Giving up as an artist

Dear Angels,

As many of you are aware, I’ve bid farewell to the notion of being an “artist” – a label that no longer resonates with me. However, the act of creating art remains a profound love of mine. These two truths can coexist harmoniously. I revel in the dance of color and form, the interplay of light and shadow, breathing life into a once-blank canvas.

Yet, the reality of being an “artist” is far more complex than I had initially imagined. The gallery system, with its formidable gatekeepers, stands as an imposing obstacle. The all-too-common plight of artists struggling to earn a livable wage has become a tired trope, and the lack of recognition for the invaluable contributions we make to the world is a bitter pill to swallow.

Successful artists often find themselves at a crossroads: either they brazenly seize life by the proverbial horns, defying capitalistic ideals, or they become cogs in the very machine they once rebelled against – capitalist machines themselves. The choices seem limited, with the world often dictating our paths rather than the other way around.

“Ah, so you possess talent? Here are the 50,000 struggles you’ll endure before earning a penny or achieving a modicum of stability.”

The weight of these realizations can be utterly crushing and debilitating, even before one’s artistic journey has truly begun.

So, I surrender. What precisely that entails, I cannot say for certain, but in essence, I cannot fathom playing the role that the modern “artist” is expected to fulfill. I simply wish to revel in the act of creation, to frolic in the boundless meadows of my imagination.

Yet, I also recognize the importance of balance. How can I navigate the treacherous waters of capitalism while nourishing my soul, my community, and the myriad other facets that hold significance in my life as I create? Or shall I relinquish my gifts, surrendering my very essence to the ever-spinning cogs of the capitalist machine? Nay, I would sooner retire to the embrace of the forest than succumb to such a fate.

While earning a living is an inescapable necessity for survival, I dream of a day when humanity can collectively thrive, no longer shackled by uncontrollable factors that dictate our access to sustenance.

Imagine, if you will, a collective art village of 50 souls, tending to their own crops, milking their cows, nurturing their hens, and constructing their delightfully cozy huts. A haven where creativity flows freely, culminating in weekly gatherings around a crackling fire, sharing the fruits of their artistic labors. To some, this may seem a dull existence, but to me, it is paradise incarnate – an environment I would wholeheartedly embrace for my children.

Alas, for now, we must raise a glass to the selling of our souls and the sacrificing of our gifts for the supposed “betterment” of humanity, all in the name of Capitalism…

With boundless love,
Chu