Growing up is a communicable disease
"The hidden doorway" to unleashing your inner artist
It’s about time we stopped asking people to grow up, because no one really wanted to do it in the first place.
It takes a lot of suffering for people, especially if they grew up harbouring any creative ambition, to accept the reality of growing up as “part of life”, as they erode precious parts of their true selves in the name of maturity so society will accept them. So many succumb to this notion early in life, for fear of ostracism. Some resist, long enough for their inner flame to flicker (on weekends perhaps) in feeble desperation, but eventually give up their weird to join the human race.
It is of course easier (only a tad though) for those who have the privilege to not have to do so—but regardless of the depth of creative ambition someone might have, I think it a tragedy nonetheless for everyone to have to diminish their inner child and the spark within, that must have been fought to be kept alive eternally.
But then, there are those few who’ve tried to fit in, long enough as their spirit and body could endure, but failed to drown their true selves in legacy societal constructs of being a grown up. They are then often to be found in tight knit groups that commune behind closed doors in sacred creative spaces they construct—such as music schools, dance dojos or discord channels. Away from the prying eyes of the respectable and the miserable that wallow in their acts of maturity, they turn out their inner child. And dance, play, sing, act or write.
The rest of the world shuns them, envies them, hurts them, laughs at them, respects them, loves them, hates them, watches them from afar. And calls them weirdos first, and artists later.
You know, the enigmas. That spent their teenage years often lost in their own heads, and headphones.
Being an artist demands a preservation of innocence, and not many people realise how hard you have to work at not letting the world take it away from you. Embracing your authentic unmolded personality is a notion that must be fostered within the larger community, if we are to return to being a society of innovators.
People that gave up simple joys to join the grown ups, cannot fathom how anyone could behave so “at such an age“. Express unrehearsed and uncivilised laughter, show honest indignation or righteous anger, and admit confusion that showed on the face before the admission. Portray emotions that come directly from the soul, and extend to the eyes without a veil. The eyes of innocence.
You can see sly side glances rush between the “grown ups” if they should ever witness a scene like this, as silent judgement passes between them like a bullet ricocheting off of mirrors cracking in a room. They have already branded themselves as superior in that moment, and will be quick to offer their condescension dressed as kindness, and seize this chance to bolster their egos and go home feeling a little less miserable than yesterday. They might be afraid of what they know they secretly want to be, but woefully unaware of the kind of bravery it takes, one that can be isolating and excruciating.
As tragic as it may be - the only reason it is should be so is that the numbers are mostly never skewed in favour of the weird, and they cannot hope to express themselves freely in the larger world, outside of the closed communities they thrive in, without suffering judgement. Or at least, until they become successful commercially, in which case they are idolised for the same behaviours, that become pop cultural references that the same people that perpetrated the hurt earlier then copy in hypocritical desperation to be seen as “cool”. Such a tragic comedy!
I would never glorify the idea that it’s “suffering that births art” in the first place, or that it’s somehow preordained - those too afraid to be their authentic selves or weak to embrace a lack thereof, can claim no right whatsoever to hurt those that do. But then, the idea that one’s own uniqueness can only be expressed through a more tangible talent like music, dance or acting is at the root of this disease. There’s no incentive to celebrate authenticity of lesser prominence, so the jealousy—that spawns those abominable and monstrous behaviours, displaying lowest forms of humanity, that represses authenticity—unfortunately, is never resolved.
Being an artist doesn’t always mean being a Mozart or Leonardo Da Vinci. It is also to hold your individual quirks in perfect stead and express themselves unabashedly even as you “grow up”, instead of civilising them to fit in. Being an artist is not just about what you do, but who you are—what you do is a result of the manifestation of being yourself. There should be no room left for ridicule or repression of one’s brazen self, if everyone could live like this. Or having to teach tolerance.
Maybe it’s a utopian idea, but that’s what I have to believe in to make sense of the cruelty and the damage that I’ve seen people do and been through some. And be sure that the trauma that was caused to us doesn’t get passed on.
“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”
― Pablo Picasso
Growing up is a communicable disease. One, that for me, could have a cure in these words.
"Being an artist demands a preservation of innocence, and not many people realise how hard you have to work at not letting the world take it away from you."
THIS.