Jess Walter-Wilde
Contributing Writer
I’m not an artist. At least, that’s what I told myself growing up. In my mind, artistry wasn’t something you worked towards, but rather an intrinsic attribute that belonged to only a select few. I saw the kids who liked to dance, decorate and draw, and othered myself from them. “Those are the artsy kids,” I’d think. “But not me, I’m not ‘talented’ like that.” So I kept to my analytical self. I played video games. Consumed books, movies and YouTube videos. I pretty much lived under a rock. Art was a choice, and I had opted out.
Resonating a little too strongly with Wyn Caudle’s Sept. 25 Viewpoint, “Perspective of Perception,” I was prompted to consider how the weight of public perception has since hindered my ability to create publicly as well as in private. As Caudle highlights, the ever-present pressure of social media represents an endless well of potential criticism which can often be paralyzing. While online spheres may be optional in some cases, it can feel as though the watchful eye of the internet is glaring over your shoulder, even in the privacy of your own home. It keeps us vigilant against criticism, imagined or otherwise, such that even our own ideas sometimes don’t have a place to take shape (see also: “1984” by George Orwell).
In artistic terms, this paralysis-inducing critique often comes disguised as self-doubt. “This is trash,” I’m telling myself. “Jess, why in the world would you structure an article this way?” (That one might be a valid critique.) It doesn’t help that art often reaches us through social media superstars who have spent years working their craft and share only their successes, rarely revealing the grueling process. Through that lens, of course our art seems unrefined! Yet simultaneously, there is a feeling that your art is wasted if it isn’t pawned off for likes, praise or cash. Caught between these forces, it can be overwhelming to have an original artistic idea – better to write yourself off and leave it to “the artists out there” than sink time and energy into a creation without faith in its quality or purpose.
Nowadays, I remain unskilled in the visual arts, and while I’m a decent musician, I’m never the one composing the music. I’ve dabbled in acting, song and dance, usually clumsy and out of tune. I adore improv comedy, but shouldn’t art carry more meaning than that? I hold artists in high regard, and I hesitate to ascribe such a lofty title to myself. Then again, we as people tend to shrink our definition of art to such a small size that it nearly disappears from our lives. We deem it a hobby – a pejorative in our capitalistic culture – and stow it away to protect our egos. This is not to say that we don’t suffer, though. Art is something which tends to create more of itself. When you bottle it up, it gains pressure, causing injury from the inside unless you let it out. Once you do, art can not only be a tool for self-expression but also unite communities and catalyze revolutions. Without it, ties are severed, hearts remain broken and voices fall silent.
Maybe I’m not an artist after all. I just do what anybody could do if they felt so compelled. But then I must ask myself: what if art is more universal than we give it credit for? Instead of restricting art to a narrow scope that we think is beyond us, we all may choose to expand our definition of art and see the ways that it already permeates our lives. As individuals, we may not have the ability to produce excellence from the very beginning, but perhaps that was never the point. Art is an integral element of human experience that cannot be avoided. If we are to properly acknowledge its importance in the world, then we must abandon the anxiety of judgement and pursue art with ever greater passion, despite knowing that it will likely end in exquisite disaster.
