What The Bleep Do We Know
The newspaper ad clipping described the following job opening in glorious detail. “Work at a fast paced art gallery with experience in original intaglio prints while learning about the amazing world of contemporary art.” Old world habits are clever methodologies which required brain attention in able to learn how to overcome them during social situations. The process involved buying the Village Voice newspaper at sun rise in able to capture the sun’s blazing photons during a Mindwalk loop towards freedom and uncertainty. Three years now into the 21st Century and it feels like a worn out Sunday newspaper print, to be honest. Mr.Bot tells me, “Your up for a challenging career my dear thinker. You spend an eternity pondering about your place in the world, yet no one ever thinks about you in it. What do you expect to gain working for 12$ per hour at a Chelsea art gallery selling art frames”?. When I meet Marry Boone she told me the following tidbit.
” Look young man, I’ve work with many art stars in this business.
I can tell you no one ever gets anywhere by doing multiple things at once.
If you say you’re an artist be an artist and stop pretending you can do multiple things.”
Hitherto I was an education curatorial assistant at the New Museum for Contemporary Art in NYC. When Marry saw the resume she quickly replied, “why do you want to leave the New Museum?” Well, to be honest the museum experience is a fantastic opportunity for those who posses the entitled economic pedigree. The New Museum is great for my educational art background as an entrepreneur of immersive ideas but it’s also an unpaid internship. I live in a basement apartment paying 600$ per month for a room filled with art, lyrics, philosophy and love as a subject matter. However life needs me to be a multitasking bee with the ability to perform multiple personality masks in able to fulfill these economic requirements we all get up for every morning. Rise and shine to the sound of your debt. When we love a little the pain behind certain human conditions goes away for a few minutes.
Once my mind settles down for a few milliseconds of tranquility I actually stop thinking to say: ” I would much rather work for you Marry Boone.” Although the job title was dead at arrival the minute her eyeballs had a chance to scan my physical profile. She surrounded herself with tall caucasian males who fit the catalog of an IBM enterprise fashion show. The gallery culture there is not interested in welcoming diverse views, even if the year is 2003. In fact as I observed the gallery market during that time I found it to be close to a 1950’s segregation party in terms hiring, promotion and solo exhibitions practices.
“Well you see all these entitled folks my dear thinker. They come from rich families who secretly paid for the luxury of being different in art. You where not born into an aristocratic family who will pay for your creative tones. These kids have it and you do not, thus is why they belong.”
Back in my own reality I have these monthly bills mounting, expectations based on realized patterns which turn on/off like mental synapses in the brain. Impulse control, focus and forethought are domains of the prefrontal cortex yet money speaks it’s own cultural language. The realization between illusions and reality are embarrassingly clear when you can’t afford to pay for your dreams. Learning new tools, hustle, the tech bubble while pretending how to include oneself in a properly rigged economy are the new tools to master in the 21st Century. There I was with my multiple personality traits: Artist, thinker, lover, human, paying these bills, tech guru, emotional inner child with a weak sense of morality when finding love. What is the expectation of all this is what I suspect Mr.Bot was trying to say using tongue and cheek discourse. Well Mr.Bot have you ever read Hamlet? To be or not to be is about making choices in life.
I happen to wear these emotional patterns on my sleeve and for the record Mr.Bot I did find true love in art and life many years later. The choices we left behind between the “gag order distance” runtime and her memories is all I have in mind. This isn’t love, is who I am in her arms that matter most.