By shelz.

You are an artist, and you‘re sensitive about your shit.  Everyone knows that, but it doesn’t stop the folks in your inner circle from ragging on you ceaselessly about your peculiar, anti-social ways and the fact that you could be doing something way more productive with all of that “creative time” like backyard beer pong or playing marathon sessions of Madden with them.  They snicker at your ambition; they poop on your dreams, suggesting you may be past your “I’m going to be discovered” prime.

These folks see art as commodity; equating talent and wealth. Some think you are wasting your time should be smacked back into reality before you die crazy, poor and alone. Others will support to a certain extent as they can’t wait for you to finish up whatever project you are working on so you can sell it for a lot of money and I guess give them some. You actually enjoying your craft is a confusing concept to them and maybe you should probably accept the fact that they never will understand why you pour your heart into your art.

Some people simply aren’t wired to understand.  Their considerations may seem shallow, but these are not haters who want to watch you fail because they hate that you have an ability they don’t.  They honestly don’t give two rats asses about your talent and probably find you pretentious.  They are staunch believers in the theory that artists don’t make a penny before their eulogy is read and all your talk about being hosted by the MET, or the Louvre or dancing the lead in Swan Lake (depending on your chosen field) just makes you delusional. But they keep you around because they love you and they have no choice, or because they enjoy sharing your delusions of grandeur and laughing at you behind your back with their other friends.

Then there are those who probably do hate you. They want to rain on your parade because their ambition crashed and burned back in the 80’s after that whole rap/blue grass band they were in didn’t become hot in the streets. They steal your tap shoes before the big audition, cut your water colors with paint thinner and incessantly talk about how much you suck to anyone who will listen because deep down inside they know you don’t.

Last we have those who care about you and want to tell you the truth.  And that sad truth is that everyone who creates isn’t all that great at it.  Some people who want to be world renowned aren’t all that talented and these folks think it’s important that you understand and operate within your limitations before Simon Cowell catches you on a bad day. They know that everyone can’t be brilliant, but, they won’t suggest you to stop because this is the crew that knows even shitty art can sell.

The bottom line is, you owe yourself the act of creation and as long as you aren’t taking the Basquiat route to total friend and family alienation you should be fine. Everyone won’t want to listen to your endless monologues about inspiration, but know that your passion is foreign to them and it’s something they will probably never appreciate. That is, until you finish that masterpiece, make a lot of money, and they want some. Then your old, cane-carrying ass will be the greatest of all tiiiiime.  Honest.

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