My country is now host to the world’s first gallery for AI art. Isn’t that a marvelous feat? It’s situated in Amsterdam. Of course. And you can find it at the Dead End Gallery. Which I find an ironic if apt name.
Being an artist also means having to visit expositions, art fairs and galleries. I know, my life truly is a vale of tears where curiosity and wonder hold hands as they hop-step-twirl over the carcass of desperate monotony. It’s a miracle I’ve survived this long.
Every morning I have a fixed routine of opening a freshly printed newspaper, reading it front to back as fast as I can, before my new kitten has had the opportunity to turn the pages to confetti.
With my butterfly-project nearing its end, I’m starting to get impatient. It’s like being a child waiting for your birthday. The entire year, you hardly think about it. But then the night before the great day you’re supposed to be vast asleep. And yet…
A creative job allows for a more loose approach to the assignments you receive, but as someone who can’t distinguish a 2 from an 8, I’ve discovered that it is generally frowned upon to be too ‘inventive’ when filling in your tax returns.
Back when I was still studying game-design, our school’s computers weren’t exactly top of the line. There is no way the budget could afford that. Understandable, but it meant that we were surrounded by the mechanical equivalents of asthmatic 70-year olds.
There she was standing in front of the orchestra. Barely 14 years old, I think, a candle in her hand. The flame was trembling, due to her shaking hands. It was almost imperceptible, as the lights in the cathedral had been turned off.
American Idol! So You Think You Can Dance. Britain’s Got Talent! Project Runway. The Great Pottery Throw Down. Blown Away.
Our screen time is filled with talent shows that try to sell us this slightly narcissistic message that we too can become the next Superstar.
I have a confession to make. One that is going to end my career before it was able to take its first wobbly steps in the bright daylight, because I’m pretty sure what I’m about to tell you is the first deadly sin for artists: I, a sculptor, don’t know anything about art. Take Malevich’s […]
When I first started sculpting, I focused on art dolls. Someone at school showed me one and I knew this was what I had to do. Never mind that I hardly knew what clay looked like.
“All heroism is due to lack of reflection.”