The Artist & his Dream

A kid wanted to become an artist. He sent his demos out. He got scouted by talent managers in a trice, and was presented with long tenure album deals to create his own original work. He made his album, sold in millions and performed for billions. He went on as many tours as possible to perform for packed stadiums for months to come after which he went back to make another album. Then, another. Yet another. Kid becomes a man, becomes a myth, and finally becomes a legend. He definitely never drowned in prescription drugs or alcohol to bury the pain and the fatigue, both physically & emotionally, due to spending lonely hours on the road without his family and friends. He never not tried to speak about this with those who tossed this opportunity along his way, as he knew there were many others who would kill to be in his place. Because, all he ever dreamt was for his art to be seen, his voice to be heard and he realized that to profuse levels. And then, he woke up. Oh, you stupid creature of naiveté! Yes, you.

You wake up one day and realize that the hobby that you have, the piano you play, the guitar you strum, the countless melodies you've recorded into your system as demos, numerous papers and notepads of all the ideas you have and ever have had, they all can be more than just "hobby". You realize that this hobby of yours is not a hobby at all, but a lifeline. It is the reason you wake up everyday, a purpose for a transcendence to a greater life. You realize that you could do what your heart yearns for you to do and have a shot at success by pursuing your passion. Ahead lies an often romanticized but a tedious journey in front of you.

You wake up one day and realize you are trying to make ends meet by pursuing your passion, and are exceedingly burdened with the state of being nothing more than a burden to your own parents, doubly so when you're a single child. But you still want to be heard so bad. You want your demos to become final versions. You want to discuss about the art that you thrive for, with all the people that want to hear what you have to say about the art that you've made. You wish for nothing more than the acceptance from the community of artists. A recognition. A sense of belonging. So, you do the one thing you're really good at- you start talking. You try to connect with as many label executives as possible. You get as many contacts as possible and call every single one of them, visit every likely location of a record company that you might have heard of, through the "I heard from them that it's there" factory, with the hopes of just getting an appointment with them to showcase your voice, your art and to show what you could bring to the world. Somewhere, somehow, some kind soul listens to you and decides to give you an opportunity to express yourself. A Good Samaritan takes a leap of faith with you and pulls a few strings and gets you in the same room as those label executives you wanted to meet so bad. You get all excited, thinking that there is a possibility, a teeny-tiny one that is, for you to pursue your dream. But here's the catch- you won't be paid for the first works you put out there because you're new. But you're promised newer opportunities down the road. You're assured a voice of your own, where you get to express what uniqueness you may have. They promise you to be taken to the land of milk & honey, the "Success Land". But you're quick to realize that this ride to such a mythical place is only provided if you're successful enough already, even before the intervention of said executives. It doesn't matter if your art is good, or for that matter, bad, as long as you've already had an initial success of thousands of fans wanting more from you. Or you have to be rich, filthy rich, in which case, it wouldn't matter if you have an ardent following, since we all know that money is the foremost measure of success to ever be.

You wake up one day and realize that you could directly connect with the audience base by putting your work out there. So, you decide to spread your art to people by performing in whatever place you get. Then again, there is only so much that can be done by you. You see, there are certain overheads involved everytime. Certain costs to be met. You ascertain that the money you make, which barely covers your own cost of living, will have to be invested increasingly towards such costs. This leads to deficit spending. That's when you understand that you really do need the help of the corporate giants. You connect with them again, and again, and again, only to speak with them to no avail. You finally figure this to be a real catch-22 situation. Hence, you accept whatever small project you can get your hands on, so long as pay is guaranteed, no matter the amount. You spend long hours isolated from your immediate circle, working on your art, honing your craft.

You wake up one day and realize you don't earn enough/anything from what you've put out. So you start freelancing your art, and here begins a mind-numbing journey of trying to get paid what you deserve. You understand what the people you work with/for think- if it is a piece for a minute, then you should be settled money in a proportionate manner, accordingly. In other words, the shorter the duration of the piece, the less the money, which is not bad inherently. But here comes the problem. You grow tiresome trying to explain to those people that it's not just the duration of your art for which you're getting paid, but also the countless hours you sit and work in front of your instruments and your systems, trying to capture what they ask for. You explain to them that you get paid for all the variations/corrections/changes they ask you to make. This is when you realize that you're no longer an artist, but a businessman. Gone is the starry-eyed kid who made demos in his bedroom just out of pure fuel of passion, and alive is this overworked, underpaid husk of a human who just wants to buy something for their parents, maybe a saree, a shirt or even a good meal, out of his own hard-earned money.

You wake up one day and understand that this struggle of yours is no different from anyone else's and suck up all your emotions and head back to what you do best. You write more. You make more. You paint more. You experiment with flavors. You add contrasting layers. And simultaneously, you keep trying to connect with those execs that have your one-way ticket to the aforementioned "Success Land". You constantly phone them. You text them day and night, checking with them if they have seen your art, heard your demos, which you probably sent them months back. What you get from the other side is what you've grown accustomed to, nothing but radio silence.

You wake up one day and realize your closest of friends, your brothers-in-arms, with whom you've shared a lifetime of dreams of achieving together, have walked away from you. You try to connect with them and what you get back is dejection. You're mocked for the small success that you have managed to make all by yourself, because what they see, is no longer the man who constantly put up with all the shame all these years just to break free, but a man who just is not happy with what has been provided. What hurts you more is the fact that these "brothers" of yours have seen you suffer for a little shy of a decade and still see your path so drastically different. You accept that you walk a lonely road here to prove yourself and show your art out to the world. However, there are flickers of hope from a handful of those who wish to see you succeed in life, come what may.

You wake up finally to acknowledge that no one in the position of power or influence is ever going to give you a chance, as they are busy promoting bigger and only bigger artists. You realize that the system is rigged. More the followers, more the money, more the lights, camera and action! No one really cares about art. You arrive at a point where it's time for you to choose- either to break out of the matrix and go around the system, or slog away being a cog in the machine. You choose wise. You break open. You write about the living oppressors, the giants. You sing hymns about the fallen ones, those who died under the massive feet of the corporate. You create something that primarily speaks to you more, hoping that the same will be reciprocated by those listening too. As you do all this, you arrive at a point of revelation- people who are capable of supporting actual artists, have no intention of actually supporting these lonely dreamers, those who paint their own canvas with a vibrant palate of self-made authentic colours. That's when you see the truth. You are not an artist but a commodity for them. A product in a wide market. According to them, you don't make the product but you yourself are a product. Your art is just a means to make their own ends meet. They prosper from what you have. Not you. Never you.

You have this revelation today. Come to think of it, if you wanted to throw away your dream, you can simply do it. It wouldn't take much time for you to do that. You could just go ahead and go what most people do. "But will you be happy, down the lane?", asks your mind. Everytime you face some sort of a downfall, your mind immediately ponders this. If you take the normal route, you would get to live some version of a stable life. However, that life will be filled with "would've beens" and "could've beens". To put it to perspective, it'll be a life of probabilities. After decades, after getting married and having kids, you'd still feel the great hollowness only to realize that this emptiness of yours will never be replaced or even filled with anything else, because you tossed out your dream. 

On the other hand, taking the alternative route, the unpopular path, the road not often traveled in, you will get to live a life full of surprises, and you will have the power and influence to do everything you love. You will be living this crazy dream to such an extent that stability would not even be the last thing you would have to worry about. This life will be full of possibilities. Here, you'll still get married and have wonderful kids, only to set an example to those kids by realizing your dream and willing it to reality.

So, weighing in on these two options- a life of probabilities and a life of possibilities, one of which is an easier path and the other, THE most hardest of all, you decide to take road seldom taken. Not because you want to. Certainly not because you could. Simply because you're an artist, a storyteller. A great canvas is stowed right in front of you to paint beautiful pictures of lives of a thousand people, filled with a million stories. You have that as a responsibility. That will be your legacy.

You understand that you just want to be happy. But, the word happy means something different to different people. Happiness is subjective. For a mouse, happiness is getting that piece of cheese from the mice trap without getting caught. To a crow, happiness is stealing that crêpe from the frail old lady, but to another crow, it would simply be happy if it were able to quench its thirst, from the pot with minimal water using pebbles & stones.

For you, happiness is when you achieve your dream. Truth be told, you're doing what you do, not because you want to earn as much money as you can, and not because you promised your mom that you would have a professional qualification while pursuing your own dream. You're doing it for the 14 year old boy who promised himself that he would become the best version of himself to ever exist, because people told him it was impossible. Because people told him he couldn't do it. Because people told him that he CAN'T.

You won't do it because OF them, but you would do it FOR them. That'll show them that we should seek discomfort actively to prove to ourselves and get away from our tiny shell of a life, reach for the sky with the biggest and strongest systems ever created, our minds. The mind can will any dream to reality if we put our thoughts to work in a fruitful manner. You are always defined by the ability to overcome the impossible. And you count these moments. These moments when you dare to aim higher, to break barriers, to reach for the stars, to make the unknown known. You count these moments as your proudest achievements. Because your greatest accomplishments cannot be behind you, for your destiny lies above and beyond. You are not what happened to you, but what you choose to become. 

Finally, you invest with yourself. You write more about what impacts you. You stop writing to please others. You grow indifferent to criticism. You write more. Make more. Create more. And finally, you breathe no more. You cease to exist. But not before leaving behind your most prized contribution, your art. You shuffle off the mortal coil, knowing that your art will speak for itself. You and I come and so shall we go, but our art is here to be remembered for posterity.

-Pranav