Art is work. I don’t know why I am drawn to this kind of labor that strangely, by some unfortunate cultural kink, feels at times fruitless for all the attention the rat race pays to it. It can be thankless like monk’s work, if it lacked perpetuity. So there is an honor to it, like bragging of battle scars when the enemy was yourself attacking relentlessly. Ha! But at the very least, there are these paintings to show for it!
I made a living as a cook in a restaurant that provided the opportunity to pursue creative endeavor, both at work and home. The feedback was always quick and clear; internal pride and failure balloons popped inside me five times a day, abusing my ego but never killing it. Sure, that job was an education in the arts; it pushed me to seek successes way outside the cultural norm. But as I can “see” from this photo, I will always be just a tired and timid studio monk until I can grow the humility and courage it takes to open myself up on the street.
Congratulations on these paintings Andrew Makarov!