A Pretentious Theory of Art and the Artists Whom Create It

I have never met nor had I ever heard about an about any 50-year-old writers, painters, or more generally, artists who had achieved any modicum of success, at least enough to make a living off of. That’s not really rare because truly great artists are incredibly scarce enough; I’d estimate less than a 100,000 people can create something not necessary to continue one’s existence, but neither does art serve any useful purpose other than to capture the attention of other’s and generally enjoyable enough that people other than your parents and friends are willing to buy it and support your work with more than generously kind remarks but with cold, hard cash. Moreover, good art (which exerts an influence on the following generation(s) creative types: either in imitation or rejection of that artists’ enlarged presence. On the other hand, I also believe in the saccharine, New-Agey, stupidly optimistic idea that every human is truly an artist in his soul. (Even worse, I’m a believer that everyone should strive to make their life a great piece of art, which is either an especially beautiful perspective on a self-conscious, sentient being that’s the result of an unimaginably complex and likely infinite process called evolution where the the universe began as an enormous kaboom still resonating loudly to the present day, continually expanding, and that within this universe, we as a species have built the most advanced civilization in the universe at the present moment (as far as we know), and we do all of this on a giant boulder wildly spinning around a fireball. Anyways, back to what I was really aiming for in this post–thanks adderall for the compulsion to aimlessly rattle off a series of loosely connected facts–which is the art scene of Michigan, largely contained within the orbital ring of Detroit-Ann Arbor’s binary star. Like most of America, Michigan’s best artists eventually leave their home state to pursue more plentiful and lucrative careers on the coasts in the big metropolises. However, some toil away in obscurity, often without any aim of fame or fortune; creating art is probably the best therapy there is, as all of our hidden fears and fragile hopes that were one submerged under the artifice of personality are illuminated by their work.

 

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