Oh Blad Di, Oh Bla Da,

On this the second day of 2010 I wonder why I have a blog that is essentially a veiled scream aimed at those who, let us be honest, make money. On some level I have never understood the mentality of those who make money as in see making money as the end goal. Despite my resistance to rampant greed and consumerism, and the unimaginative quest for wealth and power, I am on some level plain jealous of those who do not suffer from scruples and can freely indulge in the aforementioned. I want money to. What I could do with money!  Oh how much I wish I could travel free of monetary restraints. But this is wishful not so constructive thinking. I do not mean to sound sour. I love my kids and I make my drawings, paintings, things. Our family leads a warm life and one I am not ashamed of. I write my fanciful letters to a bank manager from my thinly veiled avatar Kristian Witherkay, where I express a hopefully more than my "own selfish concerns" concern regarding the state of the world of finance, money, banks, foreclosures.... But have I really zeroed in on anything precise? Have I found a place of populist resentment (not really my goal)? Have I stated anything that has not been stated on the front page, or the op-ed, or the business section (yes, the business section ) of the New York Times, or Guardian Weekly, or NPR, or Brian Lehrer, or ...? Thing is this blog was supposed to be witty but here we are at the end of 2009, beginning of 2010 and most everyone on NPR is saying a recovery is on its way and I am maybe the only one who cannot see it. I see destructive impulses in banking that continue unrestrained.  I see a government failing to restrain the worst impulses of the banking sector. I see my own inclinations to focus on art and poetry distracted by, yes, my own anxiety about mortgage and food and basic needs, and my need to express a resentment I suppose though resentment is a total waste of time, as is anger I suspect, as is moaning and begrudging, and complaining.... So what IS it I am trying to do here?


More to come.
Happy New Year. I mean it. I want you all to have a constructive, happy, thoughtful, proud New Year, one you can all look back on and feel good about.

An artist responds to job loss...

An artist deals with personal financial crisis

Letter to the Bank #43

Dear Bullrider,

One of the most enduring issues I have with my attempts to communicate with you is the palpable fact that I am already morally compromised and all efforts to stand on my high horse and denunciate the appalling behavior of the bankers, the financiers, mortgage brokers blah blah blah are already undermined by my own efforts to capitalize on the crisis by refinancing again and again. The whole Tiger Woods debacle brings similar thoughts to mind. How can I or anyone point our cruel fingers without pointing also at ourselves. All this reminds me of the wonderful joke where Jesus, coming across a crowd hurling stones at a prostitute in the village square, denounces them with: Throw Ye the first stone who has not sinned! Whereupon his mum/mom emerges from the crowd with a huge boulder which she proceeds to toss at the poor girl so embarrassing her/his (you know who's) son.

It would be interesting to shine the same kind of intense light on those who do the finger pointing as they shine on those they all too often revel in exposing. This is why I do not spend too much time naming names. It is the idea of Trust, of doing good, that I grapple with, the awfulness and abundance of Greed, of unscrupulousness out there, that I wrestle with, both in the World at large and within, down in my liver, or wherever it is that those sort of tendencies reside.

Yours sincerely,

K W

PS-A case in point-People still are stoned to death in some countries, for real, hard as this is to believe, and we sit at our writing desk complaining about mere greed, moaning about mortgage payments, and about not having enough time to do our art.

The Debt of Art Consolidation

As I wrestle with my own profoundly naive comprehension of this whole new grubby world of finance that has opened up before us all (like a beautiful, luxurious, exotic man-eating plant), I am constantly confronted by my ability to shoot myself in the foot, bite the hand that feeds me, cut off my own nose to spite your face.... I do think of myself as having good humor and even being a somewhat gentle soul so my problem is this: How to fend off the uglier side of feelings I have such as mistrust, suspicion and even bitter fury toward those who so easily and so calmly take advantage of the already disadvantaged. My mistrust is such that I am not sure I can see honest intent for what it is anymore.  That could become dangerously debilitating. Thus it is that I find myself skewered on the pitchfork of populist anger. I am the mobster stuffed in a plastic bag and left on the corner of a rundown street. My solution? I can speak only for myself. I want to feel good about the choices I make. If I make money I want to do so ethically. Now how naive is that? I want to make money for Art's sake!Too many make Art for money's sake. There was a fine article the other day that addressed just this issue: Tweaking the Big-Money Art World on its Own Turf. The artist William Powhida finds himself caught in that place I too am in-criticizing the whole world of branded artists and buyers and auction houses and then, though mildy, profiting from it. But don't worry! More angry art with bankers having rotten eggs thrown at them to come!!

Curdle Whale-Art Klecter 2

Letter to the Bank #42

Dear Mr. Bullrider (I believe that is the current bank manager’s name),
Last time I communicated with your fair institution I believe I was a little belligerent. I’m not apologizing, just letting you know that you needn’t steel yourself. This letter is different. This letter is a thoughtful letter.

I’m in a hole. Well I’m always in a hole but this time it’s different. There are piles of potatoes in the corner next to a homemade distillery, and a sharply dressed rabbit holding a gold fob watch is observing me. Go figure! It’s as if he is timing me, seeing how long I can stand it down here, how long before I head up for some fresh air. Well, as far as I’m concerned I am in it for the long haul, not by choice but of necessity. He’s going to have a long wait. I actually like it down here in the deep soil of our world, the rich, warm (surprisingly warm!) loam of life. It is dark but that is nothing a light bulb or two (the new spirally kind for sustainability) won’t fix. Would you do me the kindness of dropping down an electric extension? Honestly that would be more helpful than credit offers or money at this point. It’s just impractical for me to heave myself out of here right now. Besides I have a potentially lucrative bet on with the rabbit.

I can hear the traffic but it is muted. I can even hear the collective stomp of commuters heading for work, much like the distant sound of Burundi drummers. When you step outside the whole thing for a while, relax and sink into the sofa of the disenfranchised, drop through the bottom and observe from very deep down it helps the mind focus. The stars at night, framed by the manhole (dug by yours truly) are simply beautiful.

So all I ask for is some light at the bottom end of this tunnel I’m in.

Yours sincerely,

Kristian Witherkay

PS-It is a bit sadder during the daytime. From where I sit I can see a foreclosed home.

Curdle Whale-Art Klecter