I saw this blog about Walker Evans (who/whom I love. Don’t get me started on ridiculous grammar debates, thats why I’m giving you a choice people) and the author was wondering who would be the new Walker Evans of this generation? Who would be the person to capture the look and feel of our generation through “photographs that embody the moral and esthetic texture of the…era with an unrivaled pictorial precision” (quoted from the blog)
Well look no further critics and historians. I am here. Before you scoff at me or wield your mighty pen of judgement, let me just say that I’d like to think of it as confidence, not cockiness. I say a lot of shit and those who know me know that. They also know that I hate pretentious arrogant pricks, and to save myself from sounding like one, I’d like to say that I wont be the next Walker Evans, because I’m not trying to emulate or imitate him. That would defeat the purpose of making art, if I were to make someone else’s art. Evans was a great artist and no one will ever be able to replace him. His work speaks for itself and the generation of that time.
Rather I’ll say that I’m stepping up to the challenge of being the next great artist that the world so badly needs. And I don’t mean great as in I’m so awesome I can piss in a jar , TP a castle or that my art is the window to my soul. (Window to your soul? And artists wonder why people don’t take them seriously). I mean great as in capturing a truth so powerful and undeniable that you have no choice but to bow to it. Knowing when the decisive moment is and acting upon it. Creating a work that brings everything you thought you knew about anything to a screeching halt. Your universe shattered. Forgetting to think or even breathe. Art should evoke more feelings than, “hmmm that would go nice over the coffee table.”
The point is, I’m about to fucking storm the art world and take no prisoners. Storm the castle! Defeat the guards! Take back art from the pompous critics and pretentious hipsters who have turned it into some golden trophy to be displayed on a pedestal, with the artist standing on a soapbox admiring their “masterpiece”. I swear, is every fucking piece a masterpiece? Do they know what masterpiece means? Jeez.
I am an artistic force to be reckoned with. A whirlwind of vision, truth, and a little colorful language here and there.
Andy Warhol meets Jack Kerouac.
If I sound like a lot to handle, I am. But whether or not you like what you read or hear, my art will speak for itself.
Mr. Al Olson, senior business editor of msnbc.com, you asked who will be the Walker Evans of this generation? There is your answer.
The journey begins next May with my compadre Valerie. Stay tuned….