These were the days. Back when I didn’t hate people, I used to throw parties, inviting my friends and my brothers’ mates, and we would make the most of my old man’s shed to paint. That was before my dad acquired motorbikes and other prized things and reclaimed his workshop. I’d love to keep working in there, but my life wouldn’t be living if I risked getting paint on any of his babies. A dream I sometimes entertain is finding a space of my own to paint freely and not worry about making a mess. I know there are plenty of art studios to rent, but I’m not selling enough work to justify this and some weeks I barely create at all. I’ve been fortunate to have sold maybe twenty or so paintings over the last year, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.
Some of my fellow artists brought along their drugs of choice, though I wouldn’t know anything about that. I was far too focused on producing thoughtful work to pay attention to distractions. After all, we all know how substance use can dull the imagination and ultimately undermine genuine creativity.
I would visit the art stores and buy a heap of supplies — paints, brushes and canvases — and let the guys go nuts with whatever inspired them. This project cost me a large amount of coin, but it felt worth every penny. Everyone had a good night and took their newly made masterpieces home with them. Only a few of us would make it through the whole evening while the crowd slowly dwindled. Some of the pieces still hang on my parents’ walls, and I think I sold a few as well, but it was so long ago the details blur. This was in the early 2000s — so long ago now. I often wonder whether my work and approach have improved over the years. I’d like to think so; I hope they have, though perhaps they haven’t. I still don’t have a single signature style. Even browsing through my art on this site, I’m fairly sure no one could point and say, “Hey… that’s a David Saville!”
I have no desire to put on one of these nights anymore. I have few friends now, and I’ve lost much of the excitement I used to feel about being in a group of people. Besides, I wouldn’t spend the money I did today — those social outings no longer seem worth the cost. Art for me has become a largely solo pursuit: a form of meditation and a mindfulness experiment that centers me. I have severed a lot of the connections I once had when it comes to being around others, and new friendships rarely form anymore. I shouldn’t say that I hate people, because that isn’t true — I simply don’t like them very much.