Today I closed up my first show

Since coming back to London.

It won its category at the RHS flower competition in Chelsea.

Chelsea in Bloom.

I also saw the first sign that this crazy idea I’ve been working on for a year

might actually work.

It won’t look anything like I thought.

But it’s going to work.

It feels good to be creating in public again,

even if my paintings are taking their time to be shown.

But I’m using the opportunity to reflect,

on what it means to show work,

to perform,

to compete.

Because honest as I want to be as an artist, as a human,

it still feels like part of me isn’t inside this system.

Maybe it’s the system that distorts who we are,

not ourselves.

In 1979, Pierre Bourdieu wrote La Distinction

to expose what many still pretend not to see.

The art world is not sacred.

It is not autonomous.

It is a mirror of capital,

dressed in avant-garde clothing.

Taste.

Opinion.

Discourse.

They follow class,

access,

and strategy.

The gallery is a marketplace

as much as it is a sanctuary.

And artists,

no matter how radical their intent,

still have to sell.

This year.

Next year.

Again and again.

This is not a flaw.

It might even be necessary.

But it means the system rewards caution,

wrapped as neutrality.

No sudden moves.

No stepping into conflicts

that might shut the next door.

The safest art is the most current.

It speaks to now

without disrupting the power

that decides what survives.

This isn’t a conspiracy.

It’s just the structure.

A balance between visibility

and longevity.

Art becomes both history

and speculation.

I’m not casting myself as a rebel.

What I’ve made lately wouldn’t register as disruptive.

But I’m paying attention.

My feed is full of competitions.

Instagram promises short-term interest.

The gallery circuit delivers long-term prestige.

Everyone is competing.

For relevance.

For scale.

For attention.

Whether we admit it or not.

Whether the algorithm is code or culture,

it decides what circulates.

What is lifted.

What is forgotten.

So the question becomes:

How do you move toward something unknown

something that doesn’t exist yet

while keeping enough momentum,

and enough money,

to keep going?

How do you escape a system

built to reward the familiar

and still arrive somewhere new?

Maybe the answer is small wins.

Maybe it’s teamwork.

I don’t know exactly where I’m going.

When I try to explain it,

the industry experts smile and nod

then quietly back away.

It gives me a strange kind of confidence.

The sense that I’m leaving the map.

And lately,

it’s only been the artists who want to come with me.

Which is a relief.

I thought I might be doing this alone.

The sellers, the handlers, the consultants,

they don’t see it yet.

Maybe they will.

But until then,

I’ll keep building.

Because I can see what they can’t.

I’ve stepped out of Bourdieu’s grid.

Class doesn’t matter on the pirate ship.

Neither does background.

Neither does medium.

Because I know artists when I see them.

I know the ones who are willing to risk it all.

It’s just about the work.

And though the world is full of artists who say that,

I haven’t seen many willing to go this far off-course.

Not yet.

But they’re starting to appear.

Pompadour was just the start.

The game’s just begun.

Thanks for all the love and support.

Honestly,

I was terrified.

It won’t be the last one.

Good job we won.

Pics on my IG soon.

If you’re curious about what’s next,

I’m looking for something in the Fall,


And something big next Summer.

I love you loads.

Russ

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