I am happy to announce that today is ART BLOG ART BLOG's one year anniversary! In celebration, I am re-posting my very first post by Martin Creed:
Work #470, 2005, Martin Creed
If you're lonely...
Work... this is work. This is hard work. Talking about work is work.
Thinking is work. Words are work. Words are things, shapes. It's hard
to compose them, to put them in any kind of order. Words don't add up.
Numbers add up! Things are everywhere. Everything is something,
everything has something, but not everyone has someone. It's hard to
distinguish between things, to separate things. I'm in a soup of
thoughts, feelings and things, and words. Actually, it's more like a
purée... or thick and stiff, like a paté. I'm in a paté and it's hard
to move. It needs a lot of work to get out of it — or to separate it
and find something in it. Thoughts, thoughts, sometimes I want to stop
them, but it's hard to stop them. It's work. Dealing with thoughts,
that's work.
Thoughts, thoughts, don't come! Stop! Please! When you're going to
sleep and you can't stop thinking, thoughts queueing up, that's when
you need drugs — or a notebook.
I want something to ease the pain. I want to get out of my head.
Smoking used to help. For a long time smoking made my life bearable. I
gave up smoking because I couldn't do it enough. I couldn't smoke
enough. It was never enough. I wanted to smoke all the time, to breathe
in all the time, but I couldn't, not in the shower, not when I was
talking, not when I was eating. I wanted something I could do all the
time. Not smoking, that was something I could do all the time.
I am an addict in search of drugs.
Maybe working is trying, and work — the result of work — is everything
that one tries to do. Trying... looking for excitement, or trying to
handle it and use it to get out of the paté. Trying to do things;
talking. Or maybe testing is a good way of putting it: testing things
out. Testing things out by putting things about, and all the time
trying, hoping to be excited, wanting. Wanting is what makes me work:
excitement, desire for something.
Sometimes people say: 'What the fuck do you think you're doing? That's
not art.'
I say: 'Fuck off, assholes!'
Assholes... they are something to get excited about, something to work
for.
Work is a fight against loneliness, against low self esteem, against
depression, and against staying in bed. Sometimes my self esteem is so
low that I cannot reach it even when I'm feeling down.
I want to be on my own, but I don't want to be alone.
Work is everything, I think. Everything is work. Everything that
involves energy, mental or physical. So... everything, apart from being
dead. Living...
I don't know how anyone can do it.
How can anyone get through it?
I can see why people hide.
I can see why people commit suicide.
If you're lonely,
If you're sad,
If you're lovely,
If you're mad,
Then this is for you.
© Martin Creed 2005
Work #470
Work... this is work. This is hard work. Talking about work is work.
Thinking is work. Words are work. Words are things, shapes. It's hard
to compose them, to put them in any kind of order. Words don't add up.
Numbers add up! Things are everywhere. Everything is something,
everything has something, but not everyone has someone. It's hard to
distinguish between things, to separate things. I'm in a soup of
thoughts, feelings and things, and words. Actually, it's more like a
purée... or thick and stiff, like a paté. I'm in a paté and it's hard
to move. It needs a lot of work to get out of it — or to separate it
and find something in it. Thoughts, thoughts, sometimes I want to stop
them, but it's hard to stop them. It's work. Dealing with thoughts,
that's work.
Thoughts, thoughts, don't come! Stop! Please! When you're going to
sleep and you can't stop thinking, thoughts queueing up, that's when
you need drugs — or a notebook.
I want something to ease the pain. I want to get out of my head.
Smoking used to help. For a long time smoking made my life bearable. I
gave up smoking because I couldn't do it enough. I couldn't smoke
enough. It was never enough. I wanted to smoke all the time, to breathe
in all the time, but I couldn't, not in the shower, not when I was
talking, not when I was eating. I wanted something I could do all the
time. Not smoking, that was something I could do all the time.
I am an addict in search of drugs.
Maybe working is trying, and work — the result of work — is everything
that one tries to do. Trying... looking for excitement, or trying to
handle it and use it to get out of the paté. Trying to do things;
talking. Or maybe testing is a good way of putting it: testing things
out. Testing things out by putting things about, and all the time
trying, hoping to be excited, wanting. Wanting is what makes me work:
excitement, desire for something.
Sometimes people say: 'What the fuck do you think you're doing? That's
not art.'
I say: 'Fuck off, assholes!'
Assholes... they are something to get excited about, something to work
for.
Work is a fight against loneliness, against low self esteem, against
depression, and against staying in bed. Sometimes my self esteem is so
low that I cannot reach it even when I'm feeling down.
I want to be on my own, but I don't want to be alone.
Work is everything, I think. Everything is work. Everything that
involves energy, mental or physical. So... everything, apart from being
dead. Living...
I don't know how anyone can do it.
How can anyone get through it?
I can see why people hide.
I can see why people commit suicide.
If you're lonely,
If you're sad,
If you're lovely,
If you're mad,
Then this is for you.
© Martin Creed 2005
Work #470
In addition, I am happy to announce that ART BLOG ART BLOG will present a series of exhibitions at a temporary space in Chelsea. The first exhibit is curated by Jon Lutz of Daily Operation and it opens mid-May. Details to follow...
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