How should artists respond to neglect?

Recently, a Slovene painter who believes himself one of the great abstract painters of contemporary times, though hasn't the space or money to paint his giant abstracts, and therefore occasionally paints quite good landscapes in the 'realistic' style, was playing guitar at a tavern I am no longer allowed to adorn. He plays a couple different Brasilian style things that vary quite little, so people generally treat his picking as background music. This night, he wouldn't have it--he exploded, they say, beating a chair to pieces with the guitar, shouting that he would never play music again; when that didn't change the near universe--even the guitar was yet whole, the chair broken--he started screaming that he would never paint again, which at least was accompanied by the guitar finally breaking, though did nothing to move the crowd, which remained not only unsympathetic, but rather distant, for no one mentioned that as far as is known it has been perhaps over a year since he has painted anything at all.

I have known this feller on a friendly enough basis for six years or so, and therefore have little sympathy and have taken much pleasure in the dramatic event--he allows teasing about it. But at the same time he does have talent--not what he thinks it is, but talent. Porius would say: What a werld...

It seems as though this gent answered your question for you. And you, in return, answered the question "What should one do when an artist answers how artists should respond to neglect?".

The reports of my return have been greatly exaggerated.

Rick, not that you want to claim a vested interest in another's misery, but you need to be working this episode up (actually backwards and forwards) into a novella. You really do. Take a little time away from blogging here, and DO IT. As you well know, on the general matter of neglect, I answer with Alkibiades "It is not I who have lost the Athenians -- it is the Athenians who have lost me". -- G

Peter! Now we are just missing Porius.

I agree with Harry, Rick. That little post was merely an amuse-bouche, but you could make it into at least a short story.

I have a big novel going, so, alas, the Izola romp will have to wait. But he WILL be a character. I call him Rembrandt, and his friend the neglected composer is Mozart, and they used to try to get me to fill out their troika as the writing life has been less than kind with me, but I prefer to press on: children are watching, for one thing, and for another, no one ever promised me anything (besides, a few published novels, a few translated novels, constitutes success and luck both)..

Now as for Rembrandt, many stories remain untold: for one, he was asked to live in our apartment for nearly two months one summer, to walk the dogs and water the plants. At the time he was sleeping in a place with no bathroom or kitchen or laundry. So he had the ideal conditions to paint. But, to make a long story short, he could not paint because 'The dogs kept looking at me.' And he told people we know that we demanded too much from him for nothing. (The bare cupboards we returned to were hardly a surprise, nor did we care, hungry as I was for sardines the first day back.)

Anyone we had the pleasure of meeting?

I don't remember. A bit older than me, grey hair in a pony tail...

Hope it came out and flew around his head in a great grey greasy halo as he smashed, I do.

Hah! So Rembrandt had no apartment when Lady K came to town for her usual August (the month) spree, received all the money my family owed her, felt guilty taking it (though she should not have as she is not rich), and decided to use it to put Rembrandt up for a year in a tiny apartment. Free accommodations for a year for a painter! All Lady K asked was a small painting per month of an 'Izola street scene' (to get him working, encourage him--he would have known that it was something he would be strictly held to)...
1. apartment too small, can't paint
2. entryway big enough, but soon to cold to paint in
3. somehow produced an excellent study of salt pans
4. basked in glow of salt painting success, sold it for 300€
5. discussed difficulties with me over wine--too old to paint in a small dark apartment
6. while drinking at the pleasure of another (something I often do as well) described the amazing fact that he can live on almost no money (the other still laughs to this day telling the story)
7. more than half a year gone by, still one medium painting...things looking bad...I suggest he simply paint one very nice painting for Lady K to thank her...he agrees
8. more months pass...nothing painted...small city, small art community...embarrassing situation for Rembrandt...What to do?
9. Rembrandt begins badmouthing Lady K, who is now a wealthy Belgian (she lives in Brussels but is Slovene) taking advantage of an unappreciated master.
10. Finally Rembrandt puts a price on his unpainted paintings--15,000€: and Lady K wants 12 of them...
11. Many other things are said...Lady K finds out...says she just doesn't want to see Rembrandt in August (the apartment is on the ground floor of her Izola apartment
12. Lady K spends much money and energy fumigating, painting, etcetera, Rembrandt's apartment before it can be rented again
13. Rembrandt beats up chair with guitar, Lady K pays for chair.

Wow. I guess even artists can be deadbeats!

Isn't neglect the badge of honour of the great artist?

If you decide to be a dog, never bite the hand that feeds you

>11 theoria: There is no badge of honor--there is the money to write the next one. If no money, then there is the will to write the next one.

>12 Macumbeira: Why the fuck not?

obviously, the hand will stop feeding you, or slap you or ( worse ) twist your ears etc etc

Eat the hand.