The secret of life is in art *

The artist almost stabs the paper-on-board screwed to the living room wall, while our son, who cannot sleep, plays with his toy Ben-10 watch. ('Do you know what time it is?' I want to ask.) But of course our son will soon be asleep and the artist does not really do that. She is not a stabber. A stickler, yes. But not a stabber. Her work is intense but always exact. There are no moments of rashness to it, or at least not when it comes to its execution. The windows could blow in, walls could split, the ceilings crumble, yet once it was established the children were fine, the artist would be by the wall again, half-bending her back, standing straight again, wiping her nose with her forearm, and working, working, working. She is enjoying this new piece. It has fortified the spirit, starting it. We hear of conviction politics. (Perhaps not as much these days, come to think of it.) Well, this for me is conviction art. It's funny, because at a time when a lot of the pantomime masquerading today as modern art is making the news, especially as a picture story, or a moment of understated mockery, never has the absence of such frivolity in the artist's work come across as such a strength to me before. I have said this kind of thing before but when the artist's contemporaries were attending every opening under the sun, the artist would often be found at her old studio or at home working. She would be perfecting her craft while wrestling in her head with the ideas that lay behind it all. Now some could say she should have been out and about the whole time, attending these parties. But she's simply not like that. And I don't see why she should have had to pretend to be like that. (She values sincerity almost above all things.) Besides, I doubt whether she could have found the very serious and beautiful pitch the work exists on now, not if she had copied everyone else. In fact this is what lies at the heart of this person. Freedom.
* Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)