Fight To Be An Artist In A World Of Creators

I am a child of the 90’s, in New York City.

And the city was on fire.

Manhattan was electric.

Everything was cool, and colorful.

At times, it was as if I weren’t living in the real world.

The pop music, grunge & punk climate, and flitting about with my precocious friends, felt like a supreme film set.

It wasn’t uncommon at my age to be familiar with the Golden Age of Hollywood classics like Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Rebel Without A Cause, Singin’ In The Rain, The Great Gatsby, Citizen Kane, The Seven Year Itch…and the geniuses on vinyl like The Beatles, Jimmi Hendrix, The Doors, Queen, Aretha Franklin, Janis Joplin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Aerosmith, Blondie, Etta James, Billie Holiday, Michael Jackson...

And so many others who’s voices composed my every step.

My world was colorful, and what I watched, read, and listened to was all in technicolor.

My youth was the perfect blend of the modern world, and a close enough vision of the past- which seemed to influence every bit of relevant art & culture.

How could anyone have not wanted to be an artist then?

A true artist.

Life was a movie, the economy was… well… the economy.

And yet, the world shone.

Manhattan glimmered like it was the center of the universe.

At the time, it was the center of mine.

I’ve spoken of my opera lessons at the MET at Lincoln Center, sketch classes at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ice-skating classes for kids at Wollman Rink.

So, again I ask: how could I not have wanted to be an artist?

I studied theatre at the American Academy of the Dramatic Arts, lived in LA as an aspiring actress, and attended the best wild parties and industry events in New York.

I felt everything, so I expressed anything.

Sometimes how I lived my life made sense; most of the time it didn’t.

But, it was mine.

And I really loved it. I loved being free.

I felt like an artist. Not just in what I created (and I created everything from poetry books to short films and screenplays.) Mostly, I felt like an artist in my being.

The need to express myself often outweighed my capacity to take in as much life experience as I could. But I did it, just so my older self could be proud that I truly lived out my story.

I was the canvas, and I allowed both myself and life to throw paint all over me. Sometimes gently, sometimes violently. But, it was always honestly.

So now, I find myself feeling a bit… lost.

I don’t recognize the current landscape.

Maybe it’s the curse of getting older– life moves on.

But I can’t help but wonder if it’s something else.

Is my perspective so bitter, or, did the zeitgeist on what is acceptable to be considered unique, offbeat, or fringe- change?

Being someone who feels from the base of their soul, loves with the intensity of the moon, and shines in the face of nature’s beauty like the sun… then dares to live frankly, is isolating.

And lonely.

And maybe, thats why it seems this current generation of culture and people, opt out of feeling deeply.

Content creators are the new artists.

Content creators feign closeness and authenticity, and what this does is alienate oneself from their truth, and adopts a persona which is acceptable to many, for their content to be visible by all.

Consumption.

A double meaning, in this case.

We are consuming, without being nourished, and thus are choking on proverbial blood, which could give life to art that is real, but are drowned by shallowness instead.

When expression, then art, is stifled– the artist suffers.

But, that’s what’s troubling.

It doesnt seem like anyone is suffering with the lack of radical art, or artists, or thinkers.

We’ve degraded.

We have been cast out of Eden, and have become something lower than artists, so we produce something lower than art: Content Creation.

It sounds on par to where we started in Eden, but it isn’t.

My hope is that the next generation is outraged.

My hope for the next generation is for them to be furious.

My hope for the next generation is that they start a revolution.

And finally, my prayer for the new kids on the block is for them to take all their rage, fury, and radicalism, and decide they have no choice at all—

But to make some F****ing art.