I am not a communist in the traditional sense of the word, but the recurring notion of communal living returns time and again to my ailing mind. Since I have recently given up the capitalist ghost to seek my artly plane, I have wondered if, at what point, my starvation will overcome my need for employment. I think, to myself and now on this blog, wouldn't it be nice if there were a farmer living on the property who would grow some vegetables or a fisherman who could pull out a couple of fish to fry up (yes fry, I live in the South people). And then, by the time I'm done figuring out who would need to live here in the country with me, I've created a small civilization that would eventually require a store. So then, I'd become an overseer on the likes to be found in the Grapes of Wrath (movie or the book, you take your pick).
So, I am a dreamer. Or rather, I am a person who dreams up things. Yes, yes, a hard gambit to think of me that way I'm sure. I like to think of Henry Miller's quote: "Dreams are the very substance of reality." Instead of building a commune, though, I'd just rather have intelligent on nearly like-minded friends who'd like to pay me a visit on occasion. They can bring vegetables and crushed grapes with them. I'll cook if there's time. Since, though, our nation frowns upon the free thinking direction of people such as myself who disregard time and schedules and the like, many of those friends must labor arduously leaving me to my own dementia.
However, to cure myself of aforementioned dementia, I've taken to photographing things I like, painting the images that I find in my head, and writing (though it's more like poorly written scribble-scratch if you ask my over-educated detractors) the vicious words of rage that seem to placate my demons. Thusly, verily and whatever L-Y word would sound good here, I have decided to take it upon myself to surround myself with the artwork of my friends.
Recently I have begun the practice of selling my art, which is a valiant first step for me. Hording it only allows for so much wall space. However, and most importantly in my tiny little head, I would like to trade art with my friends. It won't feed me, but I'm looking at it as a weight loss program too. I've recently traded a couple of paintings away for pottery and the like and I'm looking at moving into other directions too. So, if there's something you see on my website that you'd like to trade, direct me to your website so that I can take a look. We can negotiate from there. For those of you who stumble across this offer and don't know my site, it's www.huckleberrynowhere.com
So then, there's that. Hunger aside, I am serious about trading art with friends, Romans and countrymen alike. Okay, maybe not the Romans, unless they're with a Greek friend and they are bearing gifts that look like a gift-horse so that I can look it in the mouth. Don't ask, I have no idea what I just wrote means. I must be tired, or delusional, or succumbing to yet another bout of dementia. Or, as a more affectionate person has put it, I'm going to the other side of bi-polar. And, for those of you who wish to know, I am happily not bi-polar, but I'll joke like I am.
In closing, though there are some out there who see my artistic endeavors as meaningless trifles because it doesn't produce anything, I am not deterred. Those of you who actually know me knows that my will isn't easily shaken and I have two things to quote for those who don't know me at all. They are both from the esteemed Tyler Durden :: You are not your bank account. (&) Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken. Thus, get over yourself and when you do, have your people call my people.