• Walkin’ Blues

I was coming from nowhere, and going to go nowhere. Time will tell how long the road is, I have to pass yet, if I still will find a boon compagnon to walk on with, or if it just remains me walking my dog, as I did it for the most part in the last almost fifteen years. Only my dog stayed with me for such a long time. /Well. She did not have any other choice./ Looking back in time is often a drawback for looking ahead. I wasted so much time reliving the past, thinking about, what would have happened if..? instead of letting happen the here and now, the immediate future of the actual present. I didn’t choose my birthplace or the color of my skin either, anyhow I didn’t develope a second skin. I am just who I am, the way I am. A no name traveler, only one karma from billions of others between birth and death, somewhere on this globe. Sometimes I have to ask myself why we are determined to live a certain life, following an inner calling, working hard to acquire renown, to make the name popular, which we inherited, or just made up as an alias, hoping to make something special, being different than the others, to be one of a chosen few, to get famous in what we do, not only within the small circle of the (local) art scene, but being accepted in that fraudulent, decadent (high-)society, ruled by the media, and by the wanna be powers that be, worldwide. For me are all people famous, who I know. /How many names can you keep in your mind?/ During my career I could experience, how it is being somebody originated from a nobody. Although both have the same no meaning to me. It’s just being one of so many. Nobody has survived the life yet, but everybody of us is trying to leave a legacy, children or other kinds of births of whatever we did, since we cannot take anything with us (beside of the 21 grams). We all aim for living just a little bit longer, surviving at least a few of the next generations. I never wanted to own something, to have more, than I need. I just wanted to follow and realize my ideas, my concept of dreams. No matter which kind of art I did, drawings, paintings, photos, videos, or writing, I did it pre-eminently for myself (the selfishness of an egocentric). They did have to come out, not done for the drawer, but to give and open it (the finished work) later to and for the public. I didn’t pursuit to get rich, since I did know, the richness I own is my own faith in myself, in my skills, which are not comparable with any amount of money. Maybe that’s why it never came to that certain breakthrough in commercial sense. I was not interested in it. If I had some more money, I just wanted to enjoy those parts of life, I usually couldn’t enjoy, to travel, to feel free. But most of the time I just deceived myself that I was free. I was equally dependent from the begirded system, I just was situated inside a subsystem of the outsider artists colony. As I got the general view about the obscure machinery of the art market, dealing with names like stock, I got disgusted and tired very soon from being extradited to crazy collectors or to cold calculating midlemen. The big bluff, which has nothing to do with any arts anymore, just the disposal of a product, of a mark. The art will be converted in a currency in their dirty hands, to the marketing of trends. The more expensive, the more valuable. I didn’t want to be a part neither of that, nor of them.
Yet I have seen people standing in front of my paintings, amazed and reverently saying „ Oh, it’s a Sandor!“ They didn’t have the face to the picture.

DION • WALKIN' BLUES

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