I hate painting. you might think i’m kidding. but i’m not. a painting sits on a wall, and looks pretty. 80% of people that walk past it, think “Oh, that looks pretty.” and walk away. unless it happens to match their sofa. then they’ll stop, and think about whether or not it’s worth spending money on something that only the TV will ever look at for more than 30 seconds. that’s not ‘art’. that’s interior decoration. i thought IKEA had that market tied up. i don’t want to compete with IKEA. i have no interest in that. i don’t care if my works are ‘pretty’ or, if they will go with someone’s lounge suite. if 80% of the public see painting as interior decoration, then no way in hell am i going to let anyone call me a ‘painter’. i refuse to feed someone’s ‘nesting instinct’. i refuse to let someone own a work of mine, just so they can call themselves ‘enlightened’ when the in-laws drop around, yet never stop to think about what that means. I am not a painter.
non bis in idem
