Summer in the art world is a strange thing. It is the deep hot breath before the cool Fall exhale. Right now there are bunches of artists preparing for their upcoming shows in September & October - the big ballroom kickoff for art types and socialites. There is something adolescent and elementary schoolish about all of this. The galleries at the moment are experimenting or fulfilling their contractural obligations, or for quite a few of them, creating a bit of business by renting out their spaces to artistically inclined wannabes. The players are vacationing on the island - as they do every year - making deals, hanging at glittering parties for charities du jour or spending huge amounts of cash on self perpetuation. It's a different kind of crowd aesthetic, or maybe, the same crowd living with their hair down. I still remember the controversy from a few years ago when a socialite/publicist drove her expensive car into a group of people waiting to get in a club - then called someone white trash as she sped into the night. It seems there's another story like this splashed across the headlines of the media every week. The equestrian classes have different social rules, and apparently, a different legal system - Scooter not withstanding. There's no denying they have a different economic system. Can I find a way to blame this on Postmodernism? - hmmmm - give me a sec. Oh - why bother?

The hard part for so many of us is that we must compromise our ideals in order to live with the inequities of this American society. You have to have a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food on the table. We all compromise. "I can do x if I don't have to do y." But it all comes down to something my Dad once told me. "I'll shovel it, I'll carry it and I'll stack it - but don't ask me to Take It." My Dad fought 2 years in Vietnam. Never talked about it. He suffered a major stroke while undergoing a second heart surgery in the early 90s. After that he had a hard time differentiating past from present - it all ran together. One day on the phone with me he got very agitated and started yelling, "Get the choppers down here - they're coming over the wall! It's a world of shit son! Pop the box (I think he was talking about ammo)!" You don't understand how your parents live when you're young, but one day, the compromises they made begin to make sense. My Dad was White Trash, and for that matter, so am I. But the nice thing is - so is Jasper Johns - I know this because he said so in an interview I read during my college years. As I was struggling with my future - suddenly I felt like I could make REAL art. I didn't have to just take it - my Dad's homespun wisdom suddenly made sense in MY life. Jasper was a big hero in my earlier years - he freed me - I still have a soft spot for his work, but more, for his rigorous intellectual investigation about visual art and painting. Here was an artist who wasn't just going to take it. My Dad died in 1997. He was up all night. He couldn't sleep, and after years of surgeries, medication and pain, the end came all at once just before dawn. He did not want to go - he was loved and he loved. I flew home the next day and said my goodbyes. I guess I'm telling you this for two reasons. One, because even though my Dad and I were extremely different in temperament and history - he had a huge sweet nature - in spite of his weak heart - that overcame his many failings. Two, because he is as important to me as Jasper or Matisse or Picasso. I miss him.

One of the art blogs I read occassionally was speculating about why we don't see a Guernica from this generation, or for that matter, painters like Picasso or Dekooning. There are many reasons for it. I think it has something to do with the overriding power of money and media, but it has more to do with honesty and truth. To reveal oneself, to "finish" a painting (as we've discussed), to push an idea to it's conclusion, and see it for what it is rather than what it might be is something artists don't do anymore - better potential rather than realization - better desire rather than passion. Matisse pushed and pushed and pushed and always followed his reasoning to its finish. There were lots of failures, but the few successes changed Art and painting. There aren't very many artists willing to take those kinds of intellectual chances. There are fewer who are willing to shovel, carry or stack while maintaining their own direction. There are fewer still who are willing to fight and face themselves for who and what they are. Yep, this line of reasoning is Romantic and earnest - but after 40 years of POMO it's time for new vision, and that vision will be coloured by the truth of our lives rather than the cleverness of our ironies. It will come from those of us who understand what it means to be run over while waiting in line. It will come from those of us who just won't Take It. After the promises of this year's Summer art production what will this fall's visual bounty be about? We are hoping for something richer and more fulfilling.