It seems that what I’m interested in making these days is shockingly retrograde: pencil drawings and paper mache figures. It fels like it’s been so long since I’ve had a sustained studio experience that I’m going back to grade school or something. I just spent an hour ripping The New York Times into little manageable strips and it made me quite happy. I think I’m going to have to contemplate a future where I abandon any ambition for my work to be sophisticated.
The theme in all of this is return to unfinished business, knock the house back to it’s foundations and rethink the floor plan. But here’s a comment from my not-dead-yet social engagement side: is all this juvenile impulse a turning away from the real, intractible problems of the world around me and a rewriting of those problems as internal? It’s easier to knock down my the house of myself than it is that of the world.
And does that connect a little too easily with my impulses towards guilt?
All of this is abstract and maybe that is the best argument for a return to basics.