I was having a conversation the other day with a friend. Her premise was that artists all eventually got corrupted and sold out. There was a hint of contempt—or even pity—on those words. That this was just what happened in a lifecycle.
There was the egg stage, larval stage, starving artist stage and finally, pretentious Dbag stage. We all secretly liked our indie band before they hit it big, right?
But what is the point of art, then? Why do we do this? Because we want to inflict misery on ourselves? Because we want to be “pure”? Artists make art to share their point of view with the world. And yeah, hopefully to transfer the emotion, wonder, hope that they can feel to a new audience.
We don’t all want to be John Kennedy Toole, an author who’s work was shared only posthumously. We want to contribute, release our art to the world and let it shape us. We want to find and grow an audience. We want what we make to support us. That’s selling,not selling out. Instead of cultivating contempt for commerce, why not admit what we want?