What would happen if I were to make art just for the sake of it. Without considering sharing it, without thinking about making money from it. Without the hustle.
What would happen if I were just start writing again, without the anticipation and knowing that it might be read – it might not – it might be important – it might not.
‘Not everything has to be a project or side hustle. It is okay to love things for their own sake.’
I needed that reminder, and still, I don’t know what to do with it – because I need the money too, and the only way I can earn money right now is through my art. uhhh…
I’m struggling with the knowing how to be an artist, make an income, stay relevant and engaged with social media, package and present everything well, be inspired, make authentic art.
I’m thinking about quitting. Not like giving up making and doing – but quitting trying to sell my art, quitting the feeling of hustle and self promotion, of constantly trying to seek a way to sell something to put a few euro into reinvesting into more stock to sell more art. The weight of it feels heavy. The weight of it feels like I’m constantly chasing my tail, overwhelm, burn out, and fear of disappointing. There’s a fear of failure, a fear of missed opportunities.
I know that I’m not alone. Still though.
Do you remember blogging days? Like fifteen years ago we all had our own little pocket of the internet where we would write diary entries, recipes, spaces to record our thoughts about anything. Some people made money out of it with sponsorships, and then it started to become a bigger thing – a thing to make money doing, full time jobs. Dream jobs of writing articles that you were already writing and getting paid for it. The more that people became successful with it and made a name for themselves, and moved on up in the world – it seemed the more of a competition and over saturation, boredom, move on-dom for others. Making money is fucking brilliant – I want us to all make money. It’s also taking the joy out of the making, the writing, the arting, the doing – and doing those things doesn’t pay for the fuel in the car.
I miss the old blogging days. I miss writing about nothing and anything for the sake of it – and not knowing or caring who was reading, or if anyone ever would. It didn’t matter.
I miss making art without thinking in the middle of it about how I will try to promote it, how much I can reasonably ask for it, will people even like it – will I lose followers because of it, does it fit with my style that people know me for. Is it even any good – and does that matter?