Sensitive Friends Fading 2024. Acrylic on canvas, 21 x 22"
I’m not appropriating a culture more than stealing a great idea. I won’t gift totems or canoes—not even slaves! This year my art is free because I want to usher in the inevitable gift economy, and also prove my wealth to the community. Each piece I create will be offered to the 1st taker gratis (it is an honor and a privilege), and if there are no takers, I will add it to the pile to be burned at a full moon ceremony each month. I do not expect many takers at the onset because, (1) everyone will want to see my stuff burn—it’s natural, I know; and (2), I am 50 years ahead philosophically of 98% of my contemporaries who still subscribe to the “Everything is okay if we just look the other way” routine of letting the cold bastards bore our lives to death. Few will get the gist of my urgent desire to share these gifts nobody needs.
Also, these times are so wretched. Somebody’s got to shake things up. Enter me, the artist.
As you may already know, at 12 midnight on January 1, I finish a year of trying to live below the poverty line. The United States government has abused its power over me for the last time. I refuse to submit. I will not participate. It has shown its true colors. It and the billionaires must be figuratively extinguished. The only non-violent option open to a poor boy, I believe, is more poverty. I will not give another tax dollar to genocide. I shall continue this project for another year while writing off all the free art that is given away or burned. My business model is financial failure because I am going to teach a lesson on freedom and anarchy while sticking the IRS in the eyes. I will go on business trips of poverty! Yes! To London! To Japan! I’ll taunt them to distraction, demand a field audit, beg that they come after me so that I can become the spectacle who catalysts their dissolution.
I am in earnest.
I know you don’t need the art, though I think you need the gesture. You must see that it is okay to stand on two feet and give yourself away, when you can afford to. I will make deep friendships with you yet! We shall dissolve the pensions that swallow up the African continent and freeze Gaza babies in their cribs. We will want to imagine what it’s like to be homeless on the streets, so we can gather the powers of lopful castration. What is the force propping us up like sticks-in-the-mud and then pushing us down? We were 19, 23, maybe 30 with nothing, and we will die with nothing. Eliminate the in-between and come drink whiskey with me under the full moon. I’m gonna burn my entire creative oeuvre to usher in Christmas on earth. And you’re going to watch.
What was it worth?
Everything to me.
Any art I make this year is free. It is an honor and a privilege to give it to you. I cannot pay for shipping and handling because I will not have much liquid cash that isn’t in hiding. I will set up a donate button on my website when you’re feeling like showing off your wealth at the new art potlatch. I like beer. I have enough bourbon to last me a while, and Rose is paying for food—rice, beans, cereal, peanut butter and honey. She also has my blood thinner covered, and a roof over my head with hot shower and flush toilet. Anything extra coming to me will be taped under-the-table so the power that makes us so god damn boring gets figuratively castrated and parts tossed to rats and spoiled dogs.
Join me. Lovers, if one of you can work, pay the minimal tax until all the yachts sink and the bodies float to the top. Single men and women, be creative with poverty! Call it frugality if you must—and go at it like the beard trimming hipster with his craft beer rantings. Free that bound and gagged enthusiasm and create the new courage. Just say “No!” to the mutilation of unknown children. Say “No!” to the violent and stupid bureaucracy draining your joy out this abscess society we never dreamed of.
Post your poverty on Instagram. Why not admit your boredom? Point the finger. Share the passion, rage, and joy of the great “No!”. Join me in mutual aid and poverty. Even if it’s imaginary until it isn’t.
Happy New Year! Now please accept this free painting.
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