Dark Humor

One of my recent dribbles, this one had me rolling on the floor:

The Cold Light of Dawn

My art is not “cutting-edge” or avant-garde; it does not push the limits of what is acceptable. My subject matter is neither exciting, nor to most people particularly interesting, except perhaps as a passing fancy. Inasmuch as I am self-taught, my work is not technically dazzling or in any way groundbreaking. I strive to make my art the best I possibly can, but that is merely part and parcel of being an artist; it goes with the territory.

I create because I must, inspired not by a muse,* but driven by a demon; a demon that softly encourages me to follow my heart and, with malevolent logic cloaked in sweet-sounding words, so easily instills in me feelings of hope—hope that my work will have value, hope that my work will sustain me, hope that my work will live on when I die, hope that my work will touch others, hope that for once I’m not running headlong into a brick wall. A malignant Orpheus, the demon plays me like a lyre.

As the years pass by, my hopes and dreams withal unrealized, I become discouraged and grow tired of striving, but sometimes Fate will then conspire to toss me a bone—an exhibit here, an article there—just enough to raise my flagging spirits for a time. When at last I realize that I’ve once again allowed myself to be duped (or duped myself—it’s all the same), all I hear is the sound of my own voice, reminding me of what I’ve known for a long, long time: I must be the stupidest asshole ever born.

*I once had a muse, but that was many years ago, in a different lifetime.

– tobymarx, 2009

“Self-portrait as a Gargoyle” © 2003, Mark Ellinger

~ by tobymarx on 30 September 2009.