I’ve written a couple of graphic novels (one of which was close to 500 pages). I’ve made a few short animated films (featuring an anthropomorphic hotdog). I’ve made paintings and drawings that are lost to me. I’ve been told time and time again that I’m not good enough.
That’s fine by me. I may not be good enough to fit into the paradigm. I get it. If I haven’t been stopped by now then it probably isn’t going to happen anyway. So, keep it coming. Rejection is like an old friend coming in from outta town, and ready to get crazy. I will continue making art till I’m old and gray, assuming I get old enough to be old and gray.
It isn’t only artists that hear we’re not good enough. We all hear it. If you’re a person living on Earth then you’ve heard it. You’ve heard it from a girlfriend, boyfriend, teacher, boss, parent, child or stranger.
In my former life, I lived as a New York City bohemian. As a result I developed the habits of any good bohemian. I had the chutzpah to want to share my vision with the world. I used to make ink drawings with the hopes of having a show in a gallery. That was the apex of my vision. Many years ago, a buddy offered me an opportunity to display some work so I jumped at it. It was a Tuesday night, and I had brought in framed ink drawings to mount in a small bar (where we’d have a small opening three days later). I went back and forth pulling each piece out and hanging them precisely. I rehearsed the layout on my bed in my apartment. I dreamed of this being the catalyst that would put Tasty on the map… yessir, Tasty Danish was going to be the next Basquiat. I was in between putting pieces up when I saw a young lady standing there with her boyfriend (I presumed).
She pointed to the work, not seeing that I was there.
“Good Wall, bad art” she said.
I felt like she had punched me right in the testicles. She turned around to realize that I was the bad artist putting bad art up on a perfectly good wall. I understood her annoyance. Here it was, a perfectly good plain wall. Who was this loser to put up his hopes and dreams for all to see like a pathetic turd, who should probably just crawl in a shallow grave to die? Didn’t he realize that the wall was interesting as is?
I was angry. One of the barflies came over to defend me, and my grand work. The barfly reamed her out. She stood dumbfounded, and left the bar with her boyfriend, embarrassed by the interaction. He reassured me that the work I made was good. I tossed and turned that night. I couldn’t get it out of my head...
Good wall, bad art.
I remember a time when I competed in the PGL (Professional Grappler’s League). My epic ass whooping still exists on Youtube. I lost that bout. I lost a lot, in fact. It hasn’t stopped me yet though. No, sir it hasn’t. I come back again, and again and again. Years later, I took on a super fight. I won that one. That one is on Flograppling for all to see.
I decided to put my own work out there in the world. I decided not to appeal to the gatekeepers of mass media. I refused to go about the normal channels. I decided to go all SAMO, and scrawl my shit on the cyber streets for all to see.
So, maybe I did kind of achieve my vision. We often get confused, and think there is some kind of paradise to arrive to. Spoiler alert, there is no paradise. There is only the road to travel. We win, we lose, we move forward. If you can't beat them then find another way, or fight another day.
Good wall, bad art… it used to hurt. There was a point when it changed. The pain was replaced with strength. Now, it acts as spinach is to Popeye; as sun is to Superman; as New York City was to Jean-Michel Basquiat.