PRECISELY
The streets are remarkably quiet. Somewhere in the distance the sound of a radio, the voice of a football commentator covering an important match. How still it is. For once we can walk, undisturbed. Not much is said. It's been a long time since we could enjoy such serene silence. The colour of the buildings seems fresher, the stench of the streets less pungent. As long as both teams are trying to win rather than avoiding defeat, peace will reign.
I've never really understood why people in the arts still think in terms of factions - critics, the opponents of artists? Maybe I am too lenient. Critics maintain a difficult position; sandwiched between artworks, artists and the public. A comfortable position, if only they didn't want to belong. It's no joke trying to decipher the sometimes incomprehensible whims of an artist in a way that informs the public without aggravating the artist in question. And, to top it all, their articles may never be read.
I've never been a fan of dogmas - preachers and pharmacists waving their fingers in the air, explaining the world, imposing their laws. I'd rather go against the grain. It's not that I don't like sweeping statements, I just prefer them coming at me in hundreds. Nicely mixed - like scrambled proverbs. Most of the time I am my own critic. When a work is finished, I invite the occasional visitor to my studio. It's my way of introducing the work to the outside world. Whatever they say about my work, I consider it to be neither presumptuous nor shocking.
I love watching people getting all worked up trying to interpret a work, like a relentless attempt to crack the secret or solve a problem. Who cares? There is the interpretation of the viewers, and there is the artist's kitchen - the background, the climate or the mood out of which the artwork grew. I like to keep my distance.
Singularity, not be confused with simplicity, is something I despise. The desire to clarify the world leads to the singular. Complexity creates the possibility for various layers to exist concurrently, blending into an unknown whole.
Let me be clear: complexity is not mystery. Mystery, or mystification, is an age old trick to make something look more interesting and more important than it actually is. It might be tempting to create an aura around you, with obscure and convoluted phrases and quotes, in fact it's not more than an easy way out.
When work leaves a studio, the public can do with it what it wants. A work of art should be open to interpretation - in every sense of the word. It should radiate the patina that it acquired when it was created. Most people seem to forget that when a work is first presented in a gallery or museum, where it is scrutinised, discussed and reviewed, it has already been completed - long ago. It is a finished chapter, a closed book. The viewer's response is not that important to me. I only bother stepping in if his reaction is one-dimensional. Or when it comes to a critic hiding behind clichés that negate the complexity of the work in question. Complexity requires precision.
People are back out on the streets again. Crowds are shouting, celebrating, waving their flags victoriously. Meanwhile the losers sneak away silently. So much for peace and quiet.