Stéphane Chaudesaigues

To be or not to be an artist

I first chose to become an artist because, at that time, it was not regarded as an artistic practice. Considering my education, I could not foresee myself as being an artist.
The painter lives and dies in an attic room, penniless and starving. He cannot savor fame because recognition comes after his death…If it ever comes.
Earning one’s bread, surviving, feeding one’s family is a tough and difficult task. Impossible to achieve if you are a painter.
When I became a tattooist, I was only interested in the technical aspects of the job. However, I did not master the job’s essential techniques. I quicklyttracted to something else; the desire to work toward a more vivid image, full of emotions and inner sensitiveness. [That’s right, my inner sensitiveness, my big treasure, a burden so heavy to bear on my shoulders that it made me suffer throughout my childhood.]
Adults were so mean to me when I was a child, that it would have been better for me to be one of them at that time. A child is often asked to shut it, and sometimes it is difficult for him/her to express themselves. When he/she is an adult, the only option given to them is to keep shutting it.
Thus becoming impossible for this human being to exist within the microcosm represented by the family circle, and even more impossible to exist within society.
There is no possible escape except maybe violence, self-mutilation, sometimes even self-destruction.
As opposed to the child, the artist can do almost anything! He can show and tell everything he truly thinks through diverted ways such as humor.
So much that artists are sometimes regarded as forerunners and even genius! Our good old artists hey! There is an artist in every family. This will be the youngest or the tallest child. Actually we never refer to his/her being deeply unable to fit into the system.
Art thus becomes the only way to speak while keeping one’s mouth shut. It helps the artist to talk about themselves.
People accept more things through art, even if they don’t get it. I love art! It turns words into deep emotions to create images, my images, and my message.
It might be of no interest, but this is my message. A part of me to linger after I am gone. A sad smile or cries of smothered joy.
I work from free association of ideas which I separate and re-organize to create an image that will exist by itself, regardless of the original idea. The results, however often illustrate my own inhibitions. Now I am taking the chance and breaking the silence!
Explanation of the human beast and the kid brought up as a dog:
To accept one’s self, is identifying one’s shortcomings of the past. To be able to recognize one’s being despite the problems encountered through one’s meaningless childhood. The beast is the adult. The dog is the kid.
Does the kid remain a human being? Does it become a humanized animal with it’s own rules and codes as protections from it’s own self and others?
I am not a dog anymore. I used to be a kid. A kid, then a monster. The kid brought up as a dog has become a human beast. Or is it the child of a beast?