2003-06-27 - 6:02 p.m.
I spent most of today making a mock-up for a art book I am going to make that will feature some polaroids I took at the anti-war march in New York City on March 22nd, and a short essay I wrote about coming to consciousness in 3rd grade about what "peace" might mean. It feels strange to spend an entire day on "my" art. For some reason I don't feel like my projects are serious enough to warrant that kind of work. But that's the place I want to be in- and if I don't take my artwork seriously, who will? But it just feels odd- isn't this what "real" artists do? I feel too haphazard to be a "real" artist, but isn't that what I want more than anything? To "make work"? What is bringing on this art crises?
I've been thinking a lot about public/private, about keeping a fucking internet diary, and about the anxiety it gives me. What is this urge I feel to document my life? Or put half edited thoughts on the internet anyway. Why and how does it become important?
