The beginning of the end.

I was visiting Doug yesterday and talking about finally getting round to just staying home and working on the house. Part of this was my current thinking that this Steampunk thing coming up will be my last foray into the gesture I started way back in 1992. It could be my time in the art world but it's not quite that so much as being... oh, I don't really know what it is but I'm just basically over making stuff and not having it go out into the world as it should. This could be entirely my fault simply because I ask too much or not enough and in doing so fail to meet the buyer in a place were the price of the thing is underneath the obviousness of having it in their life.

The story of the Mexican chap of the movie, who was recently in our lands, Chavez maybe (better google that just to make sure... sugarman, oops... Rodriguez) and how the man was this huge hit somewhere else and supported a generation but within his own life he had no idea and years later, well past the age when he should have been, he was found doing manual labour. Now this doesn't quite gel with me because for one I'm not entirely interested in being a big hit generational prophet of meaningfulness and I actually really enjoy manual labour but I'm really quite interested in how what we do finds it's time and how that time finds us.

So this may be the underlying question in putting a bunch of stuff together and stuffing it in front of a bunch of costume advocates willing another lost time into existence... and making it their existence. These questions of time and what's right for anytime are of utmost importance to me. Not so much being on time as the mixture of defining a time and then being ready to catch the bus that arrives with the set destination written across it's signpost.

Well, it's not that important but pondering such things has kept me within art, and it's adjunct of making, for 20 years.

It's kind of about realising, to a certain extent, that' I've been quite Steampunky for years, especially when it comes to furniture that uses old furniture again, and this current of revamping what's older is throughout all of my art, and going for an end to it all, not within the artworld, but within a context that possibly shares the intended outcomes more favourably, but without seeking favour as we might know it.

See, this is the trouble with both me and my writing, which isn't a trouble but it could be easy to see it as one, in that I just make it all up as I go along and eventually kind of realise where I might be going. Even this writing... I don't sit down and ask myself, what do I want to say?, I just start writing, usually 'cause I want to fill some time, and then while I'm just bouncing about letting the words fall out I kinda get an idea of what the underlying question is that is prompting me to sit here at a keyboard tapping frenetically without any real idea of why or how.

Because the question of timing is so bloody interesting. In one sense Steampunk is already dead because we're calling it Steampunk. Before it was Steampunk it was abunch of people just making something up as they went along, which may or may not have defied description, but when it wasn't anything it also could be anything. Now it is something it has an altogether different purpose... en masse. But does that mean that the people who made it have lost their baby?

Maybe this is why I've wondered what to do to fill in the Oval on this piece?

I think I'm saving it for last for some reason I've yet to fathom.