Yellow, Yellow, Dirty Fellow

The reason that every Tappan, Babblu and Tinkoo are suddenly authors and musicians and artists isn’t because there’s a whole generation of people with ideas to express and feelings to explore. It’s mostly because, like everything else in this world, art and money are now bedfellows, and are now the proud parents of a nursery full of little wailing bastards.

Sure, every piece of creativity is art in its own right. Nobody has the right to judge another human’s journey, and what they produced along the way. Still, some signposts on this oft-trodden road of opinion still stand. Art is something produced by an artist. Not the other way around. The creativity comes from inside the human being; so if there’s a work of art that inspires, and is beautiful, and hold deep meaning, it’s because all those characteristics were in a vision that the artist had. You can’t begin to write/paint/compose something just for money, or fame; even then, you’re doing it because of the feeling those things give you - and from the kind of insipid pap that commercial artists produce, it’s quite evident how inspiring money and fame actually are; sing it with me. ‘Gurllllll…’.

So. Artists. Lady Gaga, for example. The woman’s a genius. She knows how to evoke feelings in people who listen to her, even if the feeling she began with was lust. A Britney or even a Christina will never be able to touch her, because (talent notwithstanding), lesser artists like them do it for the feeling they get. Like fame, for example. Or notoriety. Or sex appeal. Or for public acclaim. Gaga goes it the other way around. She doing it to make other people feel things - and that’s what art is about. Feeling a moment, deeply, honestly, personally and truthfully, and then somehow expressing those feelings so that other people can get into the moment. Not into your pants.

T