Work in Progress

wip220211
Originally uploaded by Id Marks

There are several pieces in the works right now, nothing finished yet. That notion of getting something done every day? Not happening. Not because I don't work every day, but because I tend to parallel process, so I'll have a bunch under way and nothing finished for ages, and then a bunch finishing up all at once.

Click through to Flickr to see more works in progress.

Also, check out Mary Golay, whose color techniques for Art Nouveau illustrations are amazing.

What it looks like...

... not to sell art at the flea market. It's easy to think the display might've been a problem, but I assure you, that was not the difficulty. Most sellers seemed to simply have brought some stuff in a laundry basket and overturned it when they arrived at the flea market. The difficulty was, most of the people who were at the market looking for stuff were looking for specific things, and I don't think any of them were there looking for watercolor paintings. Most of those people were probably waiting for the Christmas market to open down in old town.

Wrong venue. Live and learn.

Waiting For Glue To Dry

Since I'm waiting for glue to dry in a non-euphemistic, non-metaphorical way, I thought I'd muse on some of the lessons I've learned from this project. It's not over, but since I just bribed myself to work on with an offer of a trip to the office supply if I finish it today, it must be close ('cause it's back to school sales time, squee!)...

One thing I've learned is, this is probably a prototype. I didn't start with a plan, I started with some nice plywood from the 50¢ scrap bin at the hardware store, and some shards of glass I'd painstakingly removed from a broken window here in the apartment. I had many different ideas along the way, and it moved forward very haltingly. And slowly. Part of the slowness was not actually knowing what came next, and having to have a good long think about that. I think the longest was almost a month.

If I had to build it again, by drawing a plan from what I've got now, and making a shopping list, and doing this like a proper project.... it'd most likely be a weekend project, or even just a day project, depending on what I chose to finish the wood / materials. I may test this bold claim. The closer it is to finished, the more sure I am that I can do better, faster, and with greater satisfaction at the end. I can't really 'save' this one, but I could go for a mulligan and be happy with what I get out of it. What I can't do it for is cheaper – this one is constructed almost entirely out of stuff I already had on hand, or clearance bin items. The only things I paid full price for were hardware (hinges, knob, latch).

Another thing I (re)learned is that prototypes are totally worth it. Although maybe next time I should do it in cardboard or something. In art we call that a maquette, or a 'mock up' if we're not being pretentious art school dorks.

In no particular order, further learned things:

• cut the glass first, cut the holes for the glass after
• hot glue does NOT work like caulking (don't ask)
• slate is surprisingly hard to find
• have a variety of fastening hardware on hand
• there's a reason some kinds of hardware come in a minimum of 100 quantity
• sand before sawing, between coats of paint, and after pulling the splinter out
• if you think something will make a good picture, it probably will
• measuring is not just for chumps
• a project that won't end is hugely inspirational - I'm FULL of other ideas now!
• cheap wood clamps are even worse than you think they'll be

Perhaps the most painful part of all this were the times I didn't have the right tool for something. Doing projects without a fully equipped shop can be fun, especially when you manage to work around a tool or process. A person can feel quite clever when Making Do. (See my contour gauge a few posts back...) but... it's those times when I'm mis-using a tool that I feel like ass. When I'm using a tool for something it was simply not intended for, and I know it. Or when I know without doubt that the problem I have can ONLY be solved by having the right tool, which I can't afford at the moment. Or that the problem I have can ONLY be solved by having a quality example of the right tool, which isn't in the stars at the moment. Those times are a bit frustrating.

How These Things Begin (sort of)

Here's my sketch for the 16 windows of the
previous few posts. It's kind of similar, and
kind of ... gestural. Doing the drawing functioned more to give me the sense of what kind of lines I wanted the frames to have, than to give me the precise shapes for each of the 16 windows.

In some ways this stuff would all be easier if I were the type to plan my projects out to the last and tiniest detail before beginning to execute, but I have tried that in the past, and invariably been horribly, horribly frustrated. Because when I plan that way, I give myself no leeway for adapting to the unexpected. Materials or processes that don't work out quite as planned. When I do that much planning, I damn well expect it to work out like that!

On the other hand, when I do it this looser way, just kind of rolling with the ideas as they come, I tend to change course a bit *too* much, whether things are working or not, and I tend to waste time and effort and often materials. In this method, I have to be very careful to set firm deadlines and I have to set budget limitations, material limitations, and lock down how many changes I let myself make along the way. Project managing, basically. That turns into a tough line to toe, because it wars with my desire not to stifle creative urges. (The alternative being, frustration because my creative urges make it flat out impossible to get anything done, ever.)

Art, versus something I could do and get paid for.

Last week, it occurred to me that I could probably make some money by going to the fleamarkt on a Saturday morning, picking out some little prizes, and assembling them (on the spot), and (hopefully) selling them by the end of the day. At the fleamarkt. Somewhere in the intersection of crafting, performance art, recycling, and yard sale. Also, and perhaps most importantly, it could be quite fun. The fleamarkt is basically a pre-sorted landfill, so any and every random thing I could need or want to put into a project would be there. Lamp parts, coffee pots, thermos bottles, LPs. I am very fond of this idea. The only real downside I see here is that it is juuuuuust over my introvert / extrovert threshold. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try it once and see if I can survive it.

Ideally, I wouldn't actually go there with a plan for a finished item, just see what's there and come up with a concept on the spot. However, for a first run, I imagine a basic plan might be a really good idea, so I'll at least know what tools to take, and what to budget for materials.

Things I already know I'll need:

• camera (for documentation)
• something to sit on (there is a little drinking area there, that might suffice)
• a wide brimmed hat (there is no shade)
• some money to buy base materials
• some courage to talk to strangers about what I'm doing / trying to sell
• a basic tool kit (a way to cut things apart, a way to join things together, a way to clean up rough edges, a way to clean up dirty bits, a few spare parts, and whatever else seems like a good idea)
• ... other? A bag lunch. 'cause if no one is going with me, I can't just walk away from my project to get lunch, I guess.

Does this idea sound interesting at all? The Mr. wasn't really into it, but he's not really a Maker.

New! Content with actual content!

OK, last post, total cop out. Fortunately, I don't think anyone looked at it too closely! :)

On the topic of making a living as a gallery artist, versus not:

As I gather my application materials for this studio space thing, I have been meeting with some surprising internal resistance. I DO want the space, that is not an issue. My issue is what I do with my art. For a long time, I've been frustrated by the gallery art world. There are things about it that make me very uncomfortable.

A big issue - prices. It pisses me off to see a scribbled cocktail napkin going for $10000. Even though I think, well, good for them, that someone can make a living at art. In *any* way. But it's irritating. Because I know that if *I* scribble on a cocktail napkin, I'd be lucky if no one charged ME for the privilege of throwing it away. This is NOTHING to do with talent or skill. It's all about place / time / connections. That $10k napkin is a $10k napkin because that artist was in some particular situation to make it that way. Maybe it won't last forever, that situation, but the artist sure as hell will want to sell as many $10k napkins as possible in the meanwhile.

But I don't want that. Watch closely, because here's where it gets very squadgy indeed.

The thing I don't want is something I regard as crap going for a lot of money. Maybe I could make an infinitely superior scribble on a cocktail napkin, but if *I* think it is crap, I would die of shame before selling it to someone, much less displaying it publicly.

But the work I do, the work that meets my standards ... doesn't seem to be in much demand. There are only so many options in this situation. Create demand, change the work, or do something else altogether. (These options all assume I want to make some money with my work, which I do. Not so much for the money-have, but simply not to be a continued financial drain on my world.)

And that's where I get stuck. I know this studio space is a step in the direction of being that gallery artist. Fundamentally, I think it would be great to make money off my work, and that is an avenue that I could pursue. But I don't want to be the cocktail napkin artist, producing crap and selling it for mad money. It was pointed out to me that, in that context, the price is part of the piece. I don't like that. I don't feel comfortable with the meshing of value and aesthetic. Because I don't value money much at all. It is useful, but it's not interesting.

So... whether I get this studio space or no, I am going to need to figure out what I DO want. What IS a good exchange for my effort? How can I recover expenses without losing self-respect, which I can't afford? Knowing what I *don't* want only gets me so far.

Oh, and that picture is the beginning piece of the first complete object I will have made with my scroll saw. It's not very exciting, but I admit it tickles me that removing 18 tiny strips of wood makes 9 flat pieces of wood into a little shelf-esque thing.

And then you threw an octopus at my window

And here is the current work in progress. What is it? I don't know. I drew the design out, in a fit of responsibility/optimism. I started stitching in the middle, and plan to work my way out. I have an idea how the colors will go, and maybe the textures.

I'm sure there is too much to this design, and I might cut back on my plan to fill it all in (as I am doing with the bit that's already been sewn on), but who knows. The odds are pretty good that I'll get fed up with this and abandon it before it is done, as well. But for now I am quite hopeful, and some day would like to think of some more rewarding application and design for this stuff. Until then, I will be happily picking away at this hoop.

By the way, when I say I've been fixated with this, I mean just that. I've done almost nothing else for the past 3 weeks. Obviously this is a time consuming activity, and I'm probably slower than a person with more experience would be. Or, maybe the problem is that I go too fast and end up with mistakes and so on. I've never been one to let a little thing like that slow me down.

It is a SKILL, not a TALENT.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard that life drawing is a fantastic talent to have. I agree, it would be a fantastic talent to have.... if it were a talent. Which it is not. It's a skill. It can be taught, and frankly, it's not that hard to learn. I suppose it's possible that talent could make it a little easier or faster to learn... but it's also possible that talent makes it MORE difficult to learn, because it seems like it should be easier for an artistically talented person.

For me.... it's more difficult.

Here's why: For a lot of what I like to do artistically, practice isn't a big part of success. Yes, I get better as I do things more often, but in essence, I like the first try, too. This is not the case for life drawing. I get very frustrated with my life drawing skills, and I know it is because I don't practice. I've taken classes, I've read really excellent books about this. I've done a ton of professionally designed exercises. And yet.... I still suck if I don't have step by step guidance. And it's because I don't practice enough.

What you are looking at up above is (left) a drawing of my own hand I made 3 weeks ago, and (right) a drawing of my hand I made this morning, following the explicit instructions in a book by Betty Edwards called Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain: Workbook. If you want to learn to draw, check out her books. They are excellent. The workbook is a really good hand-holder for those of us who are unbelievable slackasses about the practice part of it.

It's always so nice at the beginning.

As always, click for bigger.

This is the canvas I've just started a few days ago. It's not going to be B&W, I haven't even started painting yet. It's going to be acrylic paint. I really like the design, though. This is why I filled sketch book after sketch book, for years, with black line drawings, and consumed countless black Sharpies along the way... I'd start something like this, intending to color it in, and then fall in love with the B&W, and not be able to bear adding color. What if I didn't love it?!

Then I learned about photocopying...

This won't photocopy, though. It's 30cm x 150cm.

Distraction/Documentation

It's always late at night when I remember that I forgot to take pictures of my most recent work/progress. At which time, I *don't* take pictures because with my lack of suitable lighting, it's virtually impossible to get good pics of flat things at night. Therefore, I hereby state my intention to begin each work day (usually M-F, but sometimes a weekend day also/instead) by taking pictures of whatever I worked on the previous day. Even if it sucks. Even if I stared at a blank sheet all damn day. Even if I'm busy.

Your part in this: If you are the type of person who wants to see stuff, and sees me on AIM or something, feel free to nag. Nag me in LJ. Nag me in e-mail. I hope to get this habit fully formed by the end of September, but we'll see, won't we? We all know how habits go...

Because no post here is really complete without a photo, I give you a snap shot of the pair of gentleman's drawers I saw in old town on the sidewalk on Sunday morning. I've noticed that Sunday morning is the prime time to see underwear on the sidewalk in this town. I make a habit of documenting it photographically, in case someday someone wants to give me a book contract chronicling the Sundarpants phenomenon. Unlike SOME people, I'm not so slack as to set up a web page requesting submissions of same, so I can eventually bundle that into a book. Or, I'm actually too slack to do that. It's definitely one or the other.

New Obsession: Candle Chimnies

The way my brain works, I like to know which objects fit together in the world. I don't know why, exactly, but it is somehow satisfying when a thing fits another thing. I can pick out the right wrench or socket just from looking at the bolt head, and I love assembling things like furniture because the parts fit together just so.

Like many people, our bathroom has some candles in it, and also toilet paper. Toilet paper comes on little cardboard tubes. And one day my Tab A/Slot A, Tab B/Slot B oriented brain decided that tea light candles fit exactly inside toilet paper tubes. I tried it, and sure enough. Just so. Sweet.

Ever since then, it has been bugging me that I should be able to Do Something with that little nugget of information. I figured a TP tube would make a good candle chimney, except for that pesky 'fire + paper = bad' business. And most of the ways I could think of to fireproof a cardboard tube weren't very conducive to decorative quality (since I tend to favor delicate filigree styles).

I decided plaster might be a good way to go, but plaster tends to saturate the tube because the process of setting plaster is very efficient at making water go away. For this same reason, the plaster tends to fall off, because it becomes rigid long before the water comes back out of the cardboard, so there is no longer a stable support structure for the thing plaster. Been trying to work this out for a while now, how to preserve the structural integrity, the design options, and the not-burning-down-the-house.

Last weekend, I knocked over a full glass of wine, and it sprayed all over the wall, because our glasses are optimally designed for liquid launching. Annnnnyway: this necessitates a fresh coat of whitewash on the wall, and then the lightbulb went on. Whitewash is slaked lime, which is to say, plaster that has already absorbed all the water it is going to, and when the water that keeps it fluid evaporates, it will be just as sturdy as plaster, but without soaking the cardboard.

Yay!

What you see here is my very first attempt at this method of making the thing I want to make, and it gives me a lot of hope that this is a worthwhile effort. I have delusions of making these things regularly ('cause, you know, we get re-supplied with empty TP rolls pretty regularly), and selling them online or at the flea market. The materials are cheap, the production will be easy, and the designs can be pretty much endlessly varied. And if I can sell these, I can maybe fund some of my other activities. Which would be awesome. Also, since they won't exactly be heirloom quality objects, I should be able to sell them for cheap, which everyone loves. Cheap, fancy things. I am pretty sure I can paint them and otherwise ornament them, as well.

Serendipitous Glimpses

Maybe this falls in the category of shoe-gazing, perhaps literally, but I love making pictures of little things I see on the ground when I'm out and about. They are invariably tiny details of the life of the sidewalk, but they please me a great deal.

Dunno if they are Art, except in the sense that they are capable of bringing to visibility that which only a few people ever apprehend directly.

The Heartbreak of Post Modernism

Last Saturday, I went to the local museum of contemporary art here in town, for a show on biomorphic forms in sculpture. This is right up my alley, if I had to choose one tidy phrase to describe my own sculpture, it could be that. As far as I can tell, the Kunsthaus Graz is generally regarded as a fine example of contemporary art exhibition - lots of group shows on interesting themes, a center just for Austrian photography, emphasis on mixed media and integration of electronic arts exhibits, and so on. Well curated, well documented (pamphlets and artist statements and all that). Presumably this means they are experts in their field, and when I go there I am visiting a shrine to St. Luke, holy ground, consecrated to the higher realms of capital-A-Art.

So.... why is it that every goddamn time I go to an exhibit of contemporary art, I come out angry? Am I not achieving the necessary enlightenment? Am I really so ignorant of what makes art good, in the sense of being worthy of my regard?

There's an argument that suggests that modern art is egalitarian. It's there for everyone, and so by extension, we can see that it's not there for ME (that would be elitism, you see). But I don't buy that. I am part of everyone, and if I am continually repelled by what's selected as an example of Art... there may be something amiss in the selection criteria.

One thing that really baffles me is that I can't for the life of me figure out what the selection criteria are. The selection isn't necessarily about quality of craftsmanship. It's not obviously about Concept. They have themes, so there's a vague sense of unity, but surely they don't simple accept the first 30 artists who have a good story about how their work connects to the appointed theme? Or maybe that IS the case.

Maybe I should just start submitting things to museums when they open calls for shows. I am persistently plagued by the belief that this is more about who you know than what you've got to show, but I could be fooling myself. Maybe I should sew breasts on a bath towel and start shopping it around to contemporary galleries, as Louise Bourgeous has apparently done.

Easily Amused.

I'm going to go take some pictures of things I've done this week RIGHT NOW, but for the time being, and because I'll want to review it later myself, I give you The FBI Art Crimes Web Site where you can read about what's been stolen from where and when. They say art crimes is a $300 billion annual losses for the law abiding world. I think if I'd known about this when I was going though career counseling in high school, I would've wanted to do that for a living.

The real down side of art theft, of course, is the movies about art theft, which are almost always trashy vehicles for people in the Top 10 Sexiest lists to make out in exotic places. (After the Sunset, Entrapment, Ocean's Twelve, and Bean*.) And, you know, if that's what art crimes is all about, than I guess I'm OK with being in the FBI team that works on that.

* Really, I just wanted to know if you are paying attention. Although the thing with the turkey was memorable, it wasn't in the same league as seeing Pierce Brosnan lick Salma Hayek's navel.

Further

Not as excited about this one as I would like to be, but it might be growing on me. I will give it time to ripen, but I'm not going to run out and get it framed just yet.

Thanks to some excellent advice, you can see my "extra white" paper now at least looks like it might be "at all white." (Not to be confused with "hussy white.") Still not a great photograph, but better. And I expect yet better in the future.

Which reminds me... I have spent a little quality time with my camera in the last couple of days. I confess, I've kind of been treating it like a flashlight... it's a handy electric device that I need to use sometimes, and I try to keep the battery fresh, and I can work the buttons without any thought. BUT! I've been shooting auto. Auto focus, sure, 'cause I have problems with that (eye-based problems) but also letting the camera work out the exposures and all that. And that's just lazy. Pure laziness, on my part. I can admit this.

So, I dug up the manual, learned the last 3 things I needed to know, in order to own the manual settings, and shot a few "rolls." As in, literally, I treated it like I was shooting film. 12, 24, 36 exposures of this kind or that (B&W, color, different speeds, etc) to get back in the swing of working the aperture and shutter settings. Sure, I took a lot of crap pictures, but then I eventually evened out, and can take the picture I want much, much faster and easier than trying to coax the full-auto modes to give me what I want. Hell, it was faster and easier than getting those same shots would've been on an old school SLR (non digital), even not counting developing & printing..

It amazes me sometimes how being lazy can actually make me do more work. Besides that, I bought the camera I have specifically because it has some features I really wanted in a digital--it's compact, it allows 100% manual control, it can shoot silently, and it's fairly powerful (considering the size). So there's really no excuse to treat it like a flashlight.

A Special Time

In every art project, I experience a moment of clarity. I know if it works, or if it does not. I know if the time I've already spent is worth it.

Sometimes, I know before I begin, before the first stroke of paint, before the first sketch. Sometimes I don't know until a long time after it's finished.

In the case of one of my current projects, the moment of clarity came to me after about 30 hours of back-bending, eye-squinting detailed painting. More, if you count the sketch I did before I started the "real" thing.

It's very encouraging, that moment of clarity. I won't make any sweeping generalizations, like "it's what artists live for" or even "it's what I work for" but I do think it's a vital part of the process. It's part of the creativity high, and it's an important part. No matter how much satisfaction one gets from the actual execution, the certainty that it's going to be all right is invaluable. Hard to explain, but it's a big relief. It's more validating that anything anyone else could ever say about the piece--fundamental, intrinsic satisfaction.

Last one for today, I promise.

Today I spent some time rummaging the stash of older drawings and paintings. I hung a framed thing on the wall, and took down a bunch of not-framed things. I chose some papers to stick in the recycling bin. I chose some items to frame, and I found new enthusiasm for some things I'd stick in the portfolio instead of the trash. All of which means I'm learning some things.

One of things I'm learning is not to judge too fast, or too harshly. I have learned that no matter how much I hate something when I'm working on it, if I stick it in a file until later, I can get some objectivity about things. I can throw it out later, too, and this practice significantly reduces the likelihood of discarding something that wasn't so bad after all.

The significant consequence of this habit is that after some period of time passes, I am confronted with some evidence of productivity, and of progress, and of the accumulation of a body of work. See, if I throw out every single piece I work on that doesn't satisfy me in some way, I would have exactly zero works left.

Today, after doing the spring cleaning, I actually felt somewhat pleased about what I've done in the past year. I can see the progress. I can see some directions to go. I have enough things in the file that I actually need to see about a new file. This is very encouraging. It flips the bird in the face of my inner critic, which is good.

Various/Sundry

In no particular order.

The Gabriel García Marquez excerpt, from One Hundred Years of Solitude, that I mentioned last week:

Don't talk to me about politics," the colonel would tell him. "Our business is selling little fishes." The rumor that he did not want to hear anything about the situation in the country because he was growing rich in his workshop make Ursula laugh when it reached her ears. With her terrible practical sense she could not understand the colonel's business as he exchanged little fishes for gold coins and then converted the coins into little fishes, and so on, with the result that he had to work all the harder with the more he sold in order to satisfy an exasperating vicious circle. Actually, what interested him was not the business but the work. He needed so much concentration to link scales, fit minute rubies into the eyes, laminate gills, and put on fins that there was not the smallest empty moment left for him to fill with his disillusionment of the war.

That's more or less exactly the relationship that I'd like to have with things I make. It would keep me fully occupied, so that life's annoyances could be held at bay. And, ideally, people would pay me directly with art supplies. All the better if it's pure gold!

Next: Go and see about Brandon Bird's art. He's *awesome*. In my opinion, his obsession with Christopher Walken only makes it better. Also, the Last Supper was, in fact, in desperate need of a good RoboCop. There's a good chance you'll recognize at least one or two of them, the one with David Hasselhoff and the cuttlefish has been around. The Law & Order coloring book and greeting cards, and Nobody Wants To Play Sega with Harrison Ford are some of my favorites. Also, Blood Sport would've been a much better film had it in fact starred Abraham Lincoln. There is a line drawing of the mythical, mystical creature known as the Wooly Norris, as well. Any time spent roaming around Bird's galleries is time well spent!

Next: Mr. Man took me over to the super-mega-god-shops-here art supply today for birthday goodies, and I got all manner of frivolous, silly stuff. Scented purple writing ink. (It was that or the invisible ink, but to be honest, most of my handwritten letters go to my 86 year old grandmother, who probably already has enough trouble reading my letters.) Copper flake brush ink. A nice smoke grey fountain ink in a fetishy little tin. I also picked up some starter materials for sculpting, and I'm itching to get back into some 3D work. So, hopefully you will see some of that here soon.

Finally, check out Little Robot, a Glasgow based paper/low relief artist whose work I first encountered on Etsy. I really dig her use of twilight color schemes, and the way anyone can have a beard, even a lady. Especially a lady. I think some of those gentlemen are ladies, anyway.

If you think of art as a bunch of cats, this is where René Lalique's Persian got over with Mark Ryden's moggy. Very stylish and nostalgic, but not in the maudlin way.



Of course, sensible people probably don't think of art as a bunch of cats. But I wasn't going to point fingers.

Copyright Discussion

I'm pretty sure I don't personally know anyone as obsessed with this issue as I am, which is ironic because I actually don't get paid for anything I do creatively. When people take stuff I've posted to the internet and do whatever with it that they're going to do, it actually does NOT represent a concrete financial loss to me. Notice how that last sentence doesn't start with the word "If..."? I actually rather suspect that people like me may be a big part of the problem, but that's a conversation for another day.

However, I can appreciate why this is of vital interest to people who do get paid for what they do. There is a catch-22 at work here: In this time and place, the internet is the primary means of direct marketing. It allows the widest possible audience to see your work, in both a targeted and shotgun sense, and when creative folks pursue employment, there is a clear expectation that they have a website gallery, portfolio, or catalog. Putting images and/or text on the internet, and then actively preventing people finding it accidentally is actually surprisingly difficult.

Copyright law appears to be of only marginal interest to people who take for free, the work that other people have done, because it's difficult to enforce any of the body of existing laws in regard to things found on the internet. The moral of the story, as indeed the photographer in this Wired article has learned, is not to leave your stuff laying around on the internet. She has pulled all her public images into a private setting, and would be foolish to believe that's sufficient protection.

She admits some people react like she's a "crazy cat lady" when she stands up for her right to protect her works, an unpopular stance in certain online circles. The notion that anybody should be able to freely help themselves to her work boggles her mind, she says.

"If I want socialism in America, I want medical insurance first," Hartwell said. "I don't want people just taking my stuff and saying, 'We're going to redistribute this to the masses.'"

Apparently the "certain online circles" referred to above includes Wired readers; the reader comments on this article are predictably scathing. Somehow, it seems the photographer is unbelievably arrogant to believe that her own work is supposed to go on paying her bills, and unbelievably stupid to believe that other people should respect her authorial rights, and possibly even the law. The conception of the internet is the outlaw wild west of civilization is not without merit. One hopes that someday law and order will be brought by the new sheriff, but as with other frontier lands, the folks who live there now like it that way. I know from personal experience that creative folks generally can't not create, but when they can't afford to pay rent and eat, the quality and quantity of the work invariably goes down.

I believe that there is a movement toward handmade, individually crafted objects of all types, things you can see on the internet, perhaps, but only have in person. Customized computer and iPod cases, knitted things, and so on. This is probably a response to the extreme mass-manufactured-ness of modern life. However, if all those designs for the nice handmade things are being beach-combed off the internet, I predict there will come a point where the creators and designers discover that they don't feel like using their internet connection to upload someone else's livelihood.

I Believe.

Lately I find myself inclined to preface statements with phrases like these:

- I believe...
- In my opinion...
- If you ask me...
- From my perspective...

There are many variations on this qualifier, I'm sure you get the idea. Sometimes I feel like I need to construct an airtight signature disclaimer, which I can append to every single expressed thought that comes out of my head, so that no matter what, everyone will know that what I've said has its roots in my perspective, not in the externally agreed reality. This is always the case, of course, even with perceived facts (such as the externally agreed reality), but that's a whole other philosophical discussion.

Why do I feel like I need to remind people that when I say something, I'm expressing my point of view? Am I afraid that people will take me too seriously, and accept something I've said as opinion, as a universal fact? (This has happened, and it disturbs me.) Am I afraid that without the qualifier, my opinions are too strong? (Too strong for whom?) Am I concerned that sometimes people cannot distinguish persistent facts from opinions? (this is certainly true, but I'm not sure how much I care.)

More likely, this is my reaction to seeing people express their own opinions as universal facts. I am the type of person who tries to live a corrective life. I try to do right, the things I think other people are doing wrong. This is probably an extension of having a naturally critical/analytical temperament, and in a real sense, it punishes me for the sins of the world. If you do badly this time, I need to do better next time. This trait also leads me toward a profound tendency to begin interactions with some variant on the theme You Are Doing That Wrong. It's endlessly useful, if we're talking about proofreading and critical analysis, troubleshooting, crisis management.

It's less useful if you're talking about something that someone holds very near and dear.

Opinions are a kind of fact, of course. It's the fact of what's true for a given individual at a given time. As such, they can't be disproven or invalidated... they can only be discarded and replaced. But, for the duration of their glory, they are true. Totally and completely true facts. That is probably why people feel so strongly about pushing them into other people's faces. It's Truth! It's Reality! I Believe This, And It Is Therefore True, And Must Now Be True For You Also! Crusading IS irritating, isn't it? No matter how beautiful we look, with the Light of Righteousness beaming out of our heads...