THE DIVA ARTIST. A commentary on perceived artistic narcissism
Being an artist is a condition. It is defined by the fact that we live outside of ourselves, with one foot on the cosmos, and a complete detachment from reality that is often misinterpreted for arrogance. The artist, in fact, knows he is powerless to his art. His every move is led by an impetus. Art and music- well, they are creation itself, and the artist can merely carry them like a foetus, and sacrifice everything to give them birth.
Perhaps it is misunderstood because it’s not really an “occupation” nestling in the category of “jobs". Perhaps we ourselves don’t find where it fits because it doesn’t fit anywhere. Rather, it IS. It is what happens when your instinct for survival directs your psyche to the production of stuff. You don’t decide to do it, it grabs you by the throat. You’ll do it for no other reason than to vomit it, because it’s in you, and it needs to get out.
Because art is such an imperial necessity to the human being, artists can’t stop doing it, and others can’t stop consuming it. It will never be unavailable because there will be artists. Artists are like machines. The artist doesn’t exist separately from his art.
In a world of capitalist deities, art is so essential that it becomes free. It’s not an exchange because creation is non negotiable, creation must go on. Then business happens independently from art.
Art just is.
The diva artist, to get to the point of the matter, is not only excluded from the comfort of society’s standard pathways and consequent rewards: She is also charged with being an egomaniac. Because art is so grand, that when expressed, it engulfs the person.
But the person is just a shell.
Like the phases of the moon, if she tries to defend her power, she will be doubly mistrusted. Nobody understands art. Art is not to be understood, it is to be gazed at.
Sad affairs happen between the heart and the 3d matrix of the Earth and its moral politics! And how boring and self-serving they are.