Statement

Sometimes an artist is asked what his ‘statement’ is. What is the intention of all the crap he pukes on the internet, or drags to the galleries?
Matching the number of different voices, I can say I have different statements too. It seems I’m not able to make a choice of which statement is the most true, the most marketable, the most interesting or the most understandable. One day it is the first, the other day it’s the other …
Choosing a favourite painting is a question of personal preference, so why not choosing a statement that sounds right to you?


The statement of actuality
:

Some artist are inclined to expose or denounce a certain vision with their art. That kind of art carries the risk to be outdated soon. For example in the seventies art was often related to political statements. In the hedonistic nineties the general message was; Look how shocking I dare to be. See me redefining a pile of scrap into a pile of crap. Or see how I can make dead animals looking funny.
The zeroties and tenties were quite obvious for the idealized concept of beauty marketed by mass media. Everything is photoshopped and the prevailing standards are rammed down our throats. The line between media and art is changing.

But if you zoom out and review the actual people around you, then you see a real fat Errol, a real horse headed neighbour like Edgar and a real crooked face waitress like Oriana, isn’t it?
Ok, then what’s my statement?
Well, firstly these portraits maybe looking a bit cartoonish, but be honest … isn’t this pure realism? In real we are ugly, wrong and asymmetric. The voices choral speak: “We are you!”


The classic statement:

This is more of an obsolete image some artists like to keep up. The one of the tormented soul caused by a suffering childhood. You need to have eaten mud before you can show some decent art. Or good music. Or deep poetry. Something like that. I don’t feel the need to dwell on a long gone subject, but one aspect what is still apparent could be a lack of family. My family is countable on less than half a hand and very widespread around the world. So obviously, this portraits could be my wanted family. I have to admit … I love these portraits to bits.


The academic statement:

I call this an academic one, because this kind of statement sounds to me as one acquired in art school.
In this case: Every portrait is a self-portrait. Not literally on the outside, but they all are separate parts of my character. To be more specific; a magnified version of a piece of my character. Just like an actor digs up something out of the dark corners of his own personality to play a convincing role.
And yes, in the right company I’m finding myself in the quirky mood of Errol, but I also know Edgar’s excitement of riding an American car.
The typical faces are more representing typical characters that everybody knows in his/her surrounding; like the teacher of your high school, the neighbour of your parents or that sad assistant of the vet.
The voices choral speak: “We all derive from the same source”.


The therapeutic statement:

It’s always good to read some eyebrow-raising facts about an artist. A peculiar thing like she’s born with 1 testicle. Or he secretly wears a wig. Or she always starts her day with swallowing 6 complete eggs.
Well, my¬†awkward thing is my accession to the world of the Multiple Person Syndrome. It¬†has been one of the most remedial steps in my life. I created my first one when I was 45 years old. That is pretty late. A serious mps-er starts multiplying in his early childhood, but as usual I’m always running at the back. I even have to sprint to keep up with all the voices.
Anyway, at the end of the day I have a lot of fun with them. And it doesn’t hurt anyone. Voices in your head aren’t necessary a bad, sad, nasty thing. I’m glad with them, I love them, and being a multiple person is not a disorder. Don’t take them from me!!!!

Oh well … they are for sale. No problem.

And about the blog … hmmm, yah … let’s us logically conclude that most of the experiences and perceptions of the portraits are mine. A kind of mine. Based on me. But loosely. And sometimes exactly.



[dot_recommends]