Artist Statement (kind of?) by Halley

So I had a weird idea for an “artist statement” that kind of addresses the idea of a personal aesthetic. It’s kind of silly and I’m not really finished with it, but here it is!

I’m Not an Artist, I’m a Gardener

Don’t hand it to me on a plate.

Art isn’t a bowl of plain pasta.

Maybe it’s a salad with a bunch of stuff thrown together so you look at it and go “oh yeah, that’s a salad!” but you’re not exactly sure what’s in it, ya know?

Maybe it doesn’t matter what it is.

Maybe I’m just hungry?

I guess what I’m trying to say is that there’s a lot of stuff that tastes really gross.

Maybe those chips tasted really good fifty years ago, but now we know that they’re really bad for our bodies.

Plus, they’ve been in the pantry for fifty years!

A lot of stuff has been sitting in the pantry for so long that it’s starting to go stale. Some of it is starting to rot.

Listen, I’m not a chef.

(I cook 90% of my meals in a microwave.)

I’m learning how to cook, but right now every time I make something I think, gahhh this should taste better!*

Or maybe I think, this is a bowl of plain pasta.

Or I think, I honestly can’t even tell this is a salad.

Or, Oh no, this one is too obviously a salad.

Yesterday I made a salad with no dressing.

Who the *beeeep* would want to eat a salad without dressing?!

But, I do have a garden.

And I’m trying to grow something fresh.

Something that is good for us.

Something we can all eat.

Even if it’s scary—maybe it’s a fruit we’ve never seen before.

And I want other people to plant in my garden.

I want you to plant in my garden.

I want you to bring me seeds I’ve never heard of.

But I want all of the fruit and vegetables to be fresh and nourishing.

Oh yeah, and no one has to pay for any of it obviously.

We’ll just hang out in the garden and talk about the world outside the garden.

You’ll be happy to dig your hands into the dirt, feeling it cold against your fingers.

This is how you blow off steam. And you have to blow off steam.

Because on your walk over some asshole yelled something about your ass from his car.

But you know that no one needs to tell you anything about your ass.

We know that in the garden, our asses are awesome.

They help us bend down and plant beautiful tomatoes.

That are bright red like the lipstick I wear.

And when we’re tired we take a break, biting into the juicy tomatoes.

And my lipstick smears on my sweaty face and bits of tomato run down my chin as we all scream along to our favorite punk songs or pop songs or our own songs.

We all sing different songs at the same time but they all fit together in a beautiful medley.

And we shake our beautiful butts and eat our beautiful fruit until we are covered in sweat and a powerful red.

And then we continue to plant more seeds.

So yeah, I’m kind of at the point where I’m going to grow a bunch of stuff.

Stuff that is new and that replaces the stale chips at the back of the pantry.

The chips that make my stomach hurt.

The chips that hurt my body.

The bland chips that don’t have any color.

And when you eat them they sit in your stomach in a vile clump, not allowing room for anything else.

And I’m not sure how to cook anything I grow.

Hopefully I’ll meet other gardeners and chefs and they’ll help me figure it out.

But right now, I’m just a gardener.

*As usual, after making the meal you just ate, I thought, gahh this should taste better!