
and other stuff, too. does this make
me an artist? fuck if i know. i figure, like paul westerberg sang it, i'm "kinda like an
artist." but when i think about what a true artist is to me, i
think of my Grandpa Joe. he was an artist and i basically grew up in his
studio, sitting next to him at this gorgeous hardwood drafting table that was
covered in ink splotches. he always had these holes in the elbows of his
sweaters from where he leaned on the desk while he was working.
everything he made was meticulous and beautiful, but he almost never signed
anything. he just had this stamp with his initials, JPW, and the latin
phrase "plus pulchritudinis invenire," which translates loosely to
"more beauty to discover". i always loved that - not just the
phrase, but that he didn't feel the need to sign shit. no ego. no
pretense. he just made stuff. discovered beauty.
so anyhow, i always made things, but it wasn't until i was about to finish college
that the collages started happening. i was about to graduate from the
well, i passed my review, i got out of college, out of
now, if you are reading all this wordy, wordy crap looking for an explanation,
a meaning, or some sort of "artist's statement," you're not going to
find it. i'm not going to tell you what they mean or why i do it.
not because they are terribly private or personal, though perhaps they
are. i don't want to tell you because i want you to find your own meaning
in them. everyone has different lives, filled with their own experiences,
their specific memories. we can all look at the same thing, listen to the
same song, or smell the same smell, and we will each have those things mean
something to us that is completely unlike what they mean to everyone
else. we're all unique. our experiences are all unique. our
definitions of beauty are all unique. our reasons for doing what we do
and our inspirations are unique.
and i will tell you this. me, i never start or finish a piece without
thinking about three people... ryan foltz, for giving me that kick in the
ass to make something of my art, joseph paul wilson, for giving me the desire
to find more beauty in the world (even if i have to put it there myself), and
my mother, nan wilson, for never noticing her scissors were gone, and for
always always ALWAYS supporting me - through every gluey mess i ever made.










