Suburban Purgatory...
Talent is the least valuable in the suburbs and provides only a false hope of future progress. The young artists line up to entertain those who have already given up. The audiences grin with a subconscious spite as they watch these minors spin their wheels and get no where. They don't bother to inform them of the futility, and they don't know whether it is due to a malicious motive to watch them break or if it is from a hope that they might just be the ones that make it.
Throughout my experience I have seen many of young suburbanites with talent to match or exceed those that become distinguished simply never get that deserved notoriety and work so hard to build that buzz that catapults one to the spotlight, and then they just get tired of all the effort with nothing to show for it, so they give up. Their problem is they felt obligated to stay in the suburbs, due to family, friends, location of their day job, or even the one they love. They all knew that if they made that step towards the city, they would have made it by talent alone. But they didn't. And I seem to be following their examples.
Musicians with skill and lyric that would impress any agent, artists that would receive continuous commissions for their work, writers that would be writing tracts to incite movements of passion, poets that would calm a bustling street corner through verse alone... All have failed. They put down the guitar, the paint brush, the pen, and put their hands and minds to work to support a life they don't genuinely care to maintain.
I've corresponded with some of them to find out if they continue their artistic endeavors in private where the subjective pleasure of merely creating without the possibility of recognition could be honed. They all seem to have developed a contempt for their former love as though they regard their talent as an adulterous partner. Most have dissociated themselves from that part of their character. Or hopefully they won't admit toiling at an activity that isn't practical nor attains a tangible goal.
Suburban life centers around practicality. Effort spent for its own sake is effort wasted. There always must be a end associated with a mean, and that end should always advance one's position. If that end is one's own peace of mind, then the effort itself is a stain upon their character for one should be content with just being.
Don't confuse this with some eastern philosophy adhered to by ascetics. The denial of self is reserved only in the realm of happiness. Possessions, indulgence, plotting, intrigue, tormenting, acquisitions and displays of dominance are all sought after with great fervor and encouragement from others. If the practice of one's talent fails to advance a similar goal as those stated above, then it is considered absurd and inane.
The communities in the suburbs promote unity through conformity. The very nature of an artist is in direct conflict with that principle. An artist endeavors to create the original, which by nature is dissimilar from the existing, so that effort is a deviation from the norm and counterproductive to the collective goal of the community. Those free thinkers that refuse to conform tend to gravitate to those small enclaves in the big cities where they can deviate with others pursuing the same objective.
But can one survive in the suburbs without that passion for their talent drying up? Does the lack of like minded people create a shame that suffocates their drive to endure? It's like being in solitary confinement - eventually you'll break... Or loose your sense of proportion. The latter weighs down the scales.
Suburban adults often take on fanatical notions and obsess over them nearing a state of lunacy. These notions can be formed by their own faults. These adults can be spurred by a sense of shame to revolt against a carefully hidden characteristic that can only be obscured by a radically contrary position. Many times adults care nothing for themselves and simply continue as automatons placed on a path by their parents without ever leaving the trail.
Of course, a great many of those adults began as aspiring artists. Once they thought of changing the world. Now they want to change the color of the siding on the next door neighbor's garage. When did that choice occur that squandered their efforts to blaze their own trail? Will I make a similar choice?
Throughout my experience I have seen many of young suburbanites with talent to match or exceed those that become distinguished simply never get that deserved notoriety and work so hard to build that buzz that catapults one to the spotlight, and then they just get tired of all the effort with nothing to show for it, so they give up. Their problem is they felt obligated to stay in the suburbs, due to family, friends, location of their day job, or even the one they love. They all knew that if they made that step towards the city, they would have made it by talent alone. But they didn't. And I seem to be following their examples.
Musicians with skill and lyric that would impress any agent, artists that would receive continuous commissions for their work, writers that would be writing tracts to incite movements of passion, poets that would calm a bustling street corner through verse alone... All have failed. They put down the guitar, the paint brush, the pen, and put their hands and minds to work to support a life they don't genuinely care to maintain.
I've corresponded with some of them to find out if they continue their artistic endeavors in private where the subjective pleasure of merely creating without the possibility of recognition could be honed. They all seem to have developed a contempt for their former love as though they regard their talent as an adulterous partner. Most have dissociated themselves from that part of their character. Or hopefully they won't admit toiling at an activity that isn't practical nor attains a tangible goal.
Suburban life centers around practicality. Effort spent for its own sake is effort wasted. There always must be a end associated with a mean, and that end should always advance one's position. If that end is one's own peace of mind, then the effort itself is a stain upon their character for one should be content with just being.
Don't confuse this with some eastern philosophy adhered to by ascetics. The denial of self is reserved only in the realm of happiness. Possessions, indulgence, plotting, intrigue, tormenting, acquisitions and displays of dominance are all sought after with great fervor and encouragement from others. If the practice of one's talent fails to advance a similar goal as those stated above, then it is considered absurd and inane.
The communities in the suburbs promote unity through conformity. The very nature of an artist is in direct conflict with that principle. An artist endeavors to create the original, which by nature is dissimilar from the existing, so that effort is a deviation from the norm and counterproductive to the collective goal of the community. Those free thinkers that refuse to conform tend to gravitate to those small enclaves in the big cities where they can deviate with others pursuing the same objective.
But can one survive in the suburbs without that passion for their talent drying up? Does the lack of like minded people create a shame that suffocates their drive to endure? It's like being in solitary confinement - eventually you'll break... Or loose your sense of proportion. The latter weighs down the scales.
Suburban adults often take on fanatical notions and obsess over them nearing a state of lunacy. These notions can be formed by their own faults. These adults can be spurred by a sense of shame to revolt against a carefully hidden characteristic that can only be obscured by a radically contrary position. Many times adults care nothing for themselves and simply continue as automatons placed on a path by their parents without ever leaving the trail.
Of course, a great many of those adults began as aspiring artists. Once they thought of changing the world. Now they want to change the color of the siding on the next door neighbor's garage. When did that choice occur that squandered their efforts to blaze their own trail? Will I make a similar choice?
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home