Sebastio Salgado presented through photography, the greatest artistic influence of my limited artistic history and from an exhibition I never actually saw. But after a hard night out, the image I got from the bus stop where it was advertised leaped at me, praying for compassion, or maybe I was just hallucinating. He is renowned for a widely differing subject range, and acclaimed for journalistic consistency in Geopolitical matters, like documenting a mass exodus of hundreds of thousands.
The idea of artists, like some portrait of Moses, enslaving people to move a dune of sand forty feet- leftwards, in the sixties may have a concreted context- it may even echo the haunted battlefronts of the Somme in the painful orchestration, but for identity- Salgado's sheer blood, sweat and tears proclaim an identity through the practice of reinforcing ideals and morals. Poverty costs a persons identity. Salgado will not limit himself to being richer nor poorer from it.
I "stopped" Painting after Salgado, I went through a number of worst case scenarios- I wondered who was making my cobalt paint etc...I think getting an assumed child to go Mining is excessive. (I hate the killing of Kolinsky Red Sables, as they are personify ably dogs, more than rodents, and what makes them so legendary is a barbarism like Whaling. I eat Duck, Venison, truffles- however...)
If the mad artist can ring up his brother the next time when his bottle of Absinthe runs out ala` van Gogh, does he suffer, really at all? There are children with guns, or maybe swarms of flies, to consider... Consider, the innocent child! At all times, absolutely and understand correctly, the gift of every person's potential, and cease the falsehoods and transgression against the valid universal adequacy thereof. Why? Because it will make art better.
Also, Buy something, dare you. You will find it passed through fifty hands before the finger sweat of any little anticipation, and only some of the hands were painless or free of sickness and none were free from death. The Artist privilege to "Make" and not "Buy" is a gift. It is equality which is operative and must be shared freely.
The Photography featured in the "Workers" suite, exhibited in Sydney, circa 1996, describes in painfully plaintive detail, the extort of philosophy over endevour. The angels that mine, could get a mention, lots of charming narratives about money, kids and gold, and what ever else you have to bleed for- the story about Ping. This lives today, some people don't have a clue about who they are or indeed where, what they live in, or what all about what they've purchased. The truth remains, only very rarely is something immaculate and free from someone's, eternal, loss. It also becomes difficult to live without thinking that parts of life are not in someway contrived, bought, passed down through thousands of hands.
I once mentioned the invention of the word Sabotage- A SABOT is a clog, the children, who were forced to labour for the industrial revolution, used to assert their limited human rights over their "employer", by ceasing the gears with them, (Parents would sell children to factories. Charles Dickens is an answer to many 19 century concerns) it possibly spawned a number of phrases; "clogging up the system" etc, any way how clever, their drawings were probably better than mine as well.
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