generosity does not equate to …
public property
Hi.
You may have noticed I haven’t been sharing so much online lately.
It’s not because I don’t have things to say. I’m just working through a process of truly reckoning with how much I’ve been used and taken for granted.
It really takes the wind outta ones’ sails when people feel entitled to you and your art the way they feel entitled to a public bathroom. They assume it will always be there for them to piss & shit all over—no need to clean up after themselves. You exist for their utility. You’re a thing, not a person. And if you’re not useful to them you should expect to be mistreated—everything is all about them, after all. You should be grateful that they tolerate you!
I’m still making my art but I’m not showing it to many people right now. A lot of people suck. They can suck just fine without my art to help make their hollow lives more interesting. None of my assistance required.
Maybe I sound bitter, but I’m actually demonstrating a level of optimism beyond what most will ever fathom by the simple fact that I’ve chosen to still be here after how I’ve been treated.
You don’t have to take my word for it. The tenacity I have built through all the abuse I have endured will continue to speak for itself.
Besides, I’m not saying all this because I need you to believe me.
I’m just saying it as a declaration of fact, believe it or not.
I’m not going to stop being generous. But I am going to ruthlessly cut off the leeches and vampires and prevent new ones from gaining any access in the first place. Feeding parasites is not meaningful to me, no matter how rich or famous or “cool” they seem.
For now, this continues to mean that I am not very available.
I also am taking time to grieve the loss of my energy to pigs who would have consumed my life force, let me die, then showed up to give a flowery eulogy at my funeral for the sake of optics. It’s not time for me to die, thank god—not time for me to relinquish the chance to reclaim my own life and story.
My art exists because I steward the resource of my authentic sense of inspiration, at great personal cost. It doesn’t exist because some feudal lord has purchased me as an indentured pet.
The art that would come from an indentured pet is not the kind of art I care to make. That would be an insult to my soul. My art is an expression of my commitment to liberation; it’s not paid for by a slave master.
The sacredness of life is no game to me, nor is my artistic practice. I don’t care that our weird and piggish culture breeds a normalization of game playing and phony power. I refuse to play.
Any worldview that lacks respect for the truth is a worldview that smells like garbage to me. I’ll take fresh air, even if it means I get a smaller “like” count.
My courageous openness was misinterpreted as “easiness,” my generosity as a lack of self respect … and so I’m forevermore selective about who gets in.
I’m not worried about whether my art is good enough to command the audience it deserves.
You can call this arrogance if you want, I don’t really care anymore. I know the difference between egocentrism and conviction, even if other people don’t.
There’s my update for today.
—Adrien