I started writing here on Medium a good long time ago. Well over two years.
Lately, I’ve joined a couple of forums, for lack of a better word and I have read The Hype about trying to reach more followers, get stuff curated, more views, more money…more — more — more.
The Muse in me smiled. Art can’t be forced.
I know this, not because I’m any kind of writer — but because I birthed an artist and lived with her for a good part of her life.
I watched her struggle with Her Gift — Her Incredible Talent. I watched her make stunningly beautiful things which I didn’t know why I loved. I watched her make pieces that looked pretty but had no soul. I watched her paint over a canvas and begin again. And again. And again. Till it came.
As I watched her I learned this one very important thing.
It’s never about the recognition or the money. Ever.
Making art — any kind of art — is a relationship you have with yourself.
If you are fucking up that relationship — your art will be fucked up as well. It won’t matter how many followers you have, or if your shit gets curated, or how big that check is every month. Your soul will still be longing for The Thing and you will feel unfulfilled.
Your head does not make the art. You can’t make art with one eye on your bank balance. You can’t make art if you’re trying to force it to fit someone else’s idea of what it should be.
You can only make art when it flows from The Place. The Place where The Thing lives in Your Soul. You know when you’re there and you’re doing it because every word you type is just magik.
And then — you don’t give a damn who sees it. Or if it makes the grade on anyone else’s scale. Or even if you earn a dime from your effort.
You spoke Your Truth. With your words, with your paints, with your clay.
You made art. And your soul is at peace.