So, today I came clean about my heritage

In an encouraging message I got the other day, it said that they couldn’t think of nothing better than “someone like me” doing well. Which in all honesty made my day (or my month) because I respect this person in all totality. But then, in my born-into me skepticism… I was forced to wonder what “Someone like me” is. Who is someone like me? Is that stupid? Someone who tries but doesn’t quite get there. Someone working class etc.  It’s a typical Smizz thing to do to turn a possiitive into a negative. But It really has got me thinking.

Who is someone like me? For real.

We have these what I like to call ‘elitest’ meetings (makes me feel proper special - all Art&Language without the conceptual nature. ) There’s a select few of us who attend: 4 second years (including myself), 2 MA students, 1 first year and 1 Lecture/’Real’ Artist- out of office hours.

We have come to use the empty spaces that the Artworld, and its institutions such as Artschool running as a business, provides. How the plausibility of revolution, the classist view- the actual making and love of what we do as artists - is somewhat missing - in the marketisation of the gallerist and collectors etc.

We encouraged each of us to create a somewhat ‘virtual’ artist of what we would like to see in the artworld. Perhaps a projection on what we would like to be. Or create - or have in the future.

Mine came to me as a Colombian workin’ class kid, who was lucky enough to secure a scholarship at New York City Visual Arts under Kosuth (we can time travel) and they rented a place on the Lower Eastside and was part of the PAD/D movements. to put it in a nutshell.

Then I came out with it, when questioned. I’ve never openly admitted it; although we sometimes joke in passing judgements. But I’ve never EVER felt British/English or White.  I’m not sure where I fit; but i feel more black African American. mainly because of my upbringing.

Exploited, repressed, poverty stricken, culture fed by myself which is just movies, American sit-coms and hip-hop music. (That’s not me sayin - that’s what every Black African American does- because clearly it’s not. Nor am I suggesting I feel the pain of 2,000 years of slavery and still have racial abuse) but there are parrells in Working class society within a middle class structure. 

Growin’ up I struggled really hard to find out what suited me. Domestic violence; alcoholism; (there’s more) I know how to make a ketchup sandwich last all day.  I was bullied real bad in Junior school because I couldn’t afford Nike sneakers. And cuz I loved drawing. I’ve been classed as mentally retarded / having learning disabilities twice!!

Then in Highschool I turned all Chavvy in order to fit in. Shop lifted- gettin’ drunk in the park on White Lightening- becoming a DJ - attempted 2 make cool music videos - gettin’; int nightclubs before was necessary - didn’t try at school because it was the uncool thing to do. All the time I knew it wasn’t me. This ain’t who I am. But it’s what becomes of the majority of people where I come from. 

 this was all in about a year of hittin teen-dom. Then I got lucky - and a science teacher saw some potential in me, and got me off the dodgy road and helped me on the straight on. I feel honoured that I can pin point the moment. AND That some1 took a chance on “someone like me.”

That’s when I discovered graffiti - art - hip-hop- movies - Marxism- all this./ I educated myself. And everything felt right. I felt accepted. It felt like me. This was me. tHIS IS ME.

I ain’t denying my roots no more - I dunno where they are from - some are Irish; some are Polish the others i don’t know. But I know, I ain’t white. My culture and identity is fragmented from my oppressors who have stood before my ancestors before me.

And you know what, it felt good to say it out aloud- seriously. It sounds ridicolus. People think I put it on; but this is really how I have created myself from a young age and it feels right.

A fear that’s been circulating in my head lately, besides global avian flu pandemic and bad failure, has been privacy. not being certain who to share my life and experiences with. not that i have this egoistic idea that my life is circulated around the water thingy. i was recently reminded of an incident in which my hanging out with some people turned into a live journal entry. and then i realized my life could be public outside of my control. which made me uncomfortable.

Yeah, I know its world wide - and I like that I get loads of readers - thus why I try and post everyday to get more - yet it hinges me to think someone BIG someone who I know as a colleague or friend of a friend might have read this. It becomes so much more personal when it gets personal!

which makes me think all the time that bill murray was so right about fame and fortune. try fortune first. but maybe this fear is a hang up. a conservative view from an old man. maybe i need to sharpen with the times. recognize that every life is public on some level. realize that the public can be manipulated for my own gain. but i don’t have the energy. to be splashy in an attempt to spread the name, increase brand presence. another aspect of privacy that irks me is the tracking of my choices, particularly when it comes to purchases and destinations. i understand the positive of buying a ticket to an african american film, increasing the market for such endeavors, but i don’t like the idea of my buying expensive imported olives used as a tool to eradicate other items in the supermarket that are equally as vital. i have no example. anyone with a club card gets where this is going. or should. we are being assessed as to what our brains want on a level that is very smart, but begins to smell like a track. a slowly narrowing of choices, alterable only through riot. i just want to have a billion niche items at my fingertips.

and again, rambling without giving thought to what i’m trying to convey. perhaps i should keep a live journal, afterall, get all nitty n gritty with you. i SUGAR COAT most things.or buy sea world and set the whales free. i chose a pretty stupid thing to love doing, writing a blog when ever i’m bored, if i’m gonna be worried about privacy.
Enjoy your freedom people.
when the time comes i will unsettle these words to rise at all cost & at every risk to myself will i defend this judgment-your time is useless if thats what you make of it. the decission for risk doesnt have much time allotted. this is the “now” i speak of.

to Never hold back a mOment that you might regret stumbling Words with.

crafting words to rise common meaning within you is the simple part-complexing the idea so the select will understand the movement as a task-i’ve spent a weeks shorebound & i’ve felt the sand part beneath my feet & the sun color my skin-my inspiration dulled without a sense of time-i’ve become oxidized in the sense that i’ve been over exposed to a sharp oxygen/hydrogen molecule & as calming as it is-i find myself fitted against the tide now-the shoreline seems to receed as the white wash peeks at my feet.

here is where i fell-this is where land met water & i knew why.

i’ve only begin to hold on

what is it to have faith? The way to collect knowledge?

The only person who doesn’t have a Mac book is a philosopher. Wow.

All of our desire is for the past. A place and a time and where is the right place to host a host? Nobody knows death whilst death is the closest thing we can get to access our Being according to Heidegger because it gets rid of a the tedious nature that clogs our journey to finding it. There is a constant process of Being and not existing.

The moment that we grasp the present – it is gone.

Does time exist?

Does History exist?

Everything we do exists in time + in history. The story of death is absolutely fundamental. With death there is a birth. We look to Christianity for examples and the occurrence of Western Philosophy with the death of both of their creators – Jesus and Socrates.

We look to se7en for an amazing example of the gift of Death.

Now that is pure genius.