Priceless Value...?

In a recent conversation with my therapist we were discussing suntan booths and relationships:

" The truth is, I am not sure if I want this relationship with this person. We are friends and this friendship gives me a lot. Yet I feel I have to put up with this person's habits and I use a lot of time that I could be putting to productive art work making," I said.
"Hmmm, it sounds to me like you are having a dilemma of value and price," she replied insightfully as therapists do.
"Price? What am I paying? Value?! The value of what? The person, the time, the enjoyment...? Can you explain further."
And she did.
"Well, the value of something is how much it is worth to you. The parts of it you get that you like. For example, you were talking about the benefits of taking a 3 min session in sun bathing in a booth. It cures winter blues, and for a week your mood is fantastic. Now, the potential price is perhaps certain skin conditions and more seriously other problems associated with this practise. But these are unlikely to occur in consideration of the time you spend in them. Try going for a 30 min session every other day, the the value of tanned skin would be paid for with the price of extensive aging, with possible skin cancer in the future. With perhaps other prices unknown.
So here, in this relationship with your friend, is the time spent together: is it to YOU, worth the price for the value you get out of it?"


Thus, I got down to thinking about value and price of art. For price is also consequences. If I buy an art work and look at it everyday for my whole life, it will influence my practise. That with be the price. If I like this influence it will also be a value.

What interests me, is how do I decide whether the value of making my work, establishing my own practise is worth the price? What do I get from making art, from attending art school, that I would not get from working as a social worker, or as a mechanic or a lawyer? And most importantly what do I pay for all of this?

Is it worth it?

Once upon a time lived a man called Greenberg...

Greenberg. It all began with Greenberg. It seems a long time ago, or perhaps yesterday that term time started and the happy little jolly me entered adult life in the university wonderland. Everything was brighter, bigger and more bountiful. Now Christmas is upon us and Greenberg seems forgotten. But who is he? What did he achieve? And most importantly how did his ideas influence the way we perceive art? 

Perhaps I may yet find a moment after my break in snowy Scotland to let my blog

know. For now I recommend a Chocolassus Sunday at Fortnum & Masons. 

The Protest, The Politicians and The Passing Vote

So the final vote has been cast. I was there. Well, I went, got kettled and then left, but the feeling of supporting the cause was there, although perhaps the idea of having to spend another couple of hours with a mass of violent protesters waiting for a vote that would have been made without me anyways, was perhaps too much to ask. In any case, I had a Life Drawing Class to host at my apartment that ill-fated Thursday. As the logo in the office of my Course Director's office says, "Don't Worry, All the Important Things Happen Without You Anyway."

So now the cut has been passed. My darling university, with all it's darling courses, and it's darling staff will face the guillotine. And although not everything will be beheaded, I am certain my one-to-one tutorials are likely to be a thing of ye sweet olde days. It is quite likely I will look back to my first year as an art college undergraduate and sigh a moan of saccharine wistfulness.

But, perhaps I think too far ahead, and there is yet hope...? After all, the government could always be overthrown. Is it not true that all governments with a developed educational institution fear students en mass? Let us look forward with a Marxist eye, and admire the revolutionary potential, and look for our own Engels in the midst of the crowd. Or perhaps on facebook, twit or a blog. Why bother going out onto the cold streets when you can support people from the privacy and comfort of your own home on a 21" screen. Why indeed.

Let us all sell our souls for the ten minutes of fame...

So this is my second attempt at a blog, the first was deleted due to lack of verification email etc etc.

It seems a rather interesting activity to write a blog. It is much like a public diary, that is to say it is a public diary. We write in order to be read. It is unleashing our thoughts, yes therapeutically, but in an accessible to all published, although not publicized manner. Does it not defeat the point of looking at oneself critically, and honestly? How can one be honest in the face of possible readership? The mask that appears one one is around others surely pops up to cover the true and pure motives for ones actions? OR perhaps that is the point: to present oneself as a thing for show, an object to be put up for sale. A trade of truth for popularity.