Warning: Adult language ahead.
I can’t say I don’t love comfort.
I have very fine taste.
I do not mind living dirty, though.
I am comfortable living poor.
In almost all my lives I’ve been poor.
But undeniably in every life, I was an artist.
For a long time now on Gaia, being born an artist
was an affliction.
Which is the most ridiculous thing, since our Earth is nothing if not a glorious Master Interdisciplinary Artist.
For eons an illness has grown over our brilliant monkey minds.
Shaming our natural connection to the Divine:
‘Who are you to think yourself special?’
This model of exclusionary illusion attaches false exaltation to the creative mind.
Pursuit of fame and fortune improperly assigned to the creative mind’s intent.
The inclination to share one’s art is part of the magic that lives in all art.
Because true art is born of true emotion, real reflection back into the world.
Over the eons that desire to share has been transmuted into this weird ego super-star bullshit.
It’s a dirty world, and to make money, the art is compromised.
Even fine art, even music.
No one can simply be a creator.
They have to play show tunes in a dive bar, sing in the subway or design mindless websites. The compromise for the artist is surely as humiliating as the lack of pay and that weekend job in costume at Chuck E. Cheese’s.
Creative pursuits discouraged through negative commerce.
Which means there are few ways to enter the market as a seller and buyers do not include the masses.
“If the dirty slogs like a pretty picture, they can purchase a Disney Print at WalMart!”
Like so much of our inheritance—healthy food, clean environment—the love of art is being stolen right from under our collective soul.
Art has been indoctrinated. It is collected. It is stored. Rotated. Sold. Like Gold or diamonds or jewels.
Art became a thing.
Another thing that represents money.
When is was meant to be nourishment.
When it was meant to be magic.
You know what else?
It’s not just that the right to buy art has been sublimated away from most of us.
But the right—
No! The need!
The absolute need for every single person to be able to create.
To be encouraged to expand and explore their creative mind in any number of fields.
For most of us, there have been a few times when we had to say goodbye to a part of ourselves.
Sometimes the justification for that never materializes.
You know, the old, “I’m glad that ripped my heart to shreds because now my life is better!”
Because that one special something…
you knew it was a mistake to let it go.
I know that’s not zen to say.
But here’s the deal.
I’ve been a street artist and performer for many years.
Too many people have remarked,
almost everyone of them sadly:
“I wish I could paint/draw/sing/dance/play guitar like you.”
Not all those things at once because that would be fucking amazing.
But each separate thing I was doing would often get this comment.
And I am a really shitty guitar player.
The only difference is I drag my guitar outside and make everyone hear it.
But all these people were convinced to let go of it.
Shamed away from it, I tell ya.
Because that’s where our power lies.
If you could spend your time any way you wanted—
What would you create?
Author: Alexandria Heather
Image: Author’s Own
Editor: Travis May