You Can't Change The Way People See Your Art

How often do we obsess over the perfect presentation of a creative project? Don't we know that our creative process is...well, a process? And yet we forget it so frequently. We forget in the midst of art critics and fandoms voicing their opinions on whether your art is exactly what you say it is. It's terrifying, isn't it? And dear god, it can hurt. Hearing some opinions is the equivalent of hearing the pages of your story being torn, your canvas being painted over, or any of your creative work being burned by the flames on their tongues. It's an intimidating tragedy. It feels inevitable.

So we sink into melancholy and let the tragedy keep dancing in our hypothetical daydreams. This, I think, is what triggers the process of forgetting the beauty of your creative process, the beauty of all that creative power inside. Watching the tragic dance go on is the same as being on the outside looking in, watching the world go on like your feelings were never hurt, never neglected, and never poisoned against you. There's a subtle separation between who you are and what they saw. To them, they were just speaking their mind; to you, they were breaking yours, dividing it with unfair definitions of your work and who you are, and they have no idea what sort of chasm was created between who you know who you are and what they think you are. Still, you attempt to leap across that chasm, desperate to return to who you are, then plummet down into a dark limbo where your identity slowly drowns.

When we forget our process, we forget ourselves. How does an aspiring actor who has fallen into their own chasm, wake up the next morning to work ridiculous hours at a job they hate, then audition for roles where their efforts are almost unseen, harshly critiqued, or typecasted? How do entertainers present an authentic act that didn't sell enough seats, leading to losses for their venue, and then after falling into their own chasm rise up and perform again? How does a writer submit their work to contests, magazines, publishers, beta readers, and workshops absorb all the rejections, critiques, or the complete lack of response, then after the fall into their chasm, wake up again and write? Our fall into the chasm isn't just a descent into darkness; it's internal chaos perpetuated by the outside chaos that challenges everything you thought you knew about yourself and the path you decided to walk as an artist. We've all heard the cliché stating "you decide your destiny" and I understand the good intention behind it, but christ, the angst and agony that comes with every choice to be ourselves, then suffering the consequences, which is being told to stop being ourselves over and over again, sounds like a special kind of masochism that more often than not awakens a spiteful sadist that can lead us astray. We forget ourselves because everything we thought we were is disheveled by the world and then we chose to keep going?

Yes. The chaos is agony and the moments we forget ourselves triggers ongoing grief, but we keep going. After we witness the chasm between who we were and what we are and we make that leap of faith, we inevitably fall and inevitably rise again. We do eventually hit the bottom of the chasm, then look up to see how far it is to the top. We notice all those chaotic elements we hit on the way down, all those tears and gashes bleeding out. We're writhing in pain at this moment and we have to give ourselves time to rest, to heal, to think. Then, after realizing we survived all the tragedy of being unseen, unheard, and misunderstood, we remember.

We remember why the leap was worth it. We remember why we got up the next day. We remember that after being told of what success we may or may not have, we still jumped attempting to reach our true selves. In spite of the world trying to separate us from who we are, we jumped, we fell, we were maimed by chaos, but still, we looked up, already making plans to make it back up there and embrace our true selves unapologetically.

We can't change the way people see our art. They're going to see what they want to see. Putting even an ounce of effort into understanding your efforts and reasons behind your work is ultimately up to them. It's more than likely the only one who's going to see the true you, your true art, is you and it's worth the wounds of chaos, the misunderstandings and assumptions, the pain of it all. It's worth it because it keeps you alive, which is a success within itself and it's the necessary guidance for ensuring you're not just surviving, but living authentically.

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." - Oscar Wilde