Nikola Tesla said that the secrets of the universe are accessible through understanding energy, vibration, and frequency. The aspiration of artists—consciously or not—is to achieve magic and live there. Don’t get me wrong, even if “the frequency” is real, it’s jammed alongside dozens of others we’re forced to operate in here in the material world. For us, it remains a longing—a mission impossible. Like a fly trying to merge with a light bulb.
No artist truly tolerates reality. It just means submission to the dominance of the perceived “normal,” which can best be described as what Monday morning looks like to an office worker getting ready to perform a sacrificial dance for the Spreadsheet Gods. That frequency is no less real—or false—than the one where everything vibrates love, elevation, and light.
But here we are. With the best of intentions (sometimes), the world compressed the arts into a bureaucratic "tick-a-box" pity contest—where the magic people compete for compliance from the Art LLC. It’s run like a company that sells plastic straws to those still searching for the kind of magic that didn’t make the cut. The second wave came when we all had to bow to the algorithmic demi-Gods, those great frequency limiters, as dictated by whatever Facebook’s “rules of engagement” were that day. A game of musical chairs to win the main designer title of a glorified, now potentially moving Ikea poster.
Much like men and women are currently at each other’s throats while still needing each other, artists and their admirers have become reluctant enemies. Not because we want to be—but because an avalanche of misunderstanding has bulldozed our connection. Many collectors and viewers are honestly trying to be respectful and curious about the artist’s world. Meanwhile, artists are twisting themselves into seven polite knots trying to appear palatable enough to be bought—while also keeping up with whatever regressive new rule got invented by polite society yesterday.
Who loses? Everyone.
That’s why I write these radioactive and toxic things. At my own expense. I was already silently cancelled, as there was no clear-cut offense but a “vibe,” so I don’t care. What are you going to do—cancel me thrice? Because if we don’t start unwinding this tension and moving toward actual understanding, the world will continue its Truman Show version of the arts. We are at the bottom, folks. The only way is up and through.
This is my attempt to get the luxury market to understand that what they’re actually after... is wellness.
If you made it this far, chances are some of this hit a frequency that works for you. Otherwise, by all means, keep pretending there’s something wrong with me, and let’s keep this merryless-go-round spinning.
But if you’re looking for hope—
I’ll be right here, on the magic side.
Not 24/7. We’re adults. But often enough to remember why we do this.
We’re all in this together—for the survival of the meaning for our species, and beyond.
1/1 on Series: ”Things You Think and Believe but Can’t Say Inside the Arts"
Comes with a physical signed print if the collector is willing to pay cost + postal
