I’m a creative person. I write, I take photos. As a teenager, I was an award winning published poet. Now, I write prose and opinion in this blog. I don’t expect to make any money from my creativity; professional journalism is really the only way to make money from writing, and that does not interest me.
I exercise my creativity for my own amusement. I don’t expect anyone else to give it economic value or to pay me because I choose to be creative. My creativity is valuable to me but I don’t assume that it should have value for anyone else.
I have spent a year providing education and training for film and television industry people. Their expectations are incredible. They think their creative power is infinite and thus it has infinite value. They think they deserve endless financial support and subsidy from the government. They think the world requires them to tell stories. They think the world can’t exist without their stories.
Wrong. We don’t need your stories. We don’t need you. To paraphrase Fight Club: you are not unique; you are not special. What you really are is a deluded dreamer who has been overly protected from the mediocre reality of your own existence. When the real world fails to pay for your self-indulgence you can’t understand why. Here’s the reason: your ideas are not good enough.
I find the demands of creative people exasperating. The ‘I am a creative therefore the world owes me a living’ attitude is pathetic. The people who want thousands of dollars to make the same boring films. The beggars who want $2 for a song or a recited poem on the street. The juggler who whinged on the footpath of Carlton today that he needed to eat and no one was paying to watch him juggle.
That’s because we don’t care. The market has spoken. Juggling is not very entertaining, so you earn nothing. Get over it. Get a real job. Get a life. Stop begging for ‘spare change’. Creatives. Junkies. Losers. Are they all the same?