I used to see a therapist that said that artists showed what was possible with freedom. Actually, I can’t remember if he said artists or art itself. If I’m being honest, I find the prospect of freedom terrifying, and I doubt that I’m alone in that. That’s one of the reasons why it’s probably easier to be an artist if you’re young or drunk or rich. It helps numb the fear and get rid of the vertigo and whatever consciousness that might get in the way.

When I was a kid my dad took me to an art gallery or a museum and while I loved books and movies and music, none of them held the kind of spiritual reverence that occurred in a silent big beautifully designed room holding paintings and sculptures. It kind of took your breath away. I remember my grandmother talking about a trip to Paris where she saw Jeff Koons’ Puppy and her absolute conviction “That was art.”



I didn’t really think about art seriously until I was in my early 20s – and I think I was ultimately just chasing the energy. Between 2005 and 2015 art was arguably the most lucrative and attractive creative medium. If you look at copies from Artforum around that period, they were 600+ pages long and filled with ads alongside some of the best writing of the time. It feels crazy to say this, but I do believe that during that time galleries were the space of discourse where aesthetic gestures meant something.


My favorite artist at the time and probably of all time was Richard Prince. He’s like the Quentin Tarantino of art. I loved his writing. I loved how amateur his photography looked. I loved that he figured out a way to make consumption and collecting a productive form. I loved that he had no single aesthetic and worked in series. I loved how much he loved art. I loved that he was funny.

When I decided to start making art I tried to do my best impersonation of him, and in some aspects I succeeded. Starting at the age of 23 – incidentally the same time I started black out drinking every night – I began making paintings and drawings and sculptures and putting them up on the internet and in zines and eventually small indie galleries.

At the time, appropriation art was a given. I cannot remember a single class in art school where copyright was explained, but I do remember lots of Art History classes and lectures where “recontextualization” was lauded. Like Richard Prince, I did a lot of ready-mades. I painted Rorschachs and wrote poetry on top of photographs of famous people taken by famous people. I co-opted languages and aesthetics that I had no history with or connection to. This might be that freedom that my therapist was talking about but looking back on it, it feels a little guarded.

I remember in the early 2010s, when the earliest hints of post-internet art started emerging, that something changed. This is just my opinion, but I do believe that Post-Internet art was the first movement that placed the artist before the art. The life and image of the creator was of paramount importance, to be examined and considered. Their artwork amounted to mere artifacts of said life; anything from a social media post to a selfie video to a painting – were all considered on an equal plane. I think for the majority of artists today this is still the case.

I can’t say whether it was the fear of this kind of visibility or vulnerability, or just sheer burnout that stopped me from making art. I’d started Sex Magazine, which felt far more creatively satisfying than studio visits and gallery shows, and put all my remaining energy to making movies. At the beginning of the magazine, the art section was really competitive – we had interviews with people like Jordan Wolfson and Danny McDonald and Petra Cortright. These days it’s a way harder slot to fill. Last issue we had Angelicism and lola dement myers, who to my knowledge have never even had gallery exhibitions. Maybe that’s the real freedom now.