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Richard Tuttle, Untitled, c.1967, watercolor on paper, 7 x 10 inches

THE WORK : richard tuttle

An Exchange with Addison Parks

 

 

Richard, how does an artist-- whatever it is that they do, stay on his or her course?

The only question worth pursuing is about the work. Now the work is, according to my latest inquiry, not what most people think it is(the way "artists" use it, for example),and is not even the way I have sloppily used it to avoid that I didn't know what it really is. This is how I have come to it: if in my mind's eye I "see" that all people have work( in the Christian-moral, life-associated, natural sense of all people living are living, idea and idea application sense) then the work is this once you take away the people. I first know this as a contingent thing and then KNOW it by taking away what it first was contingent to. (The working is totally different from the work, as I've just described it.)

Where is someone like myself? Are there any alternatives?

Now you are in a position surrounded by work in the ordinary sense, and by people who are in fact working, which cuts them off from the work. You have a capacity for understanding what the work is, but have not treated yourself to the satisfactions which can be had in this and this alone. You speak of alternatives; this is not possible in the work--it is in the working, very much so, and in work in the ordinary sense.

What of the struggle, the artist's struggle for direction, the struggle for light, for getting and staying on track, in line, on the path, centered, or even just being good, or good enough?

You see in me someone who can expose you to your own capacity, but this is dishonest to yourself and me--though you don't intend it. First you are pulled apart and then separated from what you really want. So many times this happens; so many times we fight back or don't fight back--it doesn't seem to make much difference in nature or the way the world turns, but it does to us because we don't feel good. When you meet another person who makes you feel good--in this way--you feel yourself and that is the important thing--this feeling of your Self, the satisfaction.

I do, of course, because nobody talks about this stuff?

Now in our case we have only felt each other's dimension, a hopefulness, and, as the greeks said, this is the last and worst thing in Pandora's box. Strangely enough it is the very thing which we must avoid if we are ever going to get to the work. This love for seeing our own dimension in others must be given up to get to the work.

And finding...

But then you ask how do we find the courage--can't other people give us this courage, or arm us with weapons to fight our own battle. Yes, they can, as long as each is thinking about the work. It is wrong for me to supply someone with arms for which they have no use, even if I could, which, apparently, I can't, and am grateful for it.

It is also wrong for someone in the world to qualitatively judge someone who is outside the world, for the two don't run together; they are different. The part of you that has nothing to do with anything is a valuable part, not relative to others as the humanists or religious dogmatists say: it simply is(the best part) and not to be compared at all. To love this, to know this, to learn to know this, you need tools, but it is best to make them yourself, slowly, single-mindedly, and irregardless of anyone else. This is the hard work, everything else follows, painting, if you are a painter, love if you are meant to love, nothing if that is what is right. All of these things feel good, but they are not it.

May 17, 1978

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This exchange is the result of a correspondence between Richard Tuttle and Addison Parks, between New York and Providence.

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