In the public eye of the United States, we artists are often times marginalized. Our best efforts – bastardized and formulized by big business, gets put into neat little boxes and promptly mass produced to aid in the national pursuit of more, ultimately useless “stuff.” Stuff that clutters our lives thereby making us feel as though we are somehow more or less successful in some ridiculous way than the person standing right beside us. In the film “Fight Club,” actor Brad Pitt delivers a simple yet scathing observation; “The things you own, end up owning you.” Truer words are seldom spoken. 

But I am veering off point. 

When people ask me what I do and I say; “I’m an artist,” the usual reply I get is; “no, I mean what do you really do?” Because… what? You’ll spend your life living out of a box? Being an artist is not a real vocation; it’s a hobby, at best? If you honestly think that, then you are an ignorant moron. 

Consider this: Everything tangible in the world that is not naturally occurring was created by an artist. EVERYTHING.

The clothes you wear.
The vehicle you operate.
The place where you keep your stuff.

All of it exists because an artist of some sort thought it up. When you go out to eat, your meal is prepared – for better or worse, by a culinary ARTIST. If Jules Verne hadn’t penned: “From the Earth to the Moon,” would science have figured out the logistics to do just that a mere hundred years later? Doubtful. And let’s not forget to thank a certain Captain James T. Kirk for introducing us to the cellular flip phone or, Leonardo Da Vinci for inventing the first working model of the airplane. Or the helicopter.

It’s thanks to him and other such artists that modern medicine has precise and detailed and exceptionally thorough schematics of human anatomy. If you’ve ever been operated on and lived to talk about it, well… you’re welcome.

But these are only a few examples that cover mostly “commercial” applications.

Museums are FILLED with art chronicling, with painstaking detail, the entirety of human history. For you Christian types, you should consider the genius of Dante degli Alighieri. If not for his writings, you’d have no concept of Heaven or Hell or any of that. Nor, if not for Michelangelo Buonarroti, would you have the uplifting and inspiring visuals to accompany them.

Art, so profound, that it influenced and changed the perception of an entire RELIGION.

Politically, art is often a key element in helping to shape a nations awareness. Case in point, the Obama hope poster. Televised satire in the form of sketch comedy. Informative documentaries. I could go on but my ultimate point is this; without the arts, civilization as we know it would simply cease.

POOF.

And it’s not like anyone can just dive in and do it. Physically, emotionally, intellectually, spiritually, psychologically – Art is HARD.  It takes a lifetime of dedication, commitment and a willingness to experience life completely unfiltered. As an artist, you have ‘to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it’ and constantly tear yourself apart only start the whole process over again. And again. For some, this level of intensity can often times lead to madness.

(insert Van Gogh or Sylvia Plath or Dali, for example, here)

But for those of us who persevere and find that delicate balance between reason and intuition, the arts can also be one of the most rewarding life choices a person can make.

This is why I get so pissed off when people ask me stupid questions like; “An artist?!? What, you couldn’t get a real job?” or when I hear about local governments cutting funding to the arts and especially, art education. Ken Danby, an insightful and beautifully gifted painter once said; “The degree to which the arts are included in our educational curriculum is totally inadequate. The arts are just as important… as any other endeavor in our lives.” This is not a new thought, folks. Long before the near decimation of our current, rather pathetic “educational system,” it was once the belief that you were not fully learned unless you had studied art, as you would science or math or astronomy. 

Note: You don’t have to be an artist to study and appreciate art.

This why I feel that there should be a day; An “Artist Appreciation Day.” There isn’t one, I checked and I don’t know about you but my calendar is just lousy with holidays like, Groundhog Day, Flag Day, International Youth Day.

No Artist Appreciation Day!

What the fuck?!? This needs to be rectified. I say, put it right as autumn gets started; on September 23^rd, when nature is exploding with color and there are no other pesky holidays to interfere. The day could begin with a celebratory brunch, because artists should be allowed to sleep in a bit: 

French toast.
Cereal.
Fruit parfait.

Something nice. And artists like art supplies so, treat the artist in your life to a gift card to his or her favorite supply shop. Go to a museum. Hit up an art opening. Assist an artist as they work in their studio – go nuts, you’ll be glad that you did.

Recently, I was interviewed by my brilliant and sexy wife Gwen, avid blogger and author of Cast the First Stone.
 
Follow her on Open Salon and Little Miss Gnomide!

~~~

Q: What do you love about being an artist?

A: Wow. Went right for the jugular there, didn’t ya? Humph. This is a hard question to answer without either coming off as pretentious or crazy or both -- BUT here goes. I love slipping out of reality… of cutting myself loose of the tether of my everyday and letting the madness take me where it will. It’s freedom in the purest sense of the term. More than that, it’s an altered state of consciousness that transcends above the banality of mere existence, thereby allowing me the chance to tap into something that’s almost god-like. It’s the only place where I feel a true sense of oneness and connectivity, which is why I tend to be awkward in person. I’m just biding my time until I can get back in front of my easel and let go...

Q: What is the creative process like for you?

A: Therapy. Truly. Mixing paint… organizing my brushes and prepping a fresh panel… laying out my drawing… making sure I’m saying what I feel I ought to be saying and then analyzing whatever particular color harmony I’m going for… It’s like mentally hitting the reset button.

Q: What inspires you to create your “POP Impressionism” while still holding to the traditional painting techniques set by the old masters?

A: I never set out with some kind of grand plan to specifically create the work I create the way I create it. I just follow my instinct and let the piece tell me what it needs. It wasn’t until I looked back on those early paintings and considered my influences that I put on my marketing hat and finally gave it a name.

Q: Do your paintings ever surprise you when they are finished?

A: Yes, no and sometimes. Sometimes an idea is vague and I have to knead it a while before it takes shape. In which case, yes the outcome can be quite surprising. Other times, I can see the idea clearly on the panel before I even get the paint down so then no; I’m not surprised at all. But recently, I have been working more organically, letting the elements of my paintings come to fruition unsupervised. Put simply; sometimes I see it coming and sometimes I don’t. 

Q: I know that you’re an avid reader and a music aficionado. Does a certain song or book ever influence your work?

A: With books, usually, no. Not unless I’ve been charged with an illustration. In which case the process is very cut and dry: Translate the key point of a story into an all encompassing image… hopefully, without spoiling the end. Music, on the other hand, is art’s conjoined twin. Without one, I can’t do the other. When I’m painting, I play whatever music I feel compliments the piece. Is it spiritual? Then get me some classical, like Beethoven or Rachmaninoff. Diving into pure color and design? Mingus. Davis. Reinhardt. Making some social commentary? Black flag. Social D. Rage Against the Machine. My playlist is FREAKY huge, like nearly almost kinda infinite. 

Q: Who are your heroes?
A: Michelangelo. Caravaggio. Rodin. Mucha. Coles Phillips. J.C. Leyendecker. Dali. Bill Alexander… Hey! Someone should totally make artist cards! Y’know, like baseball cards? Only way cooler.

Q: Tell us a little bit of what’s in the future for David DeRosa?

A: I shook up the magic eight ball and all it said was: “Ask again later.”

Q: What advice would you give beginning artists?

A: Have a point. Be honest, be articulate. Also, paint is toxic -- don’t lick your brushes.

Q: If you had a super power, what would it be?

A: Telekinesis, totally.

Gwen's website: www.gwendolynglover.com

My newly redesigned website with all new features and swanky flash galleries that you should totally check out: www.artprimadonna.net

Well, it's the new year... Time for resolutions. I think this year my resolutions will be to take things up a notch:

* Find a non douchey gallery to rep me
* Start building my squirrel army
* Do more swanky art fairs 
* Finally master that whole Jedi mind trick thingy
* Crank out some new work

In retrospect, this past year was pretty rough... Productive but rough. I don't wanna repeat myself and come off whiney so I'll just say that everything seems to be fine. For now.

Thank the Great Sock Monkey for hpyomania and for Gwen. 

What's else is going on? Well, I'm still busy wrapping up a few commissions but am also planning out my next series, setting up some shows and making a play at teaching a course via the Chicago Art Institute’s continuing education program. 

In March, the missus and I are taking a trip to SF to see and be seen -- consider yourself warned kiddies, we may show up at your doorstep for a "pop in."

On our way back from Christmas in Ohio, we finally got to check out the Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame, BTW and...

It... was... AWESOME! 

Otherwise, same old, same old: Looking forward to the spring thaw... Toodles!

Hey Kids!

It's been a while since my last post. Sorry. I've been surprisingly busy, like mad crazy. Seriously. This has left me pleased and pleasantly confused.

I was sure that -- what with the economy in the crapper and all -- that I'd have to pick up a gig dolling out espresso shots or shoveling drives or shaking my money maker in some seedy bar somewhere to, y'know, help make ends meet...

Instead, I magically managed to land a couple of commissions, sell a painting, collab on a mural and get an extension on my city funded residency.

I'm not trying to brag guys, honest, I'm just... well, kinda shocked. And grateful. Definitely grateful.

Tis the season, I guess.

Anyhow, I got stuff to talk about but prolly not until after the first of '09. Meanwhile, much love to all you all out there doin' what you're doin'. May you have some good luck and love tossed your way during these unsteady times.

Peace, etc., etc.

Hey kids!

I'm sure that by now you've heard me brag about my brilliant wife and her efforts at becoming a published author... Very recently, she completed the final revision of her first novel: "Cast the First Stone."

Currently, she's hunting down potential agents as well as making first contact to the publishing world.

Having a background in pre-press and print production, I know how agonizingly slow and frustrating this process to be, so... We decided to take the indy/grass roots approach and create a "pre-publication edition" for you, the bold supporter and close friend of the emerging arts.

Below is the summary of the book. Show your love by visiting: Gwen's storefront at Lulu.com to purchase a copy of your very own. As a bonus, if you send your copy to her, she'll gladly sign it and send it back. To do that, please send your copy with a SASE to:

D&G Productions
PO Box 59408
Chicago, IL 60659-0408
*Please allow for up to two weeks for redelivery.

AND... Don't forget to check out Gwen's blog for updates about her publication process, upcoming readings and events, news, and writings: Little Miss Gnomide

Ars Gratia Artis!
-David

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About the book:

Cast the First Stone is a first novel that is as humorous as it is bittersweet. This unique "coming-of-age" tale set in dreary, small-town Oklahoma, stars Denny Stone, a feisty girl with a sharp tongue and a taste for rum & Coke. Fiercely independent, she typifies the rebel in all of us – constantly redefining herself within the confines of her Podunk existence. By contrast, her best friend Haley is soft-spoken and timid – inexplicably trapped in the role of matriarch with her ever-growing, poverty-stricken family. They struggle with their emerging sexuality, social status, spirituality and family. As Denny plans her escape to California, Haley draws further inward, seeking out God and testing the limits of friendship and loyalty, leaving one burning question: who will cast the first stone?

Hi everybody!

It's been quite a while since my last newsletter – my bad, sorry. 

To begin, I am really, really sorry for not being a better friend and writing more often... In all honesty, the move to CHI last August threw me and I've spent all of a year fighting off a rather nasty depression that I only just recently -- as in; a couple of weeks ago -- got over.

BUT. I have been progressing along despite these obstacles and am winding up for new and exciting art adventures!!!

As many of you may have heard, I just finished a challenging if not mildly frustrating (haha) year running the painting program for The Little Black Pearl. Realizing that I'm not quite cut out to teach within the public school system, I have segued myself into the LBP's public murals and commissions program. This feels like a better fit and I am fastly making cool connections, both personally as well as professionally. Also, the semi steady income is very helpful, especially during these hard economic times. 

Show-wise, after the Artropolis International Art Fair and the Artist Project in April/May, an art walk in June and an art festival in August, I've decided to ease up my exhibiting schedule a bit in favor of cultivating my painting into something a bit more technically complex. I feel it's time. My work wants to evolve and that sort of thing can't be rushed. Also, after being burned the last couple of times, I am aggressively seeking out a better class of gallery representation.

What's new? Well, this month I am wrapping up a few commissions and have a 44' X 8' mural to complete while prepping myself for This November when I begin my short residency with Chicago's Cultural Center: Storefront in the Pedway below the Chicago Cultural Center, 77 E. Randolph St. Chicago, IL. November 1–29 Days and Hours: M-F 8-6, weekends by appointment. Those of you in the area are VERY encouraged to drop by. (I like visitors.)

Please feel free to drop me a line if you like or just tune into my blog from time to time for more info as it happens. 

Later, y'all!
-David

Lines. Everywhere you go, you're stuffed into a line and made to wait:

Want coffee? Get in line.
Buying groceries? Get in line.
Wanna kick W's ass? Get in line.

DMV…

What is our obsession with lines? Ever been to that theme park with the giant anti Semitic rat? Lines. Endless lines. And people run, knocking children and the elderly out of their way, simply gonzo to get their spot in line.

It weirds me out almost as much as it annoys the crap out of me.

A short time ago, Gwen and some friends of ours decided it was finally time to check out America's tallest building: The Sears Tower. Ever since I first saw Ferris Bueller's Day Off, I have wanted to go to the top of this architectural marvel, lean my head against the glass, look down and enjoy the cheap thrill of extreme vertigo.

Simple dreams, dear friends, simple dreams.

We arrived at the ground floor entrance and immediately found ourselves shuffled into a line for our turn on the elevator which – we foolishly assumed – would take us up the tower. Actually, after a fifteen minute lag time and being rudely shoved about, we discovered that the elevator went DOWN and opened up into: another line.

This line, as it turns out, was for the metal detector. Metal detector?!? What the hell for? Is the sears tower a hot spot for snipers??

"Watch out for that old lady and her grandkid – they look suspicious…"

"Better frisk that dude in the wheel chair – it could be a clever terrorist ruse…"

"Sorry Ma'am, your kid has to leave his leg braces here…"

Yes, naturally we all live in ball shrinking terror of little kids in leg braces.

(insert me rubbing my temples and taking a deep breath here)

After a grueling ten minutes, this line empties into… anyone? Another g*ddamned line, that's what! Ever been on a roller coaster where they forcibly snap your picture – screaming and or throwing up? This line had the same idea.

I'm not stupid. I know this was a security ploy masked as a cheesy souvenir. I know this, because you were not allowed to skip this step. 

NOT ALLOWED. 

So, begrudgingly, we were shuffled in front of a big green screen, made to pose like morons and then ushered into… another… friggin'… line.  I shit you not. This line was mercifully for tickets (at thirteen bucks a head) and I sighed as yet another fifteen minutes off my life withered, died and floated away. 

You'd think that at this point, we'd be in the elevator speeding to the top, ready to reap the benefits of our polite patience. Noooooooooo. Our celebratory sprint was abruptly cut short by -- a line. To the elevator, you ask?

HA, I say, HA.

This line, this fifteen minutes of agonizing social outrage, was to gain entrance into a small theater where we were subjected to a twenty minute mini-documentary of the Sears Tower. I'll spare you the mindless details save to say that the word "erection" got used way too often to be taken seriously. 

At long (hehe), loooooong last, we were finally stuffed into an express elevator that took us to the top. Yah-f**kin-hoo. Doing the head lean thing took all of five minutes. We then spent a good twenty minutes wandering around and reading some of Chicago's history that had been conveniently pasted up for our embetterment. My comment to Gwen at this point was;

"Gee honey, if they had all this shit posted up along the way, I might not have minded standing in all those god-awful lines…"

We then – you guessed it – got in line for the ride back down.

This is not quite the end of our grand adventure, oh no, not for The Fellowship of the Tower -- nay. As we birthed ourselves from the tiny express elevator, we plunged headlong into the five minute line to look-at-and-then-reject the lame photo of us superimposed in front of a random skyline. Then into the ten minute, "Thanks for visiting the Sears Tower" line for the elevator up and at last, out.

(sigh)

If there is a hell, it's an endless line to nowhere.