ART IS MY TOY

 

Where am I coming from?

 

I’ve kept my word (to myself). This PERIOD, continues. Coming out of DADA while continuing to be a dada; rising up from the fertility of Klee, Kandinsky, Miró, Duchamp, Dubuffet, Chaissac, Appel, CoBrA, Art Brut, Outsider and the Child; trying my hand (and my patience) with this non-verbal poetry that oozes between the cracks of everyday life; attaching an attitude and a little color to the objects found inside my daze in New York and Connecticut; playing with the spontaneous generations of expression that spread their elusive abstract stories throughout the concrete; unearthing the heads of state, the states of mind that come bubbling to the surface after the iron clad vibrations shake the roots of rock bottom.

 

I am there. Somewhere between a crack and a soft place.

 

Beginning with ‘A.’  A what? A child? A baby daddy? A Planet? A need? A crying out for attention (RSVP)? A longing for continuation?

 

Just ‘A.’ Unjust ‘A.’ The form of ‘A.’ Aspiring to heaven; pointing to the Gods; spreading its legs; opening into an ever increasing distance that covers all that is below and beside the point; giving us one bridge to cross and one cross to bear.

 

I have always wondered what it would be like to be an artist...to express the universal with a swift kick right in a very personal and innocent hindsight; to reach back into the source and grab the meandering incoherence by its tales; to kick its ifs and its ands and its buts into a state of presence that glows along the edges...

 

Art is my toy. It is the child in me that is the artist. It is the artist in me that is my most honest portrayal. 

 

Phil Demise Smith