Eurgh!

So, at the advice and support of my contemporaries, I've been dabbling in smut. I'm presently flexing my creative muscles (so to speak), getting a taste for what I'm capable of in terms of technical aptitude and inspiration; it's certainly a cathartic process.

Most striking about this is the reactions of others when they find out; a thin veil of lofty disdain or disgust, rapidly caving away to ravenous curiosity as soon as it becomes clear that I'm not particularly bothered. Remarkable, because my response was identical when it was suggested I draw more in the field.

It's been suggested I post my pictures here, and I could certainly do with the critique and feedback; my style is still very much in its formative stages, and what advice I've received has proven invaluable. However, the stigma attached to things of an erotic nature persists to this day - to present pieces that aren't 'tasteful' nudes, study sketches and silhouettes would be to brand myself a dirty pornographer first, and artist second.

It is a label that overrides all others - consider the number of mainstream artists that also dabble in smuttier works. Illustrators are given a little more flexibility in this regard, possibly due to the extant prejudice attached to comic books / manga, but it's something I wish to avoid.

I realise little coherent line of argument has been formed over the course of this entry, but I believe opening debate was more my intention than proposing a particular line of logic. All comments are most welcome.

For those that wish to see my less pretentious art, I have given way to pressure and uploaded it for public access. It can be found here:

Edit: No, it can't. Ah, internet drama.

Apologies if this latest entry offends anyone; such is certainly not my intent.

I recall visiting the Tate Gallery in London, as a part of my studies at the time. We were blessed with a guide of our very own, who would show us famous pieces such as The Bride Stripped Bare... and The Snail. Better, he would explain the intents of the artists in question when creating their piece, and which elements are symbolic of what.

Regardless of the truth of the matter, we all felt very much more clever for having this insight, an answer for these enigmas. As smug and contented as the experience was, I couldn't muster any real sentiment for the pieces themselves. Vehicles for conveying coded messages to viewers, they seemed entirely, well, peripheral.

So what is the point of conceptual art? If aesthetic appeal is moot, why indulge in aesthetics at all? Surely the written medium would allow for a more precise articulation of the artist's ideas? I have suspicion that it relates to the masturbatory nature of much of modern art; artistic appeal seems to be another term for exclusive appeal - something only a few of 'artistic inclination' or 'high cultural acuity' can understand, appreciate or enjoy. Perhaps the subject of a later rant.

So what is the point of art? Certainly not something I'm in a position to dictate, but I can at least give my personal sentiment. Art should first be something we want to look at, hear or feel, even if that wont is only in retrospect; there is no appeal in a medium that is not wanted. -Good- art should stir emotion or thought, provide something that simple objective communication cannot. Between these two simple qualities is enough to endear me to a piece.

To illustrate and contrast with my former anecdote, my first visit to the Tate Modern introduced me to the work of Mark Rothko, an abstract painter with which many of you will be familiar. I enjoyed his work -immensely-. I must confess possible ignorance, as I never discovered a hidden message beneath his work, but I never felt as though I was missing out; crafted with such care despite their simple nature, and shown off for their very best, Rothko's work is so evocative and aesthetically rich as to be worthy in its own right.


In other news: I really should start submitting more. Then I can join the exclusive club of artists too popular to have their status set to anything but 'Invisible'.

Questionnaires are wonderfully convenient in trying to establish a person's nature, and frequently used by everything from companies (the rather prosaic Curriculum Vitae) to individuals (how often has a person asked you your profession/course as the first thing after your name?). You can archetype a person with a questionnaire easily - make assumptions, correlations, see common ground and glaring differences. But an archetype is as much as you can accomplish; a questionnaire asks the same questions of you as everyone else, by definition, and thus you are defined in the same manner as they. So I thought I'd write this.

My most fond experience in recent memory concerns a friend. We had been to a terrible film and retired since to dissolve its memory in alcohol. We spoke of dreams and ambitions, memories and self-insight. Communication is a concept blighted by deception; etiquette, omission, posturing and a thousand other white lies permeate almost every conversation I've had, but not this one - what was said was what was desired to be said, and in its aftermath came the rosy glow of having expressed oneself purely, perhaps the most profound pleasure we know (beyonds, possibly, run-on sentences).

My most bitter experience in recent memory concerns a newspaper. The news was daunting as ever, but that's nothing remarkable. I'd bought the big Sunday paper and left it on the living room table, as a small but significant gift to my housemates. Studying in a campus University is disorientating - with nobody owning a television and few possessing a radio, you quickly sink into obliviousness with regards the surrounding world, and hence the paper. But I digress somewhat. One of my housemates walked in and, before doing anything else, picked up the bundled papers and threw them in the bin. I asked her why.

"I, y'know, didn't think people would want to read that kind of stuff."

Does that tell you anything more?