What's WOOZY worth?
07/12/2017


So ‘What’s Woozy worth?’

 

In my head the Art World is dead; suffocated on its own noxiousness.

 

Yet art can never die, it is man added to nature. Intrinsic to so many, the central force that drives, the impetus that pushes, the invisible string that pulls; its impossible to deny the creative mind, it is the master ever demanding greater expression, more productivity.

 

So we develop. Picking up a pen, a paintbrush, a guitar. Whatever medium, from tiny children this process begins and slowly that talent grows, evolves, gradually becomes more accomplished. Yet it takes year’s to truly develop and define, but still perfection eludes, consistently reminding that we are only ever learning.

 

Alas in a world founded on the premise of Corporate Enslavement. The fight for the freedom to pursue our creative yearning’s is today an endeavour chased only by crazed risk taker’s, fool hardy nutter’s and avant-garde extremist’s bent on self-harm. Against the plastic tat of contemporary Mass Production, what’s the value of real creative craftsmanship?? The answer is ‘a struggle.’

 

Thus, art itself has become a competition not necessarily won by the greater talent, but normally by the greatest pretender. The charmer willing to bend compliantly to the corporate line of fickle pimp’s we call the Art World. To sell the soul or starve? A life akin with the later; from my poverty mindset only an observer of the Art World and the pontificating pimp’s that name ‘our price’ and add their percentage according to their pomposity and “Oh darling, it will be wonderful” promises.

 

Yet what is the worth of a body of art? These years spent in creative pursuit? Here, living in Athens at the moment, one of my most favourite character’s in the small creative posse I know, is Woozy. Whilst built on a foundation on which I seem to thank him, time and time again for his loyalty and sharp perception. ‘A brother in arms...’ Woozy is a character difficult not to enjoy. With a remarkable ability to make chaos feel easy and meant, as I’ve slowly got to know him as a friend and an artist, I’ve been given a privileged stand point…

 

 

Knowing a couple of creative minds, a few more artist’s, pretender’s plagiarists and a small handful of real artist’s. While this is the Art World, where we are supposed to pontificate on the brush stroke of creative value, and the perceived meaning of such unique work, reminiscent of so and so’s. All these painting’s and pieces of art, being transported from galleries in London, New York and Paris and all other possible destinations. Being eventually sold, only for their greater commission to some faceless collector, merely laundering his ill-earned cash by hanging it on the wall.

 

It is as it is. Yet what’s it for? Feeding the artist, the dealer, feeding the fickle fancies of our culture?? What’s art worth? Who decides? What’s the good of it? Who is good at it? What is a real artist? Whilst I know many artist’s whose fine art is finer than Woozy’s, yet many I would never define as real artists. To be true, to be real you have to discover your own extremities. There is a very fine line between madness and genius, one that only a madman can ever really know. Not everyone has the capacity to go to the edge, that fine line where you might find genius or loose it completely. It takes a level of intelligence to get there in the first place, but it requires passion and courage, and the hammering of our sensitivities too really live it, to really do it.

 

 


 

In the realness of Woozy, he has a remarkable body of work, hundreds and hundreds of drawing’s, canvases, sculptures, and vast murals to his name. Pieces everywhere, or lost to some gallery or collector somewhere. Everyday trying to quantify the price of his work, whilst being shackled by the gallery’s hear say and commission. Ffs…

 

Yet these gallery’s only exhibit a few pieces, that show nothing of the real context of Woozy’s art or the art of him as ‘the mind of the man’ he really is.

 

I’m damaged, I’ve been out there on that fine-line too often; cynical of being misunderstood by those with traditional perceptions.  So biding a little more time before I exhibit my own work. However, if I Woozy’s friend could exhibit his body of work, this is what I’d do…

 

 

I’d ask the friends he has in Athens, to which there are many, to come play ‘What’s WooZy worth?’ I’ve this picture in my mind of a gathering of mate’s outside Woozy’s studio in Psiri. Every ‘body’ invited, would be asked to stand holding a piece of Woozy’s vast ‘body of art.’  Duly exhibiting his work in a line down the street. The point is there is so much of it, there’d be a massive line of ‘colourful body’ definitely round the corner, up the next street and beyond. As a photographer, the idea is dreamy. Yet as a fair exhibition and true example of Woozy’s work, if as has been my privilege, you could see all Woozy’s body of art together; you’d see the real story, the whole essence of the artist. Which is surely what an artist should be revered for?

 

 

Anyway, so with all this begging the question ‘What’s Woozy’s worth?’ Is worth in meter’s transferable to cash? Would this be values truth? It’s nothing more than a stunt to consider, yet perhaps with a few whisper's from the street, we could plug this idea as ‘the Art event to attend in the Spring?’ Invite the whole of Athens, London, New York, Berlin, Paris blah, to come witness ‘Woozy’s World.’ A great opportunity to invest in it, by buying a piece of the Woozy experience? The price dictated by the haggle between the buyer and the member of Woozy’s Crew holding the piece, the friend who legitimately understands the value of their friend?

 

 

Its but an idea, really Woozy’s worth is more than money, but if Art could be quantified?? Alas ffs, we’d still have to invite the Art World, their the one’s that court the oligarchs and cartel’s rich enough to pay the silly money, that 21st CenturyCreative Recognition’ now demands to define us…

 

Hence this ‘What’s Woozy worth?’

 

For a man who’s last Berlin exhibition was titled ‘I hope for nothing...’

To be worth anything...’ would surely only be a bonus?

 

 

 

 

 

 


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