The Artist's Conundrum

In media and on television, there's this glamorized view of musicians, writers and artists like, once you sign that record deal or land that publisher or get that gallery exhibit, you've hit the big time and now money's going to start hemorrhaging from your asshole by the bucketful. 

Hell, I certainly thought so.

 But if this were actually true, the service industry would utterly collapse for want of able bodied staffing. Picture it:

* Restaurants would all be self-serve buffets

* No one would be there to park your car

* You're pouring your own mochas.

Capitalism, as we know it, would come to a screeching halt. Meanwhile, the arts would bloat and over-saturate its respective markets to the point of intellectual hedonism before finally caving in on itself; crushed by a level of smug pretense and self righteousness the likes of which the world has never seen before. 

In College – sleep deprived and either drunk or delirious, we hailed this event as: “The Artapocalypse,” noting that at the very least, the end times would be beautifully documented. 

We were grossly unaware of how much of a bubble the college experience can be and the subtle way it has of setting you up for disappointment. In my senior year, I was required to take a business class and an intro to marketing class. Now, at that point, I thought it was a complete waste of my time. I mean – OBVIOUSLY, my instructors were unable to fully recognize the sheer magnitude of my brilliance. Surely, upon graduation, agents and publishers alike were all going to vie for the privilege and honor it would be to represent me. My voice would be loud and strong and speak TO the masses FOR the masses. Critics would worship me. Sad boys would frantically expose their chests at my readings just so I could sign them. I'd inspire the world and spur a new movement with my unique style like the Beats once did, thereby changing the face of literature and the arts forever. Felicia De Rosa: “National Treasure” – beloved by all. That would be me. Fuck yeah.

If only.

The real, painful truth here, is that in order to simply get representation, you must first suffer through literally HUNDREDS of rejections. Phrases like; “Instant Classic” and “Overnight Success” are just made-up buzz-terms that weaselly marketing execs use to try and sell (insert creative endeavor, here) to we, the general public. 

The hard lesson we 'right brainers' eventually learn, is that success is subjective and depends wholly on how you perceive it. If it's creating… whatever... for the sheer joy it can bring you, then you more than likely have an alternate source of income and are, on the whole – a content and fulfilled person. 

If this is the case... for the record, know that your peers probably hate you. 

However, if success entails you doing what you do AND making a sustainable living while doing it... you best lube up because you're gonna get fucked. It takes commitment, endurance and cunning to eventually make it to a place where you are recognized and, hopefully, remembered for your efforts. It's from this point where you see the Piccassos and Morrisons and Benatars start to emerge. In the art world, that's Valhalla.

It's the means to an end. Yes, I do what I do because something in me compels me to do so. It's like breathing: if I stop doing it, I'd suffocate. But at the same time, I understand that without some commercial success, when I die, so does my work.