[ Promotional Public Domain Photos of Derek R. Audette ]

[ Interview - Sagacity Sept. 2008]

Interview with Derek R. Audette from the September, 2008 edition of "Sagacity" -- reprinted here with permission. Interviewer is Allen Seaver.

A.S.: In a recent interview you named Mohandas Gandhi as a “hero” of yours. Forgive me, but Gandhi seems a sort of cliché answer to such a question, and you’ve always struck me as someone who is so not about clichés.

D.A.: As in a lot of people name him as a hero?

A.S.: Yes.

D.A.: Well, sometimes I think clichés become clichés for good reason. I think that’s definitely the case there.

A.S.: Agreed.

D.A.: Would you have been happier if I had named Superman as a personal hero? Would that be more or less of a cliché response?

A.S.: Hmm, perplexing question.

D.A.: I have a number of heroes. I imagine you’d be similarly disappointed in each of them.

A.S.: For instance?

D.A.: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jesus Christ...

A.S.: Really? Jesus? Are you a Christian?

D.A.: Not really. I’m not Hindu either, but I named Gandhi as a hero. My heroes are mostly people whom, usually in the face of fierce opposition, set examples in their manner of living which I feel any human would do well to aspire to.

A.S.: So, you’re not a Christian?

D.A.: Not really. I believe it a logical conclusion that Christ was most likely divine by nature – something more than human – a part of the creator. I believe Christ was who he said he was. I arrived at that conclusion logically and through reason. But, I subscribe to the dogmas of no organized, Christian religion. I also believe that who Christ said he was has been misinterpreted to varying degrees by the bulk of religious people.

A.S.: So, you’re a Christian who doesn’t identify with any organized church then?

D.A.: Not really. I think I can most closely be described as a Christian Deist, if there could be such a thing. But, that doesn’t quite nail it either. You shouldn’t be able to pigeonhole spirituality that easily with the use of a simple label. When I hear someone say “I’m Catholic!” Or, “I’m Muslim”, or what have you, I think to myself “You’re not using the full capacity of your brain!” Spirituality and the true scope of spiritual truth are far too complex for any one religion. We just don’t have all the data. I don’t believe we’re supposed to have all the data. I believe that most of the value is in the search, not the realization. So, aligning oneself with any single religion is denying that idea. It’s a claim that some group of people does indeed possess all of the data. And, I think that’s absurd. If someone did possess all of the data, we’d all be a lot better off right now. I guess that sounds somewhat Discordian. Maybe I’m a Christian Discordian?

A.S.: I didn’t want this to be a religious discussion...

D.A.: That’s ok.

A.S.: ... so, on to art.

D.A.: Cool.

A.S.: You don’t do many showings.

D.A.: Almost none.

A.S.: Why is that?

D.A.: Laziness?

A.S.: Really?

D.A: No. Well, perhaps in some very small way. Honestly, I just don’t like the whole thing — the whole entity of the “art game.”

I find having a showing to be an alien environment. It’s hard having all of these people milling about, looking at your art, and half of them don’t give a shit about it. Two thirds of them don’t get it, and have no interest in getting it. And, not just my art, but art in general. Many of them are there simply because they’ve fallen in love in some way with the idea that they’re the type of person who goes to art shows. You know? It’s a personality thing — an identity thing. It’s an attempt to artificially fabricate an identity for themselves. A lot of people go to showings for the same reason they always order the same mocha-latte-half-caf-grande-frappucino with nutmeg and cinnamon, or however people order that shit. You know? The coffee order that nobody else on the planet orders exactly the same way. They don’t actually prefer their coffee that way. We’re living in an age where people have lost their identities to a large degree. They feel faceless. So, they forge an identity for themselves without even knowing it. “I’m not just another faceless person in this city of five million faceless people! I’m the mocha-latte-half-caf-nutmeg guy!” It’s just a tiny, little thing that subconsciously, psychologically helps them to feel like they’re an individual and not lost in a sea of people.

A.S.: So, how do you take your coffee?

D.A.: Double-double. Very simple. As long as it’s hot and brown, I’m good. Two cream, two sugar.

A.S.: So, you’re the “Double-Double” guy!

D.A.: That’s me. Crazy frikken’ artist coffee order.

A.S.: Is that how you order at Starbucks?

D.A.: I’ve never been to Starbucks.

A.S.: No way.

D.A.: Honest. I’ve never set foot inside a Starbucks in my life.

A.S.: Their coffee is good.

D.A.: Oh, I know. I’ve had their coffee a number of times. I like it. It’s good coffee. I don’t know if it’s worth “fi-dollars”, but its pretty fuckin’ good. But, I’ve only ever had it when someone else has gone and gotten it. I’ve never been inside a Starbucks in my life.

A.S.: Ha! Did I detect a Pulp Fiction reference there?

D.A.: You did.

A.S.: Getting back to the art showings, you said you didn’t like “the game.” What did you mean by that?

D.A.: Well, there’s this game that goes on. It’s all very artificial, and I have no taste for artificiality. It’s dishonest in a way. But, the art world — at least from a business sense — is awash in such things.

I first discovered it when I was first starting out with painting. I was trying to get showings, because I thought that’s what was done — you’re an artist, so you show your work in galleries. Everyone I talked to asked where I had shown before. When I told them nowhere, they wouldn’t talk to me — wouldn’t even look at my work. They wanted to know what sort of degrees I had. When I told them I didn’t have any, same thing. They looked at me like I was a leper or something.

So, I started asking “Look, I’ve never done a showing, and I can’t get any showings because I’ve never done one. It’s a catch 22. So, what do I do?” And a couple people said that normally you start off with some art fairs — pay for inclusion type of things. You rent a booth. Then, put that on your C.V. Then you’ll get into group shows at small galleries, then put that on your C.V. and you might get private showings at small galleries, then on to larger galleries, etc.

Well, this seemed completely dishonest to me. Because I had never shown before, and had no degrees, nobody would even consider my art. Ridiculous! Artistic works stand on their own merits. I could be producing the most brilliant work mankind had ever known and whether or not I had an arts degree, or any previous showings, would have nothing to do with it.

So, these sorts of politics, along with putting up with some of the people who frequent such events, leaves a bad taste. It keeps me from showing.

I’m also somewhat of an anti-social shut-in these days, of course. That doesn’t help. [laughs]

A.S.: So the regular “art crowd” doesn’t appeal to you?

D.A.: Oh, no. Most of them are fine; enjoyable in fact. It’s usually about half I guess. It’s just that I have a very low tolerance for certain types of people. It’s not that those types disgust me or anything. But, I find it difficult to be around them. Of course when it’s your show people want to engage you. You’re the one in the spotlight for the moment. So, you’ve got to be nice and polite. I find that to be somewhat of a chore. Does that make me an asshole? I don’t know. But it’s the way I am. I enjoy engaging a good deal of the people there. But the burden of engaging the rest seems to outweigh the enjoyment somewhat.

A.S.: So, keep the posers away from the galleries.

D.A.: I don’t know if poser is the correct term. I don’t know if that quite fits. Most of them are sincere I suppose. I guess they’re just self-deluded. It’s not that they’re knowingly trying to be something they’re not. It’s not their fault really and I can’t fault them. Maybe it’s sad — a sad part of the human condition. I guess we’re all lost in some way.

A.S.: But it annoys you to meet these people.

D.A.: It’s the plasticity of it all.

A.S.: What is it that they don’t get about your art?

D.A.: That there’s nothing to get.

A.S.: At the risk of sounding like I’m not getting it, can you explain?

D.A.: Well...

A.S.: Do you mean that your art has no meaning?

D.A.: Oh no. Not at all. I mean that whether it does or not is tertiary.

A.S.: Tertiary to...?

D.A.: Perhaps tertiary isn’t the right word. Perhaps I mean that while my work is not meaningless, whether it is meaningless or not is really fairly meaningless.

A.S.: I’m perplexed.

D.A.: It’s difficult to explain. Maybe I shouldn’t be so bothered about others not getting it. [laughs]

Let me put it to you this way. Have you ever enjoyed a sunset purely with regards to its aesthetic quality?

A.S.: Of course.

D.A.: If you were completely ignorant regarding all of the science involved with nuclear fusion, would you then be unable to see worth, beauty or wonder in that same sunset?

A.S.: I think I see what you’re getting at.

D.A.: Most of my works are purposefully loaded with meaning — much of it hidden or obscured in some way. A hundred years from now, if any of my stuff still exists, people will still be finding buried things in my work long after they thought they’d found it all. But whether you see it or not — whether that part of it is accessible to you or not is meaningless. Even if you can see no meaning whatsoever, you should still be able to see worth.

A.S.: So, how do people not get that?

D.A.: What do you mean?

A.S.: I mean, it seems as though if someone were to not fully realize what you’ve just explained... I guess I don’t see the fault in that.

D.A.: Someone looks at one of my abstract works. To them, there is no meaning because nothing appears readily available. It’s just a bunch of lines or colours. There appears to be nothing else to it — even though there almost always certainly is, and they just haven’t found it yet. But, since they see nothing they think “Pretty picture” and nothing else. They dismiss it.

What they don’t get is the sunset itself — the wonder of the thing. Whether they can see the fusion taking place or not is meaningless.

You understand? They can’t find the nuclear fusion, so they disregard the sunset. I’m saying you don’t need the fusion. Yes, if you had it you could enjoy it on another level perhaps. But if you don’t have it, it doesn’t matter. It’s still a marvelous thing.

A.S.: I think I understand.

D.A.: I’m sorry. I should be able to explain it better. Explanation is sometimes difficult for me. I think largely in abstract forms. Translating understanding to speech is sometimes a difficult task.

A.S.: You’ve said your art is divine. Can you explain that?

D.A.: Art is the act of intentional creation. Creation on the part of humans is an imitation of God. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. No one so flatters God as much as the artist does. The artist is the most worshipful of worshipers to the creator God. All art is divine in some way.

A.S.: Whoa, lofty! [laughs] Why did you become interested in being an artist?

D.A.: I have no idea really. I’ve always had, as far back as I can remember, an inexplicable and almost pathological need to simply create — to bring new things into being. I don’t know where it comes from or why it’s there. But, I know it can’t be ignored or denied.

A.S.: You’re a musician, painter, poet, photographer, among other things. A poly-artist. Why so many things?

D.A.: Any one doesn’t satisfy my pathology.

A.S.: Really? “Pathology”? You’d describe your need to create as a disease?

D.A.: “Disease”? No. That would denote uneasiness. Well... sometimes, perhaps it is like a disease. But, maybe “affliction” would be a better word?

A.S.: Sometimes art brings you uneasiness?

D.A.: Oh yes! Immense uneasiness. It can be very difficult — the need to create. It’s a love/hate thing. It really is. It brings me great pleasure, joy and fulfillment, along with great strife and frustration — as I suppose anything worth doing is sure to do. But, it’s not easy being an artist; not at all.

A.S.: A lot of people would view such a notion as being pompous.

D.A.: A lot of people don’t have the courage to be what I am.

A.S.: A lot of people would view that as even more pompous.

D.A.: Fuck them.

A.S.: [laughs] You really think it’s tough being an artist? It takes courage?

D.A.: The type of artist I am, yes. What I’ve chosen for my life. It involves bucking the system to a huge degree. It involves constantly going against the flow. Little to no compromise. You can’t make “the deal.” It involves pissing a lot of people off on an almost daily basis. It involves exposing your intellect and your emotions almost constantly and to a degree that most people will never approach in their lifetimes — never have the courage to approach. It takes immense courage. It’s very difficult to live in such a way. That type of transparency is impossible for most people.

Try it some time. Most people wouldn’t last an afternoon. It takes a special type of person.

A.S.: “the deal”?

D.A.: Yeah, you know. “The deal.” I’ll do my nine to five, pay my taxes, not speak out too much, not buck the system. I’ll consume and then die quietly and peacefully. And, in exchange, I’ll enjoy a certain amount of perceived protection. I’ll get a reasonable place to live and some creature comforts, and I won’t have to extend myself very far. I won’t have to deal with a lot of uncomfortable and scary intellectual and spiritual realities. Some faceless, nameless people whom I trust to do the job will take care of running things and dealing with the ugly parts of existence for me.

A.S.: Oh. That deal.

D.A.: Yeah. It sucks. Fuck the deal. Fuck safety. It’s all an illusion anyway. What are you selling your soul for? For a fucking illusion. I’ll give you my soul and you give me a bunch of smoke and mirrors.

A.S.: What an interesting philosophy you have.

D.A.: Brother, you aint heard none of it yet.

A.S.: So, we have time for one more question.

D.A.: Joyous.

A.S.: Out of anyone in history, living or dead, whom would you most like to have dinner with?

D.A.: Ah, great question – only because, believe it or not, I used to maintain a list of the top ten people, living or dead, that I’d most like to have dinner with. It was a serious list, and populated by a lot of cliché types. So, you’d probably be disappointed. You know, standard giants of the arts and sciences, great thinkers, historical figures, etc.

But, one person that might stand out as being somewhat unique: For a long time Professor Julius Sumner Miller ranked very high on the list. I think that would be one of the most entertaining dinner guests any human could hope for.

A.S.: I’m afraid I don’t know of him.

D.A.: Ack! For shame! Well, that’s your assignment for the day. Go find out about Julius Sumner Miller. Find some video footage on Youtube or something. I’ll quiz you on him next time.

A.S.: Ok. I’ll do that. I want to thank you for taking the time to sit down and talk with me.

D.A.: Anytime. Thank you.

A.S.: And, people should go out and buy “A Condition of Experience” at their local bookstore?

D.A.: Yep. They probably won’t have it in stock, but pester them for it! It makes me look good. [laughs] But, you can get it from my website or from Amazon and a couple of other places on-line. Just type it into Google.

A.S.: And your website is?

D.A.: Http://DerekAudette.OttawaArts.Com

A.S.: Awesome. And that’s a rockin’ website. I check it out often.

D.A.: Thank you.

A.S.: Always tons of cool stuff there.

D.A.: I’ve got some naked pictures of you I’ll be posting there tomorrow.

A.S.: Now, now. You don’t want to scare away your visitors now.

D.A.: Come on! It’s not that big. You flatter yourself.

A.S.: Thanks again for taking the time to talk.

D.A.: Thank you.

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