september, 2023

celebrities, it seems, always become famous young. they’re born into it, come up with an outstanding hit that shakes the Internet, or market themselves incessantly—brazen acts the young are not embarrassed by. they take a gamble on the thing they’re often new to, and if they hit it enough, the right eyes might see it.

but painting feels like an artistic anomaly, and an interesting one to be young in. painters do the thing forever without being discovered, and discovery is not the drive for the art form. one should paint for love in lieu of prestige. and for years I have taken this to heart, pouring money I didn’t always have to spend nights at the foot of my bed and at the heed of the canvas, waitressing in order to pay for an art studio.

how, then, to move forward when many others toil in the studio forever, under the impression that the desire for recognition should be hush-hushed until one’s time magically comes? my own childhood home is not far from andy warhol’s in pittsburgh, and if I learned one thing from a warhol-centric arts education, it’s that art need not fear publicity. so consider this note a space for my mind’s eye to unravel; for my voice, which I insist should not be hidden under the images I create, but be part of it. I too, can speak up, since I’d hate to toil here forever.

work in progress (left); handwritten notes from the studio (right)