Okay, bear with me on this one. It’s a lot of words, and the string keeping them together is thin.
I think a lot about how one goes viral. It’s a lot like going to a modern art museum. I stand in front of a canvas that is only two parallel graphite lines and think to myself, “I could do that. Why haven’t I? Why didn’t I draw two parallel graphite lines already? If I could really do it how come I haven’t done it?”It looks so easy- to film content, to make jokes, to be cute in videos. And, much like modern art, it is easy. It truly is just two graphite lines.
The big question- why haven’t you been drawing your lines? Personally, I never want people to see me in my “trying” phase. The desperate ploy to gain followers and the attitude of “I’m trying my best here will you please like me?” is painful to watch. It’s so untrue. I know that if my friends saw that the veneer would be so sheer, it would almost be embarrassing. Of course, this is just for me. If any of my friends were to do that very same thing, I would proudly and unabashedly support them. Just not myself. I’m special. I’m special and deserve special, cynical treatment.
Still, the draw of attention is something a lot of us fall victim to. The idea that I am a particularly interesting fish in the tank, one that people want to look and but can’t touch, is enthralling. Inherent in the world of an artist is a need to be viewed as something more than ourselves. Something that creates bigger worlds and emotions. Something that does more. The best fish, the coolest fish, the “hey look at this guy” fish.
But what is more? The content creators we see aren’t necessarily doing anything big, strong, or influential. More often than not, their work isn’t anything that actually matters. In our day-to-day lives, we probably go about our days pretty similarly- the difference is one of us gets paid for it. We’re both two graphite lines, but I’m in the margins of a class notebook, and they’re at LACMA.
I want to be the prettiest fish in the tank. I want to swim in my little circles, forget everything I saw five seconds before, and swallow down little pellets of food some all-knowing God throws at me. I have colors and silly flippers, and kids like me, not because I look like that directionally confused Dory fish, but because I inspire awe. People look at my extravagance and ask the question, “how does that thing even swim?” The answer is simple, I don’t. I’m the prettiest fish in the tank, and I’m drowning because this whole time, I never even considered, “hey- maybe I should learn how to swim.”
Maybe there’s something to be said for those graphite lines. The simple lines look so easy- but the art isn’t in the lines themselves. The art is that somebody actually took the time to draw those two lines and draw them well. It doesn’t matter if it’s in LACMA or on printer paper. The art is that it happened. All the flashy stuff, the sponsored gifts, the ring lights, that’s all just how certain people display their art. We can be jealous, sure, we can want what we don’t have, as everyone does. But when it’s whittled down, it’s still art. Personally, I think we could all do with making art for art’s sake. How lovely to be trouts that migrate upriver and push against the currents. Not a flashy fish in a tank, but a fish that swims upstream because that’s what it does. That’s art. Whether it be two graphite lines or the Mona Lisa. Maybe that will get us out of the wishing phase of it all.
I will say right now. Don't know why there's two subscribe buttons and one is stealing all the dramatic tension from my first paragraph
Yes.