I was reading an interview earlier with an artist named Richard Tuttle who mentioned a topic I’ve thought about often — the idea of permission; the idea being that for most artists, one or more people in the course of your life give you “permission” to be an artist — they provide you the space, the advice, the love, the example, whatever, that allows you to chase your particular dragon.
You may have more than one over a lifetime, but there’s usually a primary one somewhere back in time who cut you loose and said, in some way, “go.”
Mine was a student teacher named Jack Halacy who introduced me to Robert Bly and Etheridge Knight (literally, not just on page) when I was fourteen, and who wasn’t afraid to say that something I wrote was bullshit because he knew I had it in me to keep at it, even at that age.
Who gave you permission?
Dark Matter 