If I ever bet my reputation on one struggle I swear every single student, client or collaborator I have worked with faces, it is this:
The pain of not being seen.
One would think the online circus that appears to have established itself as the judge and jury of visibility in the collective consciousness, is the primary convict for this crime. One we artists increasingly tend to feel like a victim of.
And to be fair, there are parts of that theory I would probably agree with.
After all, there are only so many F's I have to spare for another algorithm I am told I 'ought to' understand.
Another hashtag promising me last week's definition of 'success'.
A definition I'm usually too overwhelmed with some random tech guru's unsolicited advice which I don't remember signing up for, to even examine against my own.
Assuming I've even taken the time to define 'success', for myself in the first place.
But that being said, there's a bitter pill I have started to swallow of late.
A parallel truth behind the fear of invisibility. One probably a little more uncomfortable than most of us are willing to admit. Or even equipped to deal with.
A truth that has very little to do with the internet. At least at its core, anyway.
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As it turns out, in my own case, my fear of invisibility had a lot more to do with the schoolyard bully I worked years to stand up to as a kid, while my friends made a run for it.
The disturbed neighbour who hit me with her car cos' she didn't like my tattoos.
The dad who insisted on calling a contrabass a 'big-violin', cos' winding me up gave him a sense of power.
The childhood 'friends' who insisted I have the 'fat-gene' and am destined to be obese for life.
The girlfriend who called me a 'psycho' when I wrote out a hand-written letter of undying love.
The code-switching between social idiosyncracies so removed from one another that I'd usually forget I exist.
That kinda stuff.
None of these really had the internet involved. I managed to dive down these deep, dark holes quite efficiently, And usually on my own.
...the louder we screamed, the less we were heard.
Truth of the matter is, a lot of us became artists because our art might have been the first true mirror we had seen. One that helped us see ourselves!
See ourselves for the inherently powerful, beautiful beings every single one of us holds the agency to grow into.
The problem arose when we just assumed our audience would do exactly the same.
So when they didn't, the pain hit.
Hit us so hard that we were blinded by its impact to a very simple fact.
That practicing an art well, and gaining visibility for it, are two completely different things.
So the blinding pain pushed us down another negative spiral. With self-loathing and self-doubt as companions.
And then there was more more invisibility. Because self-doubt doesn't feel very sexy. Isn't particularly attractive to our audiences.
And true vulnerability is a LOT messier, and a good deal more complex than the random Instagram rant on a bad day.
So the louder we screamed, the less we were heard. By the very people we so desperately wanted to connect to.
Until the lights went out.
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Sure, the internet didn't always help.
Now we had our peers' highlights to compare to our behind-the-scenes.
On a permanent drip-feed of them flashing on about what an amazing day they had, chilling out with drinks. Preferably on a tropical island, as they decompress from sold-out tours to celebrate their last Grammy. With the perfect partner and handsome friends at their side.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck here, trying to figure out how to convince my collaborator that I am NOT going to change that one chord on this song.
Cos that would dash all my chances. To finally write that perfect song.
The one that will get me heard!
Seen!
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you can't stop my waist from growing, right? 'I'll show you'
It's a long, winding road from a guy who kept piling on those pounds to ensure nobody could at least ignore him if he was 'big' enough. (So I'm 5ft,9. But you can't stop my waist from growing, right? 'I'll show you'!).
That long winding road and the bags that eventually got too heavy to keep carrying has been tricky. And sometimes very, very tiring.
I often find myself asking if I would have had it any other way.
And if you're expecting a resounding 'no', I'm gonna disappoint you.
Cos honestly, I wish I'd known better.
Known, that any 'career', or idea of 'success' at the cost of my well-being was a knock-off.
Fake. Absolute and total B.S.
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But I didn't. And I do now. So it's about memory at this point.
Not forgetting to remember.
And the added solace of having gained some insights my students & clients say are helpful when we talk.
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