Vispo: untitled / The artist in the art

RTomens, 2026

As I said to LJ the other day whilst sitting in the garden, what people get with my art is not just the art itself but the whole history of my creative experience and, even, my life. That sounds pretentious as I write it, but I stand by it. What do I mean?

I mean...ingrained in every mark are the molecules of my life? Is that what I mean? Perhaps.

True or not (I've never researched it), a friend once told us that Picasso said something extraordinary when asked to make some art, instantly, by a TV presenter. He made one crude squiggle. When the presenter expressed mild disappointment, saying it only took him a few seconds, Picasso replied "No, it took me twenty-five years." 

That is what I'm saying. Anything I do now is the result of, in my case, over 50 years of making art. "So what?", you may ask. So what indeed, except that it is worth remembering that art does not really spring newborn but comes from many days/years spent thinking, imagining and creating. I don't mean to sound pompous and my claim does not mean I demand to be treated as special. I'm the last person to elevate the artist. I've no romantic notion of the artist as demi-god in a society of mere uncreative mortals. 

Punk tried to destroy the gods. It failed. Its exponents became gods themselves. But...for a while...it felt as if it was destroying all the old gods. Likewise Dada in the early-20th century. It, too, came to be worshipped and preserved as something sacred in museums around the world.

If I cite Punk and Dada as key influences I refer as much to their attitude as their creations... perhaps...since in saying that I fall into the trap of attaching a general attitude to the exponents of both whilst knowing that many individuals with varying attitudes made up both movements. Yet when looking at history we tend to simplify everything with common labels and definitions...because the reality is too complex. 

The artist in the art is different from an artist supposedly pouring his/her heart and soul into their art. I've no doubt it's been done by many if, for a minute, we accept the possibility. It's a romantic notion from another age (18th/19th century?), one of the tortured, starving artist. Can there be such an artist today? There are enough tortured people, some of whom might be artists, I suppose. Jean Dubuffet famously coined the term 'art brut' for the work of patients in psychiatric hospitals. I wonder if such hospitals encourage creativity today? It might be a good idea.

You may not see 'me' in my art or, perhaps, I am there in ways less obvious than self-portraiture or expressionism. I may be there in quotes I choose. My thinking is there...my thoughts...my taste...and so on. All that aside, everything I've ever done shapes the art.