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STILL NOT SURE?
Let me tell you a true story about SEX, LOVE AND MONEY . . . (Alright, two out of three.)
First thing I was told in art school was that art is love, and money has nothing to do with it.
That sounded pretty good to me. I was never good at making a living anyway. So I became a purist. I refused to associate with money.
I created paintings and sculptures and stored them under the bed. Sometimes I'd put them in shows and label them NFS. At other times I'd give them away, though that's harder to do than you think.
Now I was broke all the time. Just like the big name artists I read about, I couldn't afford paints, brushes, food. My wife left me. My life was in shambles.
It was great! I maxed out my credit cards, became a victim.
My poverty was the government's fault. It was the fault of those who didn't value art and artists, the business folks who could afford to support us and didn't, the galleries, the museums, the people who presided over newspapers and glossy magazines.
As deplorable as poverty was, I secretly saw it as a temporary condition. Someone was sure to come along, kick my door down and wrestle me onto a plane to New York where I would be . . . DISCOVERED!
Thing is, it didn't happen right away. It didn't happen for fifteen years and then it didn't happen after that.
Know the feeling?
Let me tell you what happened when I started to break the rules . . .
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