A cold, tiny room w just a mattress on the floor in a share house, a fifteen year old car on the verge of breakdown, $140 in my account to last for 10 days. A storage unit full to the brim of unsold paintings - remnants from my last 20 shows. No wife, no kids. Family far away...
I don't know whether I am living in poverty because I am an artist or whether I would be anyway and being an artist is my salvation that allows me to escape/express myself/focus/be dilligent/feel satisfaction with life.
Either way, poverty sucks.
It has been suggested I get a thing called a job. But this has proven difficult for me at the best of times. I don't like authority. I don't like rules. I don't like time restrictions. In short, I am not the ideal employee.
So, I just carry on, year in year out, doing my work, having shows, creating pictures and comics and paintings. Hoping that one day I will fall out of obscurity and uncover a way to make a decent living.
I am an outsider, really. I don't belong or function well within the system - specifically the economic system. And, sadly, that is the dominant system of our time. Money rules. Greed prevails. Corruption, cheating. Morality and compassion while high on the list of many is suppressed and disregarded by those with power and money and lust for it.
I shrug, I whimper, I sigh. I am relegated to the outskirts. I quietly continue to follow my own truth, my destiny - humble, simple, honest. A constant struggle.
And still within it, there are moments of glorious freedom, joy, discovery, laughter and wonder. I interact with nature, people and the unfolding mysteries of each day. I make the most of my time here on planet E, keep my head above water and my face to the sky. The sun is out today. Time for a swim!