Like Nobody's Business

"What strikes me this morning is that people believe they should be materially rewarded for their talents." He paused to light his pipe. I watched as he applied the match to the bowl and rhythmically sucked the flame into the tobacco. His mind was focused on the familiar act, something he had obviously done for years. It nevertheless absorbed his attention, causing a suspense in the conversation. "They believe they deserve to make money from their artistic efforts, whether they have talent or not." Another puff or two, and the pipe was lit. He shook the match out and placed it in the ash tray.

He puffed once, twice. "I should get money with which I can buy lettuce and cars, although my singing never worked on an automobile or on any of the industries that supply the factories, and I never planted a seed in a field. I should get money for something that does not contribute to material wealth in any way."

"Modern economy," I said. "We have progressed quite far."

"But the values that drive the desire to be known and remunerated for talents we believe we possess are not the same values that create something worth reading or looking at or listening to. So much is marketing, packaging, voodoo, nonsense and shamelessness."

"The world is this way. Why not take advantage of it? Go with it. No one's faulting anyone for trying to make a living at something like art or singing or commercial creativity."

He shook his head and took a few puffs. "There's a cost for everything. Not necessarily noted in your economic ledgers. There's always a cost, if you start to sell things. You have to value the goal first of all: to sell. That becomes somewhat of a priority over having something to sell. If you sell, say, a painting, selling the painting is an objective separate from painting the painting. Perhaps you even painted it with the sale in mind."

"So what? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, if that's what you're trying to do. But is that what they tell themselves?"

"I don't know. I never painted anything or tried to sell a painting."

"Yeah. Well, there's so much associated in people's minds. What they do and why are twisted balls of experiences. The ideas and delusions in the minds of people are what cause them to want the idea they have of themselves an artist, not the pleasure of making something. What is art anyway? What's it for? A frying pan is a work of art, and it's produced commercially and sold. It is useful and beautiful."

I didn't know what he was getting at, but I had to leave. I had obligations that had nothing to do with either beauty or art. "We'll talk about this later," I said. "Don't smoke so much that you forget to eat."

He snorted. "As if that ever happens. Tobacco isn't what made me fat."