Dead and dying flowers

My work has been in the Peter blake Gallery for three weeks now. I have had some favourable comment. I am working on the shed which will house the returned work. I lined it with glass fibre loft insulation and'Shed Boat Shed' mutated into a reference to the felt and fat installations of Joseph Beuys. Being in the unfinished shed transported me to a Beuys installation, which in turn had taken me back to my childhood, playing in haystacks on a farm near my home. The way in which sound and oneself was absorbed in each situation created a powerful sense of part suffocation and part protection.Of course I feel that I know the difference between an artwork and a'functional' artefact, but the possibilities of the everyday niggle away at my understanding. A criterion often quoted in defining a work of art is that it has a level of skill in its creation. But the notion of 'skill' as a qualitative criterion is misplaced. What we have is technique;skill is a measure of the command of technique; technique is applied in the pursuit of a further goal. To differentiate between art objects and other artefacts is in one sense unnecessary; the experience is the defining event. So why paint?

I have a pathological need for certainty and a disposition to be uncertain. This makes enjoyment a little diffcult and fleeting. My work is on the walls at Dartford Library. I can look at aspects of it and feel satisfied. I guess that the difficulty of drawing is something with which I feed my uncertainty. Knowing when something has run its course comes more easily than knowing whether it has any value. The notion that matters of taste are subjective and therefore beyond dispute confronts head on the need for judgements to be rational and therefore arguable. Taste without judgement is valueless. I try to undermine my own taste in my work:good taste is potentially the artist's worst enemy. I want the work to be valued, but not necessarily liked.