-by-day principle, and so far, I haven't even succeeded too well going month-by-month.

Good ol' Big Al said to me on my graduation day that art "is about the money.  It's all about the money."  I strongly disagree with this; if it were about the money, then I would have majored in business.  When he says the sentence, "It is all about the money," he means that everything, including art, has some sort of monetary value.  This I wouldn't deny, but this does not mean that is why art's done.  

The constructivist artist Malevich from the early 20th century writes in one of his texts about the development of the airplane.  He basically states, that people assume the airplane, which was by then used to transport supplies or to do something else that had practical value, was created out of practicality.  But he rightly rejects this; instead he says that the development, the innovation of the airplane came out of the eon-long human desire to achieve flight.  Only after this innovation, was a practical or utilitarian use found for it.

Regardless of the fact that innovation and the artistic process are not for the ends of practicality and money, I do concede that money is more than important.  I am finding myself in a cycle.

I want to make art.

I do have a room that I pay rent for.

I don't have a job.

I have time to make art, but instead stress about not having a main income and decide to spend my time online looking for one.

I then become quite unhappy everyday, particularly when Rachel arrives home and tells me about her day, no matter how uneventful it is, because compared to me, the whole world is spinning past me.

Then I think about how my peers (every artist between the ages of 20 and 28) are being so much more productive than I.

Then I want to make art even more.

Then I realize that I have financial constraints.

Then I realize that I don't have a job.

Then I realize that to get a job I should spend all day on craigslist until I get one (despite the fact that I know I can get a jobs without craigslist; but you know, sitting on your butt at home is really tempting).

What does this all add up to?  I am not working or even trying to work my hardest.

Jon Stewart the other day joking asked Barack Obama if he still wanted the country when it now seemed like a "slightly used car" when before 2 years ago, it was brand spanking new.  To this, President-elect Barack Obama said, "I fell that now is the time to want to be president."  Rachel said to me recently, that when we met each other, we met each other at our best.  I guess right now, I feel like this is the time to try to be our best.

His Allan Back

I know you worked a job during the day.

"Hey, you two can't even carry that stove?"

He may not have a college degree, but that does not mean he isn't intelligent.

You entered the army to fight for what you believe in.

"There are an awful lot of self motivated academics who haven't a clue."

Just during your part, no matter how seemingly futile you keep going.

The best I can do is work my hardest.

These are bits and pieces of what I've learned from my grandfather, seven sentences that describe him and what I see as his attitude towards life.  All accept perhaps the last, which is my position.  The best I can do is to work my hardest.

I think I can narrow down perhaps the two most instrumental changes in my life right now.  The first is moving to Portland, Oregon for (another) girl.  The girl part of this situation is surprisingly not the most pressing; the most pressing has been the move and how this move has played out.  Moving out here with Ratch has been really wonderful.  It's great to be in the company of someone who is willing to approach situations pragmatically, reasonably and emotionally.  Her doubts about her being here though make me confront the fact that she is my reason to be here.  So then, let's get something straight: if she isn't here, then I don't have a reason to be here.  This then begs the very frightening question: What am I doing here... I am not working my hardest, so I am not doing my best.  If I'm not doing that, then what the hell am I doing?

I was happy at the prospect of relaxing and not having direction for a year or so, but that isn't how I feel now.  Now I'm just wondering why I'm wasting my time not making or planning.  

The second influential event of my fall was my grandmother's unfortunate accident that led her to the hospital and a diagnosis that screamed concussion.  Her health was obviously of immediate concern, though soon it became apparent that her mind was of greater concern.  She was determined to be doing better when she replied to the question, "what year is it," with "I know it's past 1985."  More alarming was that Walker had to confront his age, which he fears more than death.  Walker faired well right after my grandmother came home, but she soon started to forget the date again.  Walker reacted in anger towards his youngest son, a man who has also put a lot of what I see as Walker's lessons to work.  Walker said that he "could not live like this."  He could not care for my grandmother and do the mundane tasks she did, like balancing a checkbook.  The youngest son was expected to balance it.  The checkbook is important.  It helped keep my grandmother busy when she was well and it kept her mind as sharp as possible for a woman slowly losing her memory.  Walker's mind is sharp enough sure enough to balance a checkbook.  It provides no mental challenge for him, that's for sure.  But his old, moving, clumsy hands can't write a number neat enough for anyone except my grandmother to read.  His hand is just no longer stable enough to do something as simple as that.

Death is inevitable, but age means limitation.  Nils Y. Wessell's attitude towards age is best shown in one of his favorite adages: "The great thing about aging is that it happens so slowly you don't even notice it."  Nils and Walker differed on many things, and this would be one of them.  I don't believe Walker thinks there's anything great about old age.  It may be that accepting your own death is easier to accept than your own aging.

Walker has served as a role model for "a good male," though I have certainly been choosy about which characteristics to boast and which to ignore.  Some people have an Achilles heel, or an Allen back, and others still have a Walker hand.