For The Art

Adobe Firefly

In the relative silence of the morning, with only the echo of cars and the murmur of the TV blaring through the walls. I wrote a blog for my old Blogger account that I really didn’t wish but for a select few to read. So now I’m sitting here at around 10 in the morning with a fresh cup of hot coffee and a half-burnt out candle for company. Even the birds refuse to sing on this fourth or fifth dreary rainy day. But I dressed in a light colored plaid shirt with black pants and a dark green t-shirt. Acting like I don’t want to be seen, but with this button down shirt, apparently I do.
 
Lord knows why you haven’t all grown so tired of reading my shit. Maybe I am just fooling myself with your thumbs up and hearts that you actually have. But it’s a delusion I’m willing to live with if it keeps my passion in tack. But as a writer and creator I’m nothing if not a slave to my muse. I have friends and followers that appear to make a successful living with the work they create. But then there are some who’s pieces seem to only hang in different exhibits and galleries time and time again. So I can’t help but question the value of my work. That appears to be stamped out like so many metal spoons in a utensil factory.
 
But at least that product has a chance to be sold at a profit. While mine languishes tarnished and aged on a webpage I pay to maintain. So why do we put ourselves through such madness? When we could all be designing soup cans or writing words for real public consumption? That’s funny, because even this is being taken away by the sophisticated AI out there. Helping corporations with their burden of creating an adequate profit margin. So I humbly ask. Is it for the art or the drive that we create? Lord knows if I know. Maybe it’s just for the therapy to stay sane.
 
#Creativity #Individualism #Art #Attention #Profit