In my early life, my Art Degree was a disappointment. I was a struggling Artist. At every turn I was unable to utilize all the skills and knowledge gained. Proving myself was was more about how I looked and who was recommending me. A Stranger on the scene, on the make with very limited social skills. Chip on my shoulder with over the top confidence got in the way often.My ambitions was weighing me down because it was not happening fast enough. My belief then, if I was going to be an Artist, I have to get busy being one, now. I have to get busy producing Art, now.After committing two years of sequestering myself to painting. The self imposed demand that my works earn me a living was the next hurdle. To get any rewards or recognition for my work I had to face my dilemma. Overcoming being an introvert. I was living in the Golden State, where I wanted to be. Came here after high school seeking a new frontier. All the resources at my disposal.I was at the River banks of the money flow, couldnt get a cup, to get a scoop. Couldnt even get wet. Get the drift? I Love the metaphor of the River of Money. My Dad used it to give me a life lesson on getting hold of money. I was already grown at fifteen and full of myself, didn’t get it. My concern with possessing money was already eroded, because of the lack of it in my Mother’s world, as a boy. I loss the taste for it. I was already transformed into the idealist, the activist, having found Art.
I was a young man’s whose ambition was to create the Artist persona that would support a creative life, free, and now (in revolutionary terms,) a mercenary. Now I have to make money with the Art I have accumulated in my self imposed isolation. My art was now priced for a quick sale. The thirsty struggle was at my doorstep. My basement studio was a responsibility that was increasing each year. My rent was always in arreares. I was living at the crossroads of L.A.’s financial corridor. My friend Gill, exposed my shallow pride. He asked why I didnt go upstairs go on the corner and sell my work. I couldnt do it for many reasons that I cared to explained, he wouldnt have it. He would show me. He would demonstrated how it was done. Still I couldnt stand on the corner, peddling my work, I kept thinking that only cheapens my work. Gill had had some successes only because of his talent as a salesman. Still the results wasnt encouraging enough. The action would highjacked my practice. Time spent on the corner was time taken from the studio. It also exposed the thirst that i was aflicted with and the fact that there was a paradox involved.This Painting “By the River, can’t get a Drink” from the Rag Series, expresses the craving that I had developed. when the realities of being an Independent Artist exposed itself, I found myself in a delirium. There I was, just out the forest in search of the river. I was in the clearing from the trees. From the river banks, I could smell, I could hear, and I could see the water as it flows, a river of Money.I am trying to reach beyond its banks, only the footing on the bed rocks is a challenge to negotiate, and surmount. Occasionally I slip, get bruised as well as my feet get wet. Still, I trod on, eager to get closer. For a dip at first, then before i know it, I was too deep. Now I had to swim, because the currents was swift and it was not pleasant wade. I wish to be back on the banks. If I could just get hold of a vessel I would have a share, manage its measure.
This crafting is my musing of my position in the metaphor that inspired this offering, to the Rag Series. The struggle to get a foot hold, then all of a sudden to find myself too deep, forecasted my eventual turn around of personal fortune and having to navigate it. Then a survival issue of sustaining having too much that I am drowning in it. I need to get a vessel, just for a scoop. I can never have a pleasant experience by the River of money without a container, I declare.
While, some people are still trying to get to the clearing from out of the forest, some are on the banks, too busy getting a footing on the rocks, some are ankle deep, some are up to their waist, some with cups, some with Vessels, some are wading, and some are swimming for their life.
The metaphorical insistence this piece demands inspires this thirsty artist to revive his craft. As I age and allow the adventure of life to sometimes get the better of me, the better now reseeds within. This painting, this artist, succeeds in his hope others will see the light.
bernardhoyes 
The metaphorical insistence this piece demands inspires this thirsty artist to revive his craft. As I age and allow the adventure of life to sometimes get the better of me, the better now reseeds within. This painting, this artist, succeeds in his hope others will see the light.
Thank you Sir.
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Thanks for relating.
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