High Art for All

From London with Love

This is the second issue of my letters series.

I have a consistent problem with my art practice. It comes from confused values. I want to make work that can be enjoyed by many, but when a piece finally reaches the standard people love, it either gets bought or stolen.

If it’s bought, I survive another month, but I may never see it again.

I once sold a painting on the agreement that I’d have visitation rights. When I delivered it in 2023, I assumed I’d only need one visit. A year has passed since I used that up, and there’s still a small hole in my heart knowing that the world and I will never see it again. I’m happy with where it ended up, and grateful it kept me going for almost a year, but I miss it.

If it’s stolen, it disappears in the same way. The difference is, I usually understand then that the work worked. Still, the loss is the same. And yes, there’s always a price that could prevent it; and here’s where I become the problem.

When I showed my paintings to someone I trust, they told me, “They take too long to build a business out of.” I survive on them, but right now they’re impossible for me to scale as an affordable product. On the other side, a small part of me dies every time I repeat a process; there’s no heart in it, and it just becomes a transaction.

These letters feel like a neat balance. Over the last year, I’ve written just over 120,000 words here, and it’s become a key part of my practice. I write honestly because I don’t have time to create something I don’t believe in. I don’t know where this project will go, but I like it.

So here’s the letter. I’ve typed it out this time; some of you messaged to ask what the words were last time, and I appreciate that. If you’re on this list and want a physical copy, reply with your address. I don’t know if they hold any value, but when it all clicks on my side, you’ll know you were here first.