Towards Better Democracy

Good words, well written, better the world. Good literature betters the world immeasurably.

Do and have historically writers, artists and musicians made a living


And the answer is, usually, not, both in the present and in the past.

And we mean by making a living in pursuance of their craft, plainly said, living on the sale of their works. Excluded are those who, as creatives, are employed in whatever capacity for commercial gain. Also are those those individuals in all of these categories who are wannabes, those who say, “I wanna write,” –  they don’t. Some of these have money to burn and time and liesure enough to be seduced by rich Universities, from the Top One Hundred World’s Best Universities down to the lowliest and deeply obscure who are happy, having descierned that a vast market exists for those suckers who hand over often prodigious amounts of money for such courses and even for degrees in Creative Writing. These opportunities have sprung up like malignant weeds in the night and their offerers accept your money with a smile close to that of a Snake Oil Salesman and place it in their coffers of overflowing millions. In exchange, you, the xx

 

We, instead, are talking strictly of independent spirits who eschew interference from any source where the form and content of their work is concerned. Commissions are to a certain extent excluded from this. But only to a certain extent. Creator true themselves and upholders of the integrity of their craft will, within limits, adjust to the needs of the commissioner. However, in the case of an artist, for example, he or she might demur at creating a painting, let us say, that has a powder blue field which matches the colour of the wall on which it is to be hung. A true creator will reject such a commission even if they are starving. These days,  truly starving artists are rare to the extreme. The fellows, they are almost always men, who jangle tin cups at your atomobile window while you are held captive at the light, is unlikely to be one. And these fellows are not starving. Couldn’t stand there for hours on end if they were.

In the modern era, beginning after WWII, writers, artists and musicians have entered the ranks of the bourgeois. There are few starving artist. Let’s for brevity’s sake refer to the three as artists. Where writers are concerned, we are concerned with creators of fiction in its various forms and artists and musicians who create their own work.

From the Salon des Refusés and its equivalents in other European countries onward we have artists who broke away from Academia with the certainty of patrons and exhibitions, we do witness artists who barely, if at all, sold

in progress

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