-----Original Message-----
From: Ray E. Harrell <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To: Ed Weick <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Cc: [EMAIL PROTECTED] <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>; Futurework
<[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Date: Monday, July 20, 1998 9:01 PM
Subject: Re: working alternatives ?
>So Ed,
>
>You know I admire you but I really hate this one. Most artists, by your
>definition, don't work until they make money on what they have done? By
that
>definition most of the world's great composers today never work. Van Gogh
never
>worked. He was an amateur?
Ray,
This is a tough one. I would argue that Van Gogh worked because he produced
items of tremendous value. The problem is that he never got paid for them.
Others did. I doubt very much that he knew he was working or even cared.
A very long time ago I attended an art school for a year. I had a friend
there who had the personality of Van Gogh, but not one iota of Van Gogh's
talent. My friend literally consumed himself during that year. While he
did not cut off his ear, he painted madly, wrecked his marriage, and wound
up a derilict. Was he working? He thought so. But I've never seen a
painting signed "Arny" next to a "Vincent" in any of the gallaries I've
visited.
We should not overlook that many of the composers and artists we revere
today worked in a rather bazare market economy. They had patrons who
expected them to produce. Look at poor overworked (and overused) Mozart.
Others were "amatuers" in the sense that had other jobs and could never
quite bring themselves to being full time artists. Brad McCormick mentioned
Charles Ives, an insurance broker. Wallace Stevens was a banker. They
were, nevertheless, successful artists because they left something of value
behind. And I'm sorry that I have to intrude the market here, but it does
come into play.
There are two kinds of artists I feel sorry for. One is represented by my
friend Arny, who had all of the passion but none of the talent. The other
is like the fellow mentioned by Brad McCormick, who simply kept himself too
busy at other things to write that great book. I have known people like
that. They are the greater tragedy because they are afraid of finding out
who they really are.
Best regards,
Ed Weick
