MY KICKSTARTER IS LIVE! Plus "The Artist's Delusion" - My Love Letter To The Uncertainty Of Being An Artist
Let's kick this kickstarter into the stratosphere!
Artists need to be delusional in order to keep going through the treacherous and enduring challenges we face. This is a sacred calling and no matter how beaten up by it we are, true artists always find their way back to creativity. This new episode of my podcast is about peeling away the many layers of the onion of what it's like to be an artist in this modern world and how sweet delusion plays an integral role in our fortitude. The transcript will be below for anyone who enjoys reading instead of listening. But first:
MY KICKSTARTER TO SAVE MY SMALL BUSINESS IS NOW LIVE!
Hooray! If you missed my post about what’s goin’ on, you can read it here. Your support and contributions mean the world to me, friends. <3
The Artist’s Delusion - A Love Letter To Fellow Artists
Something that has been on my mind a ton lately is how artists need to be delusional in order to keep going. I know calling us creatives ‘delusional’ doesn’t really set us off on the right foot, but hear me out. It’s not an insult, I promise.
To begin, I’d like to set the stage of the creative impulse, which is the original impulse of the universe. It wants to know itself, to explore itself - and the way to do this is through art.
The compulsion, drive, passion, NEED to create is borne from our very soul. It is what gets the creation out of us, initially, out onto or into whatever medium we choose - painting, music, dance, writing etc. This is the first layer of the onion. The true artists out there in the world, you know who you are - you need it, don’t you, in order to survive? Despite the trickiness, the suffering, the confusion, the isolation, the complex emotions that can and often do accompany having a creative soul, we need it. We must have it. I don’t believe in twin flames or soulmates in person form per se, but I do believe that our desire to create is like meeting our other half. We don’t feel complete without it. I know I don’t. I have taken necessary breaks from the realm of monetizing my creations, which was the byproduct of some kind of burnout, but inevitably I’d feel that familiar tickle - that darling agitation that told me to make something. To chase THAT feeling. You know the one - that creative bliss that nothing, and I mean nothing in the world can rival. Not even the best sex you’ve ever had. That creative bliss is something we ought to be chasing our whole lives, as we artists are our best selves when we’re wrapped right up in it.
Of course, creativity in and of itself isn’t always blissful or straightforward. Our consciousness and very souls bless us with visions and we mere mortals fumble awkwardly at times trying to make those visions manifest. We can grow frustrated when we fall short or aren’t able to express ourselves as we wish, get sidetracked and distracted, or lose momentum. But these are our very private struggles - ones that are negotiations with that pure, raw desire. Sometimes we must mud wrestle with it. Other times it feels like trying to catch a fly ball that is descending directly from the sun. And at other times still, it can feel like chasing a ghost.
But something happens once we feel that we’ve succeeded in creating something beautiful - we want to share it. Of course, a small percentage of people really don’t and the whole act was private from start to finish. Others will be self-conscious, as the honesty of their creation is perhaps more honest than they can or want to muster in their daily life. The risk of being seen is too real. Many will worry that their skill level isn’t up to snuff. But the compulsion, the drive to share is there - and this. here, is the second layer of the onion. If we’re able to overcome our trepidation and share our work with a few hungry eyes (or any of the other senses), and if the drive to create and share overcomes any fears that may arise, we have a recipe for sweet delusion.
All life wants to connect and communicate with itself. Humans have developed body language and written and spoken language - but other forms of art are another vehicle for this communication altogether. All mediums have unique ways of touching intangible, indescribable places within us that need to be seen, recognized and acknowledged in their complexity. This drive to communicate and connect propels the artist forward, as there’s something within us that needs to be shown to the world, and when that something is felt and reciprocated by the audience, magic happens. There’s a profound sense of belonging and universal acceptance that occurs - which many artists don’t generally feel because our paths in life are quite ‘fringe’ and a lot of us would count ourselves as lone wolves or black sheep. So this connection and reciprocation takes on special weight and significance - and once this portal is open, there’s often no desire to close it.
The opposite, in fact, becomes true - we wish to grow the portal, make it wider, and invite more people into it. We’re chasing that magical feeling - the bliss of creation and the bliss of connection. Two parts of the whole of living.
But - the third layer of the onion is the inherent difficulty - or as my friend Scott put it, curse - of the true artist. We artists are often characterized as being intense and dramatic, so therefore we may have a tendency to use hyperbolic language. But I’ve spent a good deal of time sitting with this word, ‘curse’ - and I think it’s apt. Here’s why.
Inside the enduring compulsion to see and be seen is a jungle of monetization, art through the lens of capitalism, antiquated institutions, art-world gatekeeping, people constantly undervaluing art, creative theft, and more. In most countries and cultures of the modern world, there is a strange contradiction occurring. On one hand, art of any kind is coveted in the sense that it is generally recognized as romantic, trendy, and necessary to the day-to-day life of a human (I mean, imagine going a week without music, or a month without visual art or design of any kind - art is essential to life, as well as an extremely luxurious addition to it - it is magical in that it manages to be both, simultaneously). But in all of these same places, art in most of its forms is not supported beyond basic schooling, and some government funding - if that. So we are left to fend for ourselves, forge our own way - and we are deprived of the classic rites of passage and congratulatory handshakes that other professions receive in abundance.
Think of a medical doctor, for example - many years of well-supported, systematic schooling followed by residency and private practice. Many handshakes, many known stepping stones along the way. You receive socio-economic recognition from start to finish. It is well understood as a life choice. Financially and socially speaking, this life path provides you with a good deal of clout, if you stick by it.
Of course, some facets of artistry have their rites of passage, institutions and accolades. But for the most part, we’re on our own and we’re making it up as we go along. If we’re angling ourselves towards well-celebrated rites of passage, or if we’re trailblazing entirely, we have to develop a thick skin for rejection, poverty, and overall creative suffering - and this is where the delusion sets in.
All artists are delusional because we must be in order to endure this blessing and this curse. When you think about it, all superheroes have their cross to bear - they must battle evil foes, they must try to keep their identities secret, they must endure the loneliness that comes with having special powers. For artists, we must live with both the blessing of this calling and its inherent powers, but also the curse of isolation and trailblazing with little to no support. A totally sane person would look at the potential Mount Everest of challenges in being an artist and say, fuck no - that’s not wise at all! I am going to walk a much safer path. And it would be a rational choice to do so. But art, as much as it becomes a profession - is indeed a calling. We have been chosen by it, and not at random. There may very well be something in our very souls that need this kind of nourishment and suffering alike - so we are selected for this monumental task. So - delusion must be a part of our framework. And it, my friends, is a beautiful thing.
I mean, when you think about it, all humans are delusional to some degree. There’s some element of deciding, even subconsciously, that things are going to go our way each and every day despite the odds and evidence to the contrary. This is built in, and it’s adorable - but for artists it extends all the way to our core because the world is not built for us to thrive in, and that’s on purpose. The world needs art to even function, or have a single hope of experiencing joy - and I fully believe that art and creation is a human being’s very purpose (if evolution to this degree even has a purpose, who can say). But we are treated like we are misfits, like we are the runts of the litter. So if there is a god, perhaps they imbued us with an extra dose of delusion to be able to endure all of the trials by fire that are lying in wait for us along the way.
So this is why the artist’s delusion is glorious and necessary.
And I have needed a ton of it to get by, and to get to my years of success - and I need even more of it now that I have reached such a crossroads full of sinkholes and potential ruin. They say ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way.’ In an artist's terms, where there’s a creative impulse, there’s the sweet delusion to see it into reality. If we’re delusional enough, and stubborn enough, we will succeed. But it always, always comes with a cost.
The next layer of the onion occurs where creations meet money. There is such a thing as ‘art for art’s sake’ but for those of us who experience artistry as a calling, the very nature of being ‘called’ means that we are forever and inextricably pulled back into the grasp of creating. The fact that fine arts are not regulated in terms of an hourly wage - something we must come up with and set ourselves, or set our worth per piece, per offering etc - means that since we are called to this path, we are forced to monetize our visions in a way that feels reasonable, and accessible, to the public. Sometimes pieces, such as Damien Hirst’s Lullaby Spring, which sold for over 3 million pounds in 2007, shoot into the stratosphere for reasons most people cannot fathom. Art is subjective, and it's worth seems to be in the eye of the beholder (or the stinkin’ rich collector) but for the most part, we must price our works according to how desperate we are to pay rent and eat food.
I was what most would call a ‘starving artist’ from 2003-2014. I am self-taught in graphite and oil painting - and those were my two main mediums. I did briefly attend university but professors often praised my talents and said things like, “I have nothing to teach you” which ended up being 20,000 worth of student loans down the toilet. I wasn’t necessarily prodigious, but talented and visionary enough that profs and peers alike had no critique of my work. This talent didn’t save me, however, from the starving artist lifestyle. When you start out young, are neurodivergent, and don’t have another job to bolster you - you can’t help but be somewhat meek and undersell yourself. I also lived in a very small town where no one had a lot of money, so often I’d sell paintings for 20, 40, 60 bucks - 150 if I was extremely lucky. I’d do portraits and landscapes, and often the consultations and revisions would take longer than the art itself - and we all know that a few dozen dollars doesn’t last very long, not even back in the early aughts. I was dating another more experienced artist at the time and we were the hot young art star power couple. Our lives were romanticized by those around us - and these rose coloured glasses used to view us did help us to maintain an air of mystique - but no one really knew how much of our days were spent scheming for our next dollars…mostly spent on basic meals, smokes and coffees that we’d spend hours nursing at the busy cafe downtown, hustling drawings from patrons.
In that decade I learned that commissions - unless you are super assertive and you don't mind shoving a contract under someone’s nose - are a pain in the ass and generally not worth it, unless you’re painting for a rich person. Needless to say I burnt out on that. I took a break and moved to Montreal, which was where I self-taught photoshop and other programs in the adobe suite. Thus my digital collage style was born, and thus serpentfire tarot and company. When the 6th edition of serpentfire tarot came out in 2016, I was not expecting whatsoever that I had stumbled on such a right time, right place for the occult and the resurgence of the witch. All I knew was that I had been interested in the occult since I was a child, and now possessed skills in a medium that would allow me to create the necessary 78 artworks for a tarot deck without it taking me a lifetime to painstakingly paint them all. But it very much was the intersection of this new-found global interest in the arcane. And boom, within two years I was not only self-sustaining for the first time as an artist, but I was making loads of money. More than I needed.
The desire to be seen, understood and be reflected by the public had finally come true - on a mass scale. Years and years of having an artistic voice but neve truly being able to use it - and the frustration therein - was finally let loose. What followed was a veritable flood of what can only be described as backlogged emotion and intention. So that’s why my other tarot and oracle decks followed in such rapid succession, why I pushed myself so hard, and why even in those ‘in-between’ moments I was pumping out ‘content’ for instagram - I had a ton to offer, a ton to say, I wanted so badly to connect, I’d been starved of it for so long. It was as if I’d been stumbling through an arid desert for most of my life with hardly a drop to drink - then suddenly I come across an oasis and drink my fill to the point of delirium and sickness. The artist’s version of a bacchanal.
But there is complication in monetizing a vision. Perhaps there is good reason why it is unregulated - as visions are sacred, deeply spiritual things. When you place a price tag on them, you are simultaneously setting them in the realm of other things that can be bought and sold, which is a demand to take them seriously - but it also takes them out of their sacred place, dancing within your heart. The heart cannot be monetized no matter what capitalism suggests - so when we fix a dollar amount to what comes from there, it is a perversion of that vision, to a degree.
I believe this is why marrying money to such a passion takes the joy out of it. Where there was once the hulking mass of an unbridled, untamed creative beast, now sits this strange cryptid hybrid creature: both beast and business person - a feral animal in a suit. If we’re lucky, we are monied enough to hire someone to do all of that for us so that we can remain feral and pure towards our creations. But much of the time, we must learn how to market and promote ourselves, which is tiresome work and doesn’t come naturally to us at all.
The second to last layer of the onion is creative burnout. It comes as a result of wearing too many hats, taking on too many roles, finally achieving the success you strived for years to grasp, taking that throttle and pushing it to the very limit (because who knows when your time to shine will be over!) and fully spending yourself on the hungry mouths of your audience. When an artist’s creative process becomes publicized, the sacred intimate act that is our most earthly and heavenly ritual is taken from the safe cocoon it belongs in, and placed behind a very clean, very transparent pane of glass. We are ‘voyeured’ from here and each and every facet of our process is scrutinized. It sucks the magic right out of it. Some artists may thrive here in this zoo-like space, under these kinds of pressures. But most don’t, myself included - we need there to be some privacy in our undertakings, otherwise we are crowded. This means that either the visions cannot come through at all, or we’re so saturated by what the public wants from us - what’s ‘cool’, what’s ‘trendy’, that we lose touch with our own artistic voice and we are simply a mouthpiece for the masses. And this, of course, is the inherent danger in being an artist on social media - where opinions are like assholes and everyone has one. We can easily get lost in the sea of producing other people’s wishes. In order to maintain our beautiful imaginations, we must have healthy boundaries.
Once burnout sets in, delusion is even more necessary. We must remember what propelled us forward in the first place - that calling, that bliss, that desire for true connection. We must believe that we can find that pure joy again, and figure out ways to share it with the world where we are truly communicating and not simply being siphoned from. And this is the last layer of the onion - coming back full circle - recalling our origins and the sacred drive to create in the first place. We may do things differently the next time around - but at some point the calling beckons us back and we begin the process all over again all with the eternal, at times delusional, hopefulness that we will achieve this union even more perfectly because this is what our souls are asking us to do.
Until next time, love and wolves.
D xx