the shame of inspiration

so, many artists i know, or at least talk to, have torn judgements on the appearance of an artist's direct influences. some despise the give-in comparison of their work to a former master, be it picasso, basquiat, matisse, de kooning, while at the same time show no remorse in the blatant use of the tools these artists have given them. fuck that. to deny your history is to have no future.

if one were to view my work, they would instantly see my inheritances. i study the work of the aforementioned artists in depth, and by matter of course, their influence is directly noted. is there a musician alive today that has not heard the beatles? coltrane? dolly parton? doubted. and because they write a pop song in C, are they then merely a knock-off of some unattainable original sound? no.

as an artist, it is my job to connect to an idea and convey that idea to the best of my ability. i will make use of wildly popular images as well as extremely personal ones to convey a feeling that i have pertaining to that subject. this is what we do as humans, we co-opt ideas. we use colors to portray objects, just like every other artist. we use lines to define objects, but matisse is the master of line right? so it is done, move on. rothko mastered color, right, no more color. picasso mastered ego, so please start hating yourself. pollock popularized the chaos of drips, so watch your brushes! absurd.

there are art students who spend thousands of dollars and countless hours studying vermeer, only to graduate with a student show of mock outsider art. why? why should we study a technique only to abandon it completely in the name of originality? now is when you say, "well to break the rules, you have to know them". what rules, whose rules, when rules? i will say that the only rule is, metallica fucking rules! the rest of it is for jealousy and judgment. i hope this spell check is working.

you can see by my face that i look like my mother and my father, just as well, you can see in my work that i learned from my predecessors. i do not study michelangelo, i have no interest. the door he opened lead to picasso, matisse, and de kooning, who then opened doors for rauschenberg, johns, and basquiat, who in turn opened doors for me. i am not ashamed to say that the first person i recognized as a poet is jim morrison,(come on you lit fags, jump my shit about that), but it is truth. just as the first painter i connected with on a visceral level was basquiat. i will not out-grow these loves. i hope to one day develop a voice that is clear and inspirational, but i refuse to deny my father(s).