Thomas Arthur Schaefer
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Thursday, May 11, 2006

If I Focus My Desires On The World, Perhaps They Will Manifest Once Again

I am everything. I am everywhere. I am infinite.
...even in communist Cuba.


Arrggg... paint - paint - paint... that's all I've been doing lately. But I'm optimistic that I'll start hitting some real milestones on works in the next few weeks. Milestones that I've been working toward on some works for over 3 years in fact. Finishing work is one thing, an extremely difficult one at that, but the real situational comedy for the modern artist (at least one that wholely supports themselves through their work) arises when one attempts to find a suitable venue to display the work. Even harder is getting the masses to attend this debacle. And the hardest issue one faces is selling the work... that is if you're interested in making money on it, but there is also more than making money in a transaction such as that (at least for myself... maybe that's why I've been giving so much of my work away this year).
So... last night I was sitting in my living room on my new furniture (note: There will be a ritualistic burning of the shit furniture an unnamed relation {mother} left at my house soon or I'll just dump it this weekend somewhere)... and I need a few pinball machines too, fuck a dining room set... preferably Bally's from 1960's -1970's but anyways, so I'm sitting on my new furniture reading another PKD book and I started to get the idea in my head that I'm just really tired of doing all this work. I've been pondering this fruitcake-logic for a quite a few months now. The consistant/constant generation of ideas and then emergance of material objects that serve no real purpose, except unto themselves. So I'm sitting there thinking this and then the next thing I know, I some how realize that I'm in my studio (which is finally finished) fiddling away at some set of works. And at that second it hits me... I realize that I don't remember even walking into the studio and starting work, but I had been doing it for almost 3 hours at that point. I walked back into the house and there was the book on the couch with it's bookmark in place. Now, I wasn't drunk. I wasn't high on drugs. I wasn't taking Ambian. I simply don't remember getting up from that couch and walking to the studio. I don't remember unpacking the materials I was currently working on. Nothing. There had been an obvious physical action applied to the works and they had advanced to a stage I hadn't even considered some 5 months previous when I packed them away, yet it was the right solution. A solution that I had obviously arrived at by myself. And it hits me... that thing that I'm always saying to myself everytime I get down on my work or life... which is pretty frequent lately. It's that one thing that really stuck with me since I read that Hirst book 4 years ago 'On The Way To Work'. That damn'd simple, but marinated in truth ideal that Van Gogh said. The artist is always 'on the way to work'... that's the only logic I can use to explain why I suddenly manifested myself in the studio in the act of work, despite that fact that I was internally struggling with the idea of 'on the way to work' some 3 hours earlier. Strange things are afoot in the house of Schaefer. So to elucidate on the statement I made at the beginning of this post 'I am everything. I am everywhere. I am infinite'. It just makes sense. — Err maybe it was VALIS transmitting the information to me via a pink laser beam to my skull... ohh wait that was PKD. Whatever the situation I'm wondering if i wake in the middle of the night and work in that studio unbenounced to myself. I already have the problem of waking up in the morning with 3x5 index cards scrawled with concepts for work on a daily basis over the past few months. This too, I don't remember doing, but the cards are neatly written by my hand, some even with percise diagrams. I must have been 'on my way to work' when I did those too I suppose. I just don't know... somethings gotta give... things are just really unfamiliar at this point in my life. I need some kind of ordered semblance for all the shit in my head. Noctural emissions are supposed to come from your dick when you're asleep... not manifect as ideas on index cards or application to displaced projects.

MAILING TRANSFERRAL
May 11, 2005
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BARKER - Villians 8 (postcard w/ 2-1" pins)

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