My Question: Part 1

What am I doing? Every day that question stampedes through my brain. Knocking shit over, breaking mementos from the past, leaving hoof prints on the rug, and doing more damage than I can afford. As many times as I have asked myself this, still, there is no answer. I, at 37 (closer to 38), haven't even come close, I don't think? There, the last  bit of the former sentence, "I don't think?", may be a clue. Now, of course, I do not mean "at all". What I mean is that I ask "what am I doing?" so often, machine-gun rapidity, that it has become meaningless. Its omnipresence has rendered it unanswerable. Therefore, I don't think about actually answering the question anymore and then it morphs into frustration to anger to sadness to guilt to depression to madness to me pulling my hair out and screaming while tears pour down my face, "What the fuck am I doing?".

what am I doing

what am I doing

what am I doing

what am I doing

what am I doing

?

Not having the answer has been torture. For a mind like mine that is already confused (every minute takes delicate attention and I must dissect details to ensure they are being processed the correct way and not misinterpreted) adding a universe of cloudy confusion makes matters significantly worse, as one could imagine. It is a balancing act for me to simply function and appear "okay", "normal", whatever it is that most people are. I thought this was hard when I was an alcoholic but this, being sober and only mentally ill, is Hell. I could guess that this is what it feels like to be in a war zone. You have to be on your toes every moment for bullets are whizzing by and one wrong move could be your end. I am not facing death every day but as anyone who suffers this can tell you, fear is fear. 

Real or imaginary, doesn't matter, and people will always remind me that anxiety can not kill me or that my delusions are exactly like hallucinations and all I have to do is tell myself, "this is in my head", but it doesn't fucking matter. Every night ends the same. I am exhausted, tense, horrified that all of my tomorrows will be just like today. All I am doing is "doing" for the sake of. I am going through the necessary motions to live to go through the motions to go through the motions again until I can't do this anymore. That is my life. I am only doing until I can not. 

This feels like a life wasted. All I want to do with my life is to help people by taking photos that change them, remind them of beauty, inspire them to create, move them, and/or improve their understanding of the world and its people. I know that seems like a lot, or maybe it doesn't? Maybe, what I want is impractical? Remember what I am having a problem with, "what am I doing?", and the "wasted life" feeling comes from the fact that I can barely help myself. If that is a fact then how can I help others? It is hard to do the work that I believe can help because I waste most of my time doing the necessary toil that allows me to subsist. I  think it is fair to blame this on society or, at least, the one I live in. 

This country places no importance on art. When I speak to people in other countries they are astonished, amazed, confused, and baffled by the fact that I receive no support from the government or the community for producing my work. Sure, we have NEA grants and the like, but what are they? What will $1000 a year get me? And they don't give them to everyone. My odds are not great that I will receive a grant, but let's say I receive every grant that is available to me this year. Do you know how much that would be? Not even $10,000. There is no chance in hell that I could win every grant that I apply to every year and even if I did there is no way to live off of that imaginary money. Even the jackpot $1000 grants are shit. That is not enough to create and live for two weeks. 5k wouldn't be enough, 6k, 7k, 8k 9k, 10k, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 18, 20k, fuck now we are talking if we are talking every six months and if we are talking for every artist who is producing. Cut the fucking shit, the shit, the phony fifth grade god damn essay contest style selection process we use to decide who is eligible for, which artist is in need of, meager money to do nothing worth while with because you know what? Do You Know What? FUCK YOU AND YOUR SOCCER MOM CULT COLLECTIVE OF COUNTRY BUMPKIN CRAFT MAKERS. FUCK YOUR ESSAY CONTESTS. WHAT IS THIS AND WHO ARE YOU? CALL IT WHAT IT IS. BECAUSE IF A GRAND IS WHAT YOU NEED TO MAKE SOMETHING GREAT THEN YOUR IDEA OF GREAT IS MUCH DIFFERENT THAN MINE. It has to be twenty grand every six months. To me, that is a reasonable amount of money to create, live, and exhibit ones work. That means from concept to culmination. Trust me, if you are reading this and thinking to yourself, "Why that is forty grand a year for an artist? That is too much. I ain't forking over my tax dollar for some artist to sit on his as and draw bullshit." Dude, that is nothing. That is low low low low low, but if you give that small amount you will see some artists busting their asses. They will show, not just their people, everyone in this country what they can do with the minimal, and they will gain the attention of the world. There would not be a human who would not be awaken. Who wants to be awake though and why doesn't our country give a fuck about art? Why, is this country alone, is the title Artist synonymous with doing nothing; with being unemployed? How come, when I tell someone I am an artist the next question is, always, without a doubt, in every situation, not 9 times out of 10 but 10 times out of 10,"but, what do you do for a living? You know, how do you make money?" and my reply is normally something like, "I suck your mom's dick",which goes over like free cupcakes. My point being that it gets old. Like being skinny and everyone telling you that you need to eat something, or as I imagine, being tall and everyone asking you if you play basketball. What fucking hits you in the cunt is that they are right. What do I do for money? It can't be this:

Why would photographs of our day and age taken by an artist of proven talent be of any value to a society? Why should I be paid to document this world, the way I see it? What does it add to our culture? Art defines our culture. The three questions I put forth should not be questions that any adult human should have trouble answering. Those questions shouldn't be asked for the answers are, to most, evident in our existence, too obvious for contemplation, or the type that fall into that category of questions of which there is apparently no category--stupid questions (blah "there are no such thing as stupid questions"). Oh shit, you are struggling aren't you? You, being an American, are having trouble with them, seriously though, those questions for anyone in any other civilized country on the blue green round world we live upon would be for a kindergartner, maybe younger, and not a particularly intelligent one at that.
And, you think I joke!
If that doesn't depress you then you are part of the problem. We Americans (not me of course) think nothing of culture. We place no value on it. We will notice when it is gone. As it is disappearing, being tossed away, booted or to use a phrase you all might understand we are saying "You're Fired" to our culture. Art matters more than weapons. Art matters more than sport. Art matters more than titties. Art matters more than distraction. Art matters more than you know. Art matters more than you care. Art in America is in danger of extinction. In order to stop this from happening America has to pay attention to its artists. She has to start taking care of them, nurturing them, pushing them, and supporting them. The Artist needs a place in America. France, Germany, The UK, Spain, Italy, on and on, they all make a place for artists who work hard at their discipline. We are too busy building better bombs. If that doesn't depress you then you are part of the problem. 

I am going to stop there. I am not done. Really, I have not even started. fa