And I’m sick and tired of you pretending it isn’t.
We live in an age where teachers claim to encourage “the arts”. We live in an age where we’re told more and more to re-discover the child within and indulge our creativity. We live in an age where people can make a living out of vlogging, playing games online and shooting amazing pictures — something that wouldn’t have been possible 100 years ago.
And then, how is it that in this age of marvels, artists are still getting the sticky end of the lollipop?
Throughout history, actors and playwrights and painters were often seen as losers and degenerates. And we like to look back and marvel at that, but if we were to be completely honest with ourselves, not that much has changed.
I hate the term “wannabe artist” or “aspiring writer”. Because in my book, if you write, if you dare to actually bare your heart on the page and who knows, maybe even in front of other people, that makes you an artist. It’s simple.
This goes for the other arts, of course.
You do it and you do it as well as you can and that’s enough. That makes you an artist. An artist taking their first steps down this road, but an artist nonetheless.
And it breaks my heart to see so many people downplay their artistic achievements and their struggles because they know society will scoff at them.
You’re a writer — what do you know about hard work? You just sit in front of your computer and scribble stories all day. Like a two-year-old.
And you’re right. What do I know about hard work? About spending hours reaching into your soul and trying to make sense of all the darkest, most twisted human emotions? What do I know about work when each night, I go to sleep completely drained? What do I know about work when I can’t sleep because I feel utterly, utterly worthless and scared that I’ll amount to nothing, in the end?
Come to think of it, what do you know of all that?
You’ve got it easy. You’ve got a regular job. Sure, it doesn’t satisfy your soul, but it’s a steady job, it brings in the green and you’ve got a boss who tells you what to do next, how to do it and where to go next.
I don’t. I’ve got to figure all that out on my own.
Not nice when someone comes down on you like that, is it? Belittling. Embarrassing. Sad.
No, this is not a contest and I don’t mean to make it sound like one. Thing is, you do. By treating artists like they don’t matter. By asking ‘what did you do today?’ and then saying ‘that’s cute’.
It’s not cute. It’s hard. We work at it every day. And maybe sometimes, it would be easier if you could appreciate that. It won’t affect me that much. It’s not like I’ll quit writing just because you don’t understand the way I feel and how much work it is and how much it means to me.
But some kid out there might. Because all his life, he’s been told that writing isn’t a real job. Neither is painting. Neither is acting. Neither is playing guitar.
Much better to just be a doctor or a lawyer — something your parents can brag to the neighbors about, right?
I’ve got nothing against doctors. Or lawyers. I know they work hard. I know their job is exhausting and often thankless. But so is mine. And maybe just for once, you could treat it as such.
