SATURDAY, 20 SEPTEMBER 2003
I have no problem exchanging art for money. If an artist earns a million rand with his art, good for him. It’s much better than having to earn that money by spending a lifetime making permanent butt impressions on office chairs.
I also have no problem with having my own writing published. My point is simply that I don’t want to be dictated by so-called market forces what and how I write – which certainly is a departure from my earlier attitude of think like a businessman, create like an artist.
What this means is that I’d rather not be dependent on my writing for food and rent money. If I do finally manage to produce something that a magazine deems fit to publish, fair and well; then I won’t have to sell so many of my hours to some business that month. However, what I produce from the anguish and ecstasy of my reality experience is too important for me to see it become just another product to be weighed on the scale of the Great Industrial Machine, like fruit or firewood or souvenirs at a tourist spot.
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