About The Scarcity of Art

Post 1245:

The other day I had the pleasure of feeling like an artist for more than a few moments. I suppose that technically I do art for a living, but that doesn’t mean it’s art 24/7. Actually, it’s pretty rare. Most writing or playing music or performing is work. Showing up. Simple as that.

There’s nothing wrong with work. It’s just not romantic. Work, for the most part, doesn’t give you a rush to the head and make the little hairs stand up. It’s good to work. It’s right. It’s just not art.

But I’d like to believe there are moments where everyone gets to feel the feeling, that they just did something artistic.

For me it was onstage. I did a song that I wrote a million years ago. It’s not particularly wonderful or earth-shattering. Something about the performance made it truer than usual. The words meant more. It sounded not only better, but more believable.

The nice thing is, I knew it was artistic the moment it happened. The bad thing is, I knew it because it’s a rarity. Unless you’re a genius. And even then, I have a feeling geniuses aren’t geniusing all over the place everywhere and all the time.

I think there’s artistic possibility in everything. And it doesn’t have to be a job. A hobby. A friendship. Parenting. There are ways to rise above the mundane in all of life’s pursuits, times when you’re over the fray and into art.

If you’re like me, it doesn’t happen often. But maybe that’s okay. Scarcity makes it special, after all. I might not even remember what art was if I was capable of making it every second of every day.

Artists aren’t special. But art is. Cheers and see you after.