The night before...

I am sitting in my Chai Wan studio with my new 24' imac computer. The air conditioner is turned off and my eyes are dry. My body is stiff and tired, and my neck is tense from the day. I taught my last photography class. It was hand-in for them. I came back to the studio and my friend Vasum was busy helping me set up my space for today's sale and event. Now, nearing 3am, I have just finalized which art will sold. Tomorrow, I price the work. I think i have done this over 30 or more times. I've lost count, but it is always with a sense of anticipation for a good turnout and hopefully a few sales here and there. An art exhibition/sale is not like a concert, it is not a movie and it is not a charitable event. I have seen Hong Kong take the art scene into it's hands and seen it forced into people's minds with gimmicks and performances and what not. But there is something in me that reminds me of who the artist is and what the art is all about. Being raised in a small town in Canada, I was brought into the art scene at a very young age. I was drawing nudes at the age of 18, or maybe it was 19. I attended art exhibitions at the university and elsewhere. There was red and white wine. There was some food, but nothing extravagant. There was rarely an admission charge, but if so, it was very little. Art was in a sense, free for you enjoy and see. There was no gimmick. The art had to stand on it's own. Usually, the artist was present to discuss and answer questions. Light music played in the background. The people that attended art openings were friends and sometimes, buyers. The gallery was not a place for partying; it was a place for the gathering of people that really believed and enjoyed art, and a place for artists to meet other artists. I think back to those days and I feel a part of me has copped out for a few years, devoting too much time and effort into a more commercial realm, fearing that the soul of my work has been parted with. I opened up some old graphite work that has been in storage for over 5 or 6 years. There were symbolic pieces of art that was drawn during the time of my father's and brother's death. Highly abstract, yet powerful and disturbing. I felt my face wrinkle and retract; it still moved me inside. I thought, 'I can't let this one go'.  is it strange to be so attached to a piece of artwork that you can't share it with others? I price work very high, when it's personal, not by how technically inclined it is. 3:19am. I best be getting home. It's going to be a long day tomorrow.