One of the reasons I was resistent for many years to actively joining communities of artists, to showing with many artists, and to participating in artist’s social media was that I sensed all the thousands and thousands of artworks I’d end up seeing, all the waves of up and down feelings and ambivalent feelings they’d give me, and I anticipated the sense of triviality I would feel in the face of this art onslaught.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to feel like a small fish in a big pond. I didn’t want to feel like I was in a pond at all. I wanted to feel like my art could at some point be worthwhile and consequential. And, to my imagination anyway, that seemed impossible if I were to reinforce constantly that whatever I made, it was only a fleck on a surface of a zillion other flecks – and that whatever I could be, it was only a speck on a surface of a zillion other specks.

There is no consequence in that situation. There is no delusion strong enough in that situation to support the sense of being able to wield consequence that isn’t also strong enough to demolish the ability to commit any meaningful act at all.