My belly button.

A new blog. The world has been waiting, and here I am bringing it. I've recently moved in with my parents after all, so it seemed only right to turn to the Internet. When I was in New York and unable to make art for lack of motivation and time (split between work and family) I thought I might begin an art blog. It never materialized because, as it turns out, I don't really like art all that much, and the only reason to write about art is to promote what you like.

At any rate, I am not in New York anymore. I am in Georgia. I hear rumors about the Atlanta art scene, but I don't live in Atlanta. I live in Woodstock, a hilly suburb about a half an hour to the northwest of the city. Plus, I'm more than a little dubious about any art scene, let alone a tiny one I would have to waste so much gas to find. I don't even know why I'd consider going anymore. For me, art galleries were more about motivation; about showing me how far off everybody else was from getting it right; about all of the stupid misconceptions artists have about what art is supposed to be about; and, fundamentally, about reminding me that I needed to be in the studio. Today, though, it seems fairly clear that I'm not going to be much of an artist.

It may or may not be for a lack of trying. I'm easily distracted. I haven't always tried my best. In fact, it's been a pretty long time since I tried at all. At some point, you have to reassess, and if it's over it's over. That's what I've spent the last couple of months doing. Here's what I've come up with:

A husband. A father of a two year old (with another on the way). I'm unemployed during what could very well be one of the bleakest moments in the history of the American economy. I'm living with my parents in a state where I have virtually no connections beyond family. I haven't worked in a studio for six months (and even then it was fairly sporadic); I haven't really thought about painting for almost that long. There are things I need. I need to find a paycheck. My family needs a home of our own.

I do need an outlet, but it's not going to be painting. That ship has sailed. It may never return. If not, my only regret at the moment is in the years wasted. I'm 29 years old. I'm fairly intelligent, but my education and work experience is such that I am about as employable as the average 24 year old with a BA in philosophy. I could have been a lot smarter about how I did a lot of things. But I went to art school. It's not difficult for me to admit my failure as an artist. That being said, it's hard to come to grips with how my decision to commit to that failed path led to my abject failure as a provider for my family.

At any rate, a period of my life is over. A new period begins. I've begun this blog as part of that. I don't know what shape it will take. Or if I will have the diligence to keep it going. But like I've said, I need an outlet. Something to act as a catalyst that will keep my mind focused while I get my life moving again. That's the idea anyway.

Forgive me my naval gazing.