"The internal compulsion that drives some people to make art obviously differs from the external demand that we work for bread; that was Marxâs whole point, in distinguishing âthe realm of freedomâ from âthe realm of necessity,â and aligning unalienated labor with the former, and exploitative work with the latter. No doubt this was the distinction Berardi was drawing on when he so annoyed Sillman with his veneration of ânot workingâ (though Iâm willing to bet that Sillman would agree that âstaying up lateâŠtrying hard to make a âbetterâ oil paintingâ is distinct from, and preferable to, putting in a double shift at Target; she indicates as much when she calls painting ânot alienated labor, nor a commodity preciselyâ).38 And yet, Sillmanâs wanting to barf in the face of such distinctions doesnât seem to me solely a misunderstanding. I also hear in it a resistance to the certainty of classification, an insistence on the fact that, when we make art (as when we mother), we often donât know what we are doing. We can never really be sure if itâs need, leisure, compulsion, transaction, freedom, or submissionâlikely because it can be all these things at once, or in turns. Sillmanâs own difficulty in describing it (âwhat are we doing? I can still only call it looking for this fragile thing that is awkwardnessâ) serves as a happy reminder that, more often than not, we stay in the shit, as in Sillmanâs description of making art as âa way of churning the world, as your digestive system churns food.â This churning need not be disciplined into emancipation, reparation, or obligation. It can be a sign that we are, or once were, alive."
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