Ha! Take that ubiquitous, flowing artist resumes of avarice! Thanks to Alexey Stepanov of Moscow, Russia, I am an international painter. Also, a thank you to Russia whose mothers have raised boys and girls to discover the art of dreaming. Who would guess that painters are the same everywhere, true painters, the non-misanthropic ones, who aren’t finished yet nurturing their humanity.
Some points from the Stuckism Manifesto:
Stuckism is the quest for authenticity. By removing the mask of cleverness and admitting where we are, the Stuckist allows him/herself uncensored expression.
It is the most difficult task of all. The Art Crazy Old Man knows.
I have been in love with painting ever since I became conscious of it at the age of six. I drew some pictures I thought fairly good when I was fifty, but really nothing I did before the age of seventy was of any value at all. At seventy-three I have at last caught every aspect of nature–birds, fish, animals, insects, trees, grasses, all. When I am eighty I shall have developed still further and I will really master the secrets of art at ninety. When I reach a hundred my work will be truly sublime and my final goal will be attained around the age of one hundred and ten, when every line and dot I draw will be imbued with life.
—from Hokusai’s “The Art Crazy Old Man”
The Stuckist is not mesmerised by the glittering prizes, but is wholeheartedly engaged in the process of painting. Success to the Stuckist is to get out of bed in the morning and paint.
Tell that to slave master billionaires Paul Allen and David Geffen, men of the abstract wealth—a watered-down, water-logged, soaked socks silly concept of abstract wealth.
The ego–artist’s constant striving for public recognition results in a constant fear of failure. The Stuckist risks failure willfully and mindfully by daring to transmute his/her ideas through the realms of painting. Whereas the ego–artist’s fear of failure inevitably brings about an underlying self–loathing, the failures that the Stuckist encounters engage him/her in a deepening process which leads to the understanding of the futility of all striving. The Stuckist doesn’t strive — which is to avoid who and where you are — the Stuckist engages with the moment.
I am still caught up in the romantic’s dream. It comes and goes. I apply to art houses, magazines, Internet blogs to show work with the hopes that my ship will come in. Granted it’s a poverty canoe like Picasso’s. He wanted to be rich to live like a pauper. I want to sell paintings in order to live like a pauper in a garret on a Grecian island, always with more paint and whole foods. At times the path may appear to be hyper vanity, but when I reach deeper, it is understood that the queries, exposure, sometimes outright begging is just the ancient human quest for authenticity unto the clan.
It is the Stuckist’s duty to explore his/her neurosis and innocence through the making of paintings and displaying them in public, thereby enriching society by giving shared form to individual experience and an individual form to shared experience.
Other fools a world apart. The woods in Russia where 21st century painters meet. The pampered sissies of Dubai can cuddle up in their cult of personality pillows.
This Stuckist knows that America is Rome at its end. Not one fool stops by the American Woods Gallery to look at the humanity of another.
Finally, thank you Hyperallergic for seeing into the future. Keep up the good work. Posting an example of painters beginning again where the 19th century Paris cafes left off, can remind enough people in a day that art is human—precisely not business, not economic bubble, not new York, not gallery, not celebrity, not factory, not drone, not black SUV, not hallmark holiday, not football team, not sheik, not soccer mom, not checkbook, not Internet, not smartphone, not plastic wrap, not new age, not live and let live, not notness, and definitely certainly not misanthropy on the tip top tippy-top not of the not, not, not, not, knotty-not not scale.