I think I just pissed off an artist.
So I'm writing this story on this nonprofit group working with this gallery to raise funds, and I thought it'd be a good idea to talk to the featured artists who'll have work up at the event.
Apparently not.
I thought this artist had an idea of what event he was going to be working at, but he didn't. And when I said my primary focus was the program and that I didn't have anything else to ask him at the moment, he sounded all huffy when he said, "I thought you were going to ask how we became artists, why we did this for the living, why we love art."
After telling him what the story was about, I didn't want to waste his time or mine so i said that wasn't the case, and I'm sorry if he misunderstood. Then he was like, okay, call if you have anything else, and then he hung up up before I could respond.
Ah well. You can't make everyone happy.
1 comment:
Hahaha! What a pretentious fuckwad. They can't wait to tell you why they're so good and what is their contrived meaning of everything.
It's all the same bullshit: they were beaten as children by parents who didn't love them, made fun of in grade school and thrown in the mud on at least one occassion, grew acne in high school and were pushed to the outskirts of social interaction where they became rebellious and channeled that energy through art after failed attempts at suicide.
Their art manifests itself in the form of something abstract and benign though it hides a special deep significance that applies only to them. People like it because it's "artsy," "intellecture" or "aesthetically pleasing" but don't understand the concept nor care to have it in front of their face for more than a few moments. Which only worsens the artists' psychotic rage problems and makes for more shit-smeared-life art.
Which is why I'm a designer, not an artist. ;)
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