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Blog - Deborah Caulfield

The artist’s statement: unreadable yet ultimately compelling

Consider the circumstances in which the artist finds herself; she is thinking; she is thinking about collective influence; she is deliberating upon all manner of matters that any artist in a similar or dissimilar situation may or may not consider vital to the ostensibly arbitrary senselessness (or otherwise) of her existence and, moreover, her world, her mind and entire body; everything that surrounds her; the sky, the trees, the mountains (mountains may show as redacted in light of new yet so far unverified indications that the artist resides in the southerly eastern area of England where surfaces are, for the most part, the most flat parts of the earth) and the dog-fouled grass verges; especially mulling over, as it were, the invisibility of those who gather/don’t gather (delete as appropriate and/or according to preference and/or who’s pointing what weapon to the audience’s heads, and/or the particular sum/s of money offered or demanded on pain of forced attendance the following week) and the discourse raging in a displaced and disordered manner above (and beyond) the artist’s head, together with (and perhaps, if conditions are conducive, excluding) the contradictory (yet ultimately compelling) and uplifting, albeit distinctly sadly sombre – and therefore lacking in any satisfaction that may or may not have been promised, denied or guaranteed – in its essential overall undertone, narrative in which said thoughts/unsaid thoughts/unthought sayings (strike out whichever appeals/applies less/more as previously and/or elsewhere discussed) maybe drowned-out/ground-down/frowned-upon (depending on the precise perspective of the viewer who may or may not be present if/when such incident/action and/or reaction occurs) in spite of the internal frenetic energy generated as prequel to, or consequence of, the predominantly sound argument/s vehemently espoused (and equally vehemently, if somewhat contradictorily, embraced by its opponents) put forward by the guardians of what is often regarded (and more often refuted) as post-orthodox ‘good’ taste, and transient (yet ultimately compelling) ideologies towards a somewhat dubious though (to some/one/thing) inescapably convincing (on the basis of variously thwarted truisms, leaps of faith, time-memory lapses of long (and justifiably, if indescribably) held beliefs to the contrary, which, according to established rules (see attached appendices XI through XIV) set in orange/raspberry/lime flavoured jelly, provide the backdrop to the emerging prevalence of otherwise unsought, unasked and (arguably contradictorily) unanswerable (yet ultimately compelling) questions of such monumentally fundamental importance and graveness, that, providing you’re still reading this and haven’t vomited all over the screen, unquestionably, yet to a large extent unfathomably, tends to open up a whole new debate about what the fuck, who the hell, and why bother (if indeed the artist dares to bother), which is in, by and of itself, an unconvincing (yet ultimately compelling) point of view should the reader care to consider the circumstances in which the artist finds herself.

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Richard Downes

One tree amongst many methinks