What is it without honesty?

An artist has been defined as a neurotic who continually cures himself with his art.  ~ Lee Simonson 

It has to be honest. It doesn’t matter what it is, what label it fits under. As long as you can connect to the humanity in it.

Isn’t it part of the point of this life thing? To connect to someone, or something. To feel like someone out there understands you. Understands that we’re all a bit broken. That as different as we claim we are, we’re all the same. That we love and lose, survive when we’re sure that we can’t.

So how do you make something honest if you don’t put your heart and soul into it? Don’t rip yourself apart and put everything out there. How can I expect you to connect to some paint thrown around if I don’t put a part of me in it? Whether it’s a cutesy little picture with a few select words or something that has destroyed me, it won’t connect if it’s empty.

Isn’t this what an artist is meant to do? Put images, sound, words, movement, to emotions. To try to put those same things to how we see the world. To do it in a way that makes you find something in it, because when it comes down to it, as much as I do this for me I hope that when you see it you find something in it, something that you can relate to.

This is everything for me. How I survive. This is how I connect to myself. And to you, because anyone who really knows me knows how much I fail at connecting with people in the flesh. And it’s hard. And it’s scary. But it’s nowhere near as hard and scary as it is to try and be someone else. Nowhere near as hard as it is to try and function in this world without repeatedly breaking myself apart on canvas.

But is spewing the crap that’s inside my head and heart even art? Or is it just a way to avoid spending thousands on a therapist. I’ve been down the psychiatrist/psychologist/therapist route, had more of them than I can count on one hand and none of them ever helped me as much as picking up a pencil has. So is this art or art therapy?

But if there is a part of me in each piece, actually me and not just what I think you want to see, it's honest. And if it's honest there is a chance that you might connect. That you might find something in it that helps you. But even if it's honest and you connect is it art? Or is that what makes it art?

I'm going to be a fucking optimist.

A pessimist is one who makes difficulties of his opportunities and an optimist is one who makes opportunities of his difficulties. ~ Harry Truman

I’m going to put good vibes out into the planet and wait for the good things to come back to me.

Or that’s the plan anyway. Not that I think that this is going to stop me making miserable art. I’ve got enough ideas and things locked away from the past 28 years to fuel miserable art for another 50 years, at least, but it’s time to stop getting lost in them. Time to take this happy buzz I have going and send that out to grow and be. Who knows maybe I will turn into an optimist. Maybe optimism is naïve. But fuck it, as R. Buckminster Fuller said ‘dare to be naïve’.

So I’m going to put everything into making art, I’m going to let it rip me apart and put me back together then send it out into the world to have other people connect to it, laugh at it, rip it apart or ignore it. But I’m an optimist now so it will all go perfectly, every piece will be loved, I won’t sell anything for under 3 billion dollars each. I will get to live in all the countries I want to live in and I will get my castle complete with a moat.

But if it doesn’t and it’s hated or ignored at least in twenty years I won’t look back and wonder what it could have become if only I was brave enough to throw it out there.

Here’s to being an optimist. Where's the vodka...

Ears are dancing around with: John Butler Trio
Eyes are still reading A Child Called 'It' by Dave Pelzer

Absconhuh?

"And sometimes it is kind of nice to try to hold onto your anonymity."

I keep getting asked what Absco-abscontis-abscondeetis-how the hell do you say it?! What does it mean and where did you find it. So here comes a short lesson and a story.

absconditus

ab-scon-di-tus
Latin

ADJ

hidden, secret, concealed; cover, disguised; abstruse, recondite

Around three years ago a friend decided he was going to make me a website. Come to think about it I may have promised to buy him a Ferrari if I got rich. I’ll have to put that in my will because there’s a rumour out there that you don’t get rich from art until you die, if at all. So far this is proving to be true. Anyway back to the website, he was going to call it nikkiparker.co… but that seemed way too scary and would mean I’d actually have to admit to being behind things.

Off I was on a quest to find a name to hide behind. So I did what anyone would do, I read the dictionary. Yep, was a riveting read that one. But I did come out with a collection of words and decided on recondite. Recondite turned into reconditus because Latin is better than English. Though by this stage my friend had temporarily dropped off the planet and I figured the whole thing was dead.

Fast forward to December 2010 and I’m standing in gallery in Queenstown having one of those life changing moments and I figure if I don’t go off and be a fulltime artist there really isn’t much point in anything. So when I get home I start playing around with Reconditus Art logo type things and figuring out what I’m going to do and what arty farty direction I’m going to go in.

Fail.

I can’t stay doing one thing for 5 minutes let alone try to do the same thing for the rest of ever. So art became Creations. Next I punch reconditus into something online only to find someone else has it as a user name.

Fail times two. I’m not going to use it if someone else does. Now what do I do?

Back to the internet to find similar Latin words to reconditus and up pops absconditus. Absconditus Creations was born. A facebook account was created and it was unofficially official.

My quiet take over of the planet began...

Ears are happily bleeding from: John Butler Trio

Eyes have gone into bad spasms from too much time reading things online.

A collection of things you may or may not know, or want to know, about me…

I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not. - Kurt Cobain

1          I put ice cream in the microwave.

2          I have a painting I can’t look at upside down.

3          I didn’t finish high school because I went crazy.

4          I love spiders.

5          I have a long standing deep hatred for the term ‘best friend’.

6          I’m a mutant but I’m still waiting for my super powers to kick in.

7          Being able to make art keeps me alive.

8          I’m considering starting a cat breeding programme now so I can have some seriously crazy bloodlines going when I’m an old crazy cat lady.

9          I started hallucinating around the time I learnt to walk.

10        I never wanted to grow up because I knew what I’d have to deal with when it happened.

11        I’m not meant to be here.

12        I people watch way too much, it borders on stalker territory at times.

13        I wanted to paint my bedroom walls black when I was six… it took 14 more years until it happened.

14        I’m squishier on the inside than most people think.

15        I have a freakish memory and I need a better filing system in my brain.

16        I currently have an addiction to Minesweeper.

17        I spent over ten years living because I felt obligated to. Not because I wanted to.

18        I know nothing but I know too much.

19        Most of the time I’d rather fall into my head than spend time with people.

20        I think too much.

21        I want a panther, albino Burmese python and a tarantula.

22        I know the difference between quirky crazy and crazy crazy.

23        I don’t smoke and I have the most fucked lungs of anyone I know.

24        I quit eating seafood when I was 10. Then meat when I was 12. These days I eat chicken and fish.

25        I hate it when people aren’t honest. I don’t care if I’m not going to like what you say just don’t try to feed me bullshit.

26        I miss and worry about my crazy friends more than I ever let them know.

27        I put my mum off having the six kids she wanted. 

28        I’m happy being a weird crazy alien.

29        I still have scars from years of self injury but there is nothing younger than six years old. There could have been.

30        I was once a light blonde haired child who wore lots of pink.

31        I’d rather be up all night than all day.

32        I’ve heard too many things that come after ‘I’ve never told anyone this’ and I wonder why you decided to tell me.

33        I have an obsession with metal, ink and skin.

34        I’ve drawn since I could hold a pencil.

35        I love heights and am sure I can fly… bad combination.

36        I mimic a long list of diseases but it’s presumed I have Acute Intermittent Porphyria.

36        I gave my Barbies green hair, a red + blue Mohawk and tattoos amoung other things.  

37        I wonder how long this list should be.

Keeping my ears happy: Jeff Buckley - Live at Sin-é

Eye spasms caused by: Dave Pelzer - A Child called 'It'.

Because the cool kids did it.

A blog.

Why?

All the cool kids are doing it. Wait I’m not cool. Oh, that’s embarrassing. Following the crowd then, a secret desire to be like everyone else? Nope that doesn’t sound like me either. There must be a reason… everything has a reason, doesn’t it? Maybe? Honestly I don’t have a clue, sometimes I’m sure everything we do is part of some epic plan and if we don’t do whatever we are doing, no matter how mundane it is, everything will fall apart. Other days I think there is no point in any of it. Anyway I’m off the point, not that there was a point to start with. I should mention right now that I ramble. A lot. There is no obligation to read any of this so if you don’t want to read what falls out of my head, click the x. It’s really that simple.

I think that was my non point. The answer to why start a blog. It’s to let things fall out of my head and let people into it. People keep asking how my brain works, how I come up with what I do, in the way I do. Truthfully I don’t really know. Some things just turn up and demand attention, others come from conversations with friends/strangers/cats/hallucinations – never underestimate the creativity that comes from a good cat conversation kiddies – others things come from thieving from others art/music/films, not straight thievery as such but they plant an idea and the idea grows into what it grows into and then there is a new piece of art. (“Art” uggh what is “art”? That might need to be a whole other blog… one that I plagiarise from someone who has that figured out.) Life I guess. It all comes from living. Without living there would be no art. Without art there would be no… I don’t even want to think about that.

So welcome to the asylum, get comfy, strap yourself in, crack open your skull and look sideways at the world because really why would you want to look at it any other way?

I’m even going to do this because it gives me some serious cool points… or not. But I always find it interesting to see what other people listen to and read and such.

Ear rape by: Bon Iver

Eye spasms caused by: My Story by Dave Pelzer