Lately I have been talking a lot about permission.
Permission is important.
The permission I give and that which I have been given.
But before permission there must be confidence.
There can be no giving in, no granting, no leap of faith if not taken on the soil of confidence.
Now if you would allow, please lay your confidence in me and listen to my cause.
I will come back to permission.
I have not had the chance yet to properly introduce myself. Very likely, you will have already made your first judgements just by the inescapable, perhaps primal, reflex of the eyes to scan who is in front of you. But our eyes tend to deceive us since they evolved to help us in a world much less streamlined than ours, where people and animals still thought in since abandoned because no longer useful categories such as predator and prey. So hear me out, not to suggest that our ears are significantly more reliable tools of objectivity, albeit less commonly used to pass judgement onto others, and please refrain from using your eyes to make an assertion of me, leave all preconceptions behind, and let me to tell you who I am. I smile at you openly but not overbearingly. My midnight blue jacket is pleated. A feather peaks out of one of its chest pockets, its colors pink, orange and turquoise, colors so vibrant one would think they are an artificial product of cheap labor if one were not to know that they once graced the body of a real bird, a flamboyant, beautiful and rare bird that is, so rare has it become that only a few specimen still fly around in the sky, coming out when they feel safe, so not to be harmed by other creatures, which is probably the explanation for your lack of acquaintance with its color profile. The bird must have lost its feather while flying over the land to find food for their offspring, as it is not from the opportunistic kind of cuckoos who smuggle their eggs in stranger’s nests, but a bird known to have a developed sense of responsibility and a lifelong dedication to their chosen spouse. My shoes are made from Italian leather, black and rather shiny. I am carrying a book in my hand, the content of which I might relate to you later, but for now let me tell you that I have made it a mission of mine to have read every classic work of worldly literature, theory and fiction alike. It takes long to read a book so I trust the little penguin logo to tell me what’s good. Not that I would ever judge a book by its cover but we only have limited time on this Earth and lately everyone calls themself a writer. Now we are in this place, [insert description of space here], but if I were to let you inside my home, you would find me a person of eclectic taste, though nothing of vulgarity, generic gentility perhaps. A closet made of mahogany wood and a small writing desk and secretary with cabinets made from oak. On the desk you would find a portable ink stand and a razor kit. You would know better than to open the drawers of my closet, though, as I’m sure you hold me in high enough regard to not snoop around. Whether you’d find my closet full of varicolored feathers from all kinds of singing birds, both native and foreign to this latitude, or a modest suit, or perhaps the collar of a pierrot, is nothing you’d have to occupy your mind with. Don’t be nosy, you might sneeze. A single landscape painting of the Hudson River used to grace the walls of this room but nowadays I prefer to not have any images on the walls. You’ll also search in vain for any books since I discarded them together with the painting. I’ve been thinking anyway lately how reading probably corrupts the mind. How many people are there, who had everything they needed to become a tale of success, were it not for the fact that they were plagued, or gifted as some might say, who are wrong, because they know everything they learned from reading, by a perpetual cycle, a sentimental inclination towards fiction or perhaps most dangerously a tedious curiosity for theory. The mind needs to be kept clean and tidy, just like one’s home. I try to own only a few pieces of furniture. I avoid the flea market, I don’t scroll around on Etsy or eBay to collect clutter, I do not even go to MUJI to inspect their storing systems, which are nice though, I have to admit, mainly because of the milky and transparent material they are made of.
This introduction shall suffice for you to understand we see eye to eye. I have confidence in you. You must have confidence in me, too, out of principle. It’s not that hard to trust someone, right? Just think how easy it was for you to trust me. That is, if you are not someone who bottles up your mistrust inside until all its atoms condense to a dark shadow running through your veins like a greasy fluid, clogging the pathways of your heart until it blackens your vision and clouds the mind. But this obviously does not apply to you, the lightness of your heart is enough for an effort of faith.
Practicing confidence in your everyday life is not only a noble and aesthetic but necessary habit. For example, I have confidence in the seller on eBay that they are not a scalper. I don’t have to pay via any officially regulated system set up by the platform if I have faith in the seller. There’s no need for me to offend them with unbecoming scruple. And even if something were to be foul, which it is not, is it not better to have a nose that is willing to smell a delightful scent of a timeless cologne where there might really be hiding acidic notes coming from the sweat that runs down the scammer’s temples? Would you not prefer to be considered a faithful optimist of the human spirit rather than a saboteur? Which economy stands a chance to survive if its actors would so carelessly cultivate resentment? Take the constant spiteful spectacle the media makes when they launch attacks on crypto entrepreneurs who by accident and naivety got involved in kind of a little scheme. I had confidence in $HAWK, for example, because Hawk Tuah Girl herself had confidence in the business. She could have not told you how crypto currencies worked the day the coin launched, she said herself. Neither could I! So what if the people she worked with did what press outlets called a pump-and-dump scheme? She believed. A courageous display of confidence, if you ask me. I have confidence that Lana Del Rey actually did live in a trailer park, as she says, because she would not lie about her upbringing. I have confidence in the writer and the student who chose to include an em dash in their text. Every time I pick up my phone, it is a testament to my confidence in the innovations of Silicon Valley. To suspect ulterior motives would mean to be a cynic in the face of humanity’s good faith and profitable philanthropy. What would it do to us if distrust were to be our default, mistaking suspicions for intelligence? Cynicism is a lazy posture and I’d rather wear a dunce cap than be called a grump. Fraud is the necessary risk of a society that believes in itself.
If you were wondering why I mentioned Lana Del Rey in the previous paragraph that otherwise talked more about economics and trade, it’s because confidence in music and art is just as mandatory. An artist myself, art teaches me an important lesson because it asks me to have confidence everyday. It pushes me close to the abyss. But it is art is which pulls me back from falling every time. Some days I am a winner and some days I am a loser. Every day I must have confidence. I put all eggs in one basket and hop on like an Easter bunny. In good times and in bad times, as if in a holy matrimony with myself. Marriage after all is an act of confidence. A pre-nup is a bashful act of distrust which, to spell it out for you, means that spoken word must be enough. Never insult me with a contract, I will refuse it in offense. But, if you insist, I will not reject your wish, not approvingly but also not suspiciously, because I have confidence in you and will not assume a sinister and small minded spark of doubt in you towards me, so I will give you my signature. Speaking of my name, I am currently testing out a few simple ideas for catchphrases to print on business cards for a project I am launching soon. Can I read some of them to you and you tell me which one inspires the most confidence in you?
Confidence is the art.
Art, with confidence.
The Confidence Artist.
Confidence, practiced as art.
Art you can confide in.
The artist’s confidence, made visible.
Built on confidence. Rooted in art.
Confidence in every gesture.
Art, carried with confidence.
Where confidence becomes art.
Confidence in art.
Art in confidence.
Confident art.
Artful confidence.
The confidence of the artist.
The artist of confidence.
Confident in confident art.
Art that knows art.
Confidence confidence art.
Confidence that looks like art.
Art art confidence.
Confidence art confidence.
Art confidence art.
Confide in art.
Artist confidence art.
Art art art confidence. Dense confidence.
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I have realized over time the importance of cultivating confidence in oneself and others. The world of art runs on who knows who, a dance signifies genuine fondness just as much as a transactional operation. It can sometimes be confusing and the messages sent become obscure. I have seen many friends and colleagues give into bitterness. It starts with humorous self-deprecation or digs against others, while “others” often remains a rather abstract idea. The seed of suspicion starts to grow the more you water it. All this water creates a slippery terrain, though, and if one is not careful, you drown. An irony poisoned mindset quickly turns into real politics of resentment. Understandably, as resources seem scarce. But if you hold a grudge, it is always you who will have to stem that weight. If you want to be frustrated that no one invites you to anything, you should rather remember those who express faith in your work with no gain from it. And remember those that worry about you. It is easy for others to tell you that you’ll be fine. It is harder to worry. I believe in advocacy and friendship and once again, it requires confidence. Confidence in the gift of others, faith in their good intentions and a genuine believe in your surroundings beyond the popular institutional syntax and grammar of care. Doing away with all institutions is also not the aim, I think. More helpful it seems to me is to have confidence in them, that they can change or that your friends can build their own. Skepticism is nothing but a cozy apocalypse. Stranger intimacy. Confidence in the abstract.
Which reminds me, I’m currently taking it upon myself to build my own art convention, an institution which artists and viewers alike can trust again. The slogans I just read to you are intended for this project and shall reach those who might have already given up hope in a genuine art world. It’s not a Kunsthalle oder even a Kunstverein, whose organizational hierarchy are based on a principle of checks and balances, which produces nothing but a paranoid atmosphere of control. No ugliness of such sorts will have a place at ArtCon. The convention will be a marketplace of confidence. Artists themselves can decide whether they want to join this exciting opportunity and show in our prestigious spaces for a small fee, making sure that everyone shares the same unwavering belief in art’s power. As you will understand, the issue of founding an institution is funding an institution. Wouldn’t you like to help an endeavor like this in its infant stage with some financial support? Doing it now, at such an early stage would prove to be the most generous act of confidence conceivable. We have three different tiers of memberships. The Starry-Eyed Pass starts at 100€s, the Good-Natured Access at 300€ and Dimwitted Premium 1000€. Not saying you should jump the gun but if you get on now you will join the Early Bird Club, receiving a 10% sale reduction for your next purchase with our very own credit system, ArtCoin. To secure that passers-by who are not members cannot buy a work that you are interested in from our talented exhibiting artists, we built our own currency which only members can acquire and pay with. A donation receipt, you ask? No. We cannot start an institution like this on the wrong foot. But you can look forward to some great benefits, endless expressions of gratitude as well as exclusive pre-sales and intimate encounters for your philanthropic generosity. You receive a starting subscription of ArtCoins, the amount depending on your membership tier but can always acquire more through deals with our partners. We have not found a permanent space yet for ArtCon and we also don’t need one, since it’s no gallery or museum but a wandering circus.
The cynics of today declare the image dead. What’s worse, they have long ago declared reality dead as well. Joyously they fly the flag of slop as if it is evidence for their pessimistic forecast finally becoming undeniably apparent. With this attitude, though, they should rather fly a white flag of resignation admitting the total abandonment of their own confidence for the human spirit. I can appease you, an image is still as true as can be and it creates the real.Distrust is cowardice. There are no curtains and no mirrors. Who are we without images? Maybe nothing. Which is why I gave you one. I understand your attendance and lack of interruptions as a priceless confession of faith in me and thank you for resisting the temptation to become cynics. I could have not done this without your permission.
— The Confidence Artist