That’s All Folks

I’m done making art.

One hurdle too many has been put in my path, and I’m too fucking tired to jump anymore.

You win, yuppies. The gentrification of bohemia has taken away the last refuge where I can do what I want on my own terms. And I’m just talking about the ability to smoke cigarettes in a fucking studio for chrissakes. It may sound childish, but if I can’t smoke I can’t work, and since anything resembling a studio space is considered a commercial space and therefore excludes such a behaviour, I’m done. Over and out.

I’ve fought enough battles and I’m just not up to yet another one, especially not over something this stupid.

Plus I’ve had work destroyed in our most recent exhibition, and at some point I guess I just have to listen to what the universe is apparently trying to tell me.

I’m not saying this to elicit sympathy or to garner encouragement.

I’m just sick and tired of pushing boulders up hills only to have them keep on rolling back on me.

What comes next ? Who knows, but a bottle of scotch sure looks good right now.

Thanks for looking.

That’s all folks.



~ by Rocky Green on November 22, 2008.

3 Responses to “That’s All Folks”

  1. ‘member this?
    ol’sandy denny.
    Think yer too young to remember her.
    from an album called “old fashioned waltz”.
    Bert used to like to cut a rug to the title song in his cups.

    “They said that it was snowing in astounded tones upon the news.
    I wonder why they’re always so surprised ‘cos every year it snows.
    Frozen images of snowploughs as they churn along the motorways.
    I haven’t had no boots to wear or any loot to spare for days and days.

    I’ve travelled more than forty miles today, I must have grown some wings.
    It’s strange how time just seems to fly away, I can’t remember things.
    In a world of my own they say and who can blame them, they’re just not the same.
    I’ve known about it all along though I thought I was all wrong, and it’s such a shame.

    Why don’t you have any brushes any more, I used to like your style.
    I see no paintings anywhere and there’s no smell of turpentine.
    Did I really have no meaning? well I never thought I’d hear those words from you.
    Who needs a meaning anyway, I’d settle anyday for a very fine view.

    I couldn’t even tell you all the changes since you saw me last.
    My dreams were like the autumn leaves, they faded and they fell so fast.
    In fact as you say the snows are here and how the time it slips away.
    But I’m glad you did pass by, I think I’ll have another try. it’s another day.

    The day and then the night have gone, it was not long before the dawn,
    And the travelling man who sat so stiffly in his chair began to yawn.
    Having kept me here so long my friend, I hope you have a sleeping place to lend,
    But the painter he just smiled and said: I’ll see you in a while, this one has no end.”

    as for me?
    ran across this link tonight and fell in love with the guy in the suit all over again.

    bout says it.

  2. not the scotch, no. no. Not til i get there.

  3. Aaaaaarggghhh!!! Quelle drag and what dismay. The philistines may rule now, but their pit is waiting for them. Whatever else – don’t lose heart, not for your painting or anything else. This is not sympathy, nor encouragement – you’be probably been in this dark place before and will be again – have a couple of glasses of Scotch and dust yourself off. i’m in your corner, waiting. G

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