The Limits of Ambition

The countdown begins in a blaze of lights and anticipation, all captured in the hazy fog of a drunken memory that passes as painfully as the hangover that rings in the New Year. I awake, head in a vice and carpet marks firmly tattooed upon my cheeks. As my head clears and I take full survey of all that has passed buried beneath the changing of one tiny number, past ambitions seem no more satisfied than the red circular stains at the bottom of the littering of wine glasses.

First and foremost, at least in my mind and my self ordained destiny, I have always been an Artist, a Creator. Years, prospective college majors, piling bills and partially embraced career moves all lead me down a path that, on paper, belied the image of my self that shown so brightly in my pointy little head.

I see the same lost and surrendered ambitions on the faces of those that sit beside me at the temp jobs that pay the bills. Unframed pictures, never solidly accepted or fixed with any finality upon a wall, hang with a pin on the grey nylon upholstery of the cubicles. There are pictures of families, college years, wild nights…and Art.

“I was once a painter,” they would say. A sculptor, a dancer, a filmmaker.

“Once? Not anymore?” I would reply.

He or she would look solemnly at the keyboard, and then around the office… “Art can’t pay the bills you know!”

A forlorn and reflexive giggle would follow.

I like to imagine they might go home on the weekend and dig out that old box of paint and in a manic flurry of desperation, adorn their white apartment walls with splashes of rage and crimson red.

Or when that familiar song came on over the hushed loudspeakers in Muzak style, the woman or man sitting beside would begin to belt that well practiced tune or move their bodies to a familiar rhythm and fluidity long ago abandoned.

We would all uncap our sharpies and join in song and dance marking upon the white walls and grey erected barricades, mounting our desks and breaking free of confinement. Chaos and beauty and passion and creation would all ensue in unbridled and unstoppable unity.

I was actually fired for that once.

As I sit here for the second consecutive all nighter bringing Art and the capacity for all to participate to their lives, one of my faithful co-founders sits beside me as this midnight passes uncelebrated.

Though proud and exhilarated at the end of each successful night, and each successful press screening, and each successful museum curator meeting, the idea of returning to my four other jobs at the breach of sunlight upon the horizon depresses me.

Satisfaction is stymied by the mere thought it is not only myself and the thankful thousands who come to Phoenix Art Space every month who feel the empty weight of pointlessness upon their souls.

Art has become a relic of the night.

Despite our ambitions, throngs of avid supporters and respected established institutions, and incredibly brilliant and experienced staff members, Phoenix Art Space remains a product of pure ambition. We are NOT a sustainable financial entity any more than the two week graphic design contracts I receive are the path to my destiny.

We create for the sake of creation, and we work for that privilege of exhaustion. So many other organizations, ruled over by incumbent boards that squabble over their territorial financial niches, absorb the few funds and resources offered the public and those that wish to be part of Art and creation.

Phoenix Art Space, though vast in its reach and potential, has been severely limited in its support via certain avenues and gate keepers by a supposed threat our all inclusive mission seems to pose towards those that sit upon the pedestals.

As we enter a new fiscal year for grants and outreach, we so sullenly learn that the thousands of man hours and material contributions given to us by so many are without value in the esteem of those that hand out the money to those that truly help the world.

How, then, do we rise out of our chairs?

How can we break down the cubicle walls and set the masses free?

How can we climb upon the desks in song and dance and not be admonished in shame?

My ambition fails me here. I have no answers for you.

Only questions.

These are the limitations of ambitions.

See you on Monday at the office.