I am in search for the holy grail for as long as I’ve gotten myself involved into art.
By the end of a long journey in various media and in writing, it turned out that I had to create this holy grail myself, every day all over again. A bit of a downer of course. So I buried the inner critic (in person of a rabbit) together with my identity as an artist.
For a few years I studied philosophy to see if Hegel was right, and art indeed was dead. That ‘natural’ language would be enough to realize freedom after all. I was rather enthusiastic about this whole idealistic way of thinking.
It was by the time I met a Jehovah’s Witness, that I started realizing the possible dangers. She showed me the Bible’s logic: you’ve to assume that God is alive, otherwise the whole system collapses.
The power of assumption has great effect, even more if you’re willing to accept a certain ground, such as the existence of God, or Art as such.
By then I understood the recursive power of language games. And we all believe some stuff. So, confronted with my own ‘religious thinking’, I realized that Eve was the hero of Genesis. Tempted to open her eyes and see the perfomative effect of appearances. Naked and in lack of meaning, but with great effect. Believing became difficult, God was right about that.
The Jehovah’s witness told me that God wouldn’t forgive Eve for her disobedience, and that she would never be welcome in (‘soon to come’) paradise on earth.
Well I think it’s the bloody snake and God himself who enabled her to get tempted in the first place. Since the temptations are there, we might as well learn to deal with them ourselves.
The act of believing and how conviction works, that became my new subject matter.
The dead artist kicked and screamed now and then, but I tried to ignore her (by that time human twins were born, they came out of my belly and screamed even louder).
I started writing instead. About an artist who describes, but refuses to create her works of so called art. The pieces only existed in the story itself. One day however the artist was forced to create one of the art works because her imagination was lacking and description failed: there was more to it then the written word.
Step by step she crawled back on earth to become a dead artist, alive and kicking.
And hey, since finally we are getting nowhere, we might as well have some fun. And then the critic in his coffin started laughing: humor is critical too you know…
 Finally we are getting nowhere (Fwagn). Name of a band formed by Peter van Drunen, Jan-Willem Versaevel and Jacko Boonman.