It appears to be a widely acknowledged dichotomy that art requires sacrifice. Suffering for your art or, rather, for the freedom of being “allowed” to make art, usually seems to mean that a lack of remuneration and/or recognition is standard. Something that artists have to accept because, after all, what is it we really do? It’s all about the appearance of things rather than the actual reality of it. Numbers and algorithms dictate our self-worth. If something isn’t considered worth sharing, is it even real? So, for those who still prefer to dwell offline, in a world unseen, untagged and unknown to most of their potential followers or clients, life has become a lot less real indeed. Are we really artists if nobody sees what we do or how we do it? If we are not monetising and selling our art, is it worth anything? Are we worth anything?
Where what is considered beauty is nothing but a manufactured, affected gesture, a filter, good light, plus some mass-produced trinket or other, nothing that is honest, simple, and real can ever live up to that illusion. How devastatingly sad! And what a loss for those left with the aftermath of the current trend towards unimaginative, imitable sameness, and blind consumerism.
Supposedly, we are all equal as well as all different. What is currently happening though is that everyone is the same and nobody is considered equal, unless they can match you in perceived popularity. Networking is more important than what you can actually do. Who you know, spend time with and, most importantly, can tag on socials while you’re at it, beats who you are and your skillset. Fake it until you make it… and by the time you have made it, there’s no need to bother with real work and skills anymore. Because apparently nobody knows the difference anyway and, even if they did, they don’t seem to care. Doing nothing, knowing nothing, and not being able (let alone willing) to do anything have become badges of honour. Everyone aspires to the same nothingness, the same meaningless tagging and sharing and it all goes around in circles, seemingly forever.
My brain hurts just thinking about any of it. Choosing to make art, regardless of whether people “get” it or not and regardless of its commercial success, is my kind of “smile and wave” at a society I often don’t want to be a part of anymore. I just keep quietly doing my thing. Who knew that an act of rebellion could be as deceptively simple as opting out!? Genuinely not caring about the prevailing establishment, not trying to be “well in" with a certain crowd, walking away from anything that goes against my own moral compass, accepting my own individualism as an asset rather than a fault… that’s where empowerment lies. For the real question in all of this is a simple one: who are you when you don’t have to be someone?
It’s an increasingly small world and, within that small world, living in an even smaller place feels quite claustrophobic. When you don’t fit in to the above mentioned cliquish nature of a place, it’s suffocating at first until you struggle free and take your first real breath in ages. Then you realise… that’s what freedom feels like. With creativity, you’ll never be lonely and you won’t want to ever go back to a place, be it real or imagined, where you are not valued for who you are.
Time and place determine what becomes of us all, in a lot more ways than we care to think about, I suspect. Yes, time is cruel to all, but to artists it is more cruel still, as the artist with posthumous success probably would attest to, if it wasn’t too late for them to enjoy the fruits of their labour. While our fleeting presence is not often crowned with the kind of success that society/capitalism/patriarchy dictates that we should thrive for, might we not rather stick it to those who want us small, dependent and scared? How about we pursue our very real dreams and ambitions instead, not caring whether anyone else deems this appropriate or valuable? Valuable continuously being reduced to mean money-making and revenue-generating. Artists have literally sold shit in tins and it’s debatable if there’s intrinsic value in this type of creation. After all, the resale or repurchase value of a can of shit is not the same as that of a diamond necklace, no matter who created either. So if it’s this arbitrary altogether, what is art and what is of value, then why not pursue randomness always? What is to stop artists creating to their heart’s content? As often opposed to what is marketable and sales worthy on a larger (or any) scale.
While being on the topic of randomness, it occurs to me that even the notion of what is indeed random at all is highly subjective. What appears random to one person, makes perfectly sense to another so, in this vein, there really is no point in judging what everyone else is up to because we just don’t know their full story and what led them up to that point of where we encounter them (and/or their art). Personally, I often wonder and, if I’m honest, I also worry a little about the old adage “jack of all trades, master of none”. As a matter of fact, I have almost come to consider myself as a bit of a jack of all trades over the years. Dedicated to lifelong learning, for sure, but is it ever enough? At the very least, it’s an ambiguous notion, to be sure. Since we’re presumably amongst friends here, I will tell you another thing in that line of thought though: in reality, rather than being classified (and, let’s be real here, often also dismissed) as a jack of all trades, I have actually always rather aspired to be what is termed a “polymath” or “renaissance (wo)man” with, as per definition, “an unquenchable curiosity and a feverishly inventive imagination” [thanks Wikipedia for pointing that out]. I see nothing wrong with trying to indulge all of my weird and varied interests and trying to gain as much proficiency in each subject as is feasible over the years. People who may know me for only one thing or another might be quick to label me, or (almost worse) try and box me into some kind of niche they can understand or file me away under. How much I despise that I simply can’t put into words. Then again, this behaviour also goes a long way of telling me everything I’d ever care to know about the kind of people who’d do such a thing… So you see, nobody wins in this really. Not me, anyway. Not as a creative, inquisitive spirit, not when you just want to keep learning and expanding your knowledge and broaden your mind, skillset etc. Insipid narrow-mindedness is on the rise and I just want out!
This (un)surprisingly also ties in with my last post where I wrote about walking away, finding a new way and/or making my own. A notion that, in the form of
Aut viam invenium aut faciam
was attributed to Hannibal, by the way, and that funnily enough, to me, evokes the song lyrics …looking for adventure or whatever comes my way… . Humming this as I type now makes me feel like I’m indeed born to be wild and like it comes probably down to either loving what we do, changing it or leaving it. I can’t say if that’s how Hannibal felt when crossing the Alps but it’s certainly how I feel right now. Like packing up my elephants and heading for the mountains… *sigh*. And you know what? I just might, but that’s another random story for another random day.