POLEMIC

YOU ARE A BRAND, NOT AN ARTIST

a polemic against the branded artist

By Cara Juan

 

The Missing Craft

I’ve come to believe that thinking in extremes—whether positive or negative—is often a dangerous and limiting mindset. Extremity, no matter how well-intentioned, closes off thinking, and even loving something too much can make a person unwilling to accept criticism. In the arts, this kind of “all-or-nothing” thinking creates so-called “geniuses,” artists who dedicate themselves entirely to one style or vision until nobody knows who they are outside of that niche. It’s an old archetype and it has value, but the principle behind it is impossible for artists of our era to realize. The days of old masters devoting lifetimes to studying portraits, hands, and feet are long gone, and the modern artist now faces a frightening trade off: dedication or decimation. So, forget being an authentic artist, in this economy even the tech bros are barely scraping by.

And that’s where I’d like to begin my Hating Ass Manifesto. Starting with my suspicions of the branded artist and how we designate “genius” in the art world, or what I see as the utilitarian commodification of art. And, of course, I feel the pressure of money. But that’s what makes me wonder, do I feel completely hostile? Or is there also a level of curiosity towards what drives art culture nowadays? And money?

I want to know: Who is still making art? And who is simply making the pretense of art?

Casey should know

Some “geniuses” truly do exist, and their passions are authentic and invulnerable to commodification. And I’m not saying that selling is a crime, or a sign of a corrupt soul, or that having that distinctive style is a dead giveaway that your work is bad. What I’m saying is that artists are especially vulnerable to the damaging mindset of branding. I have also romanticized a future where people celebrate me not for all that I do, but for the one thing that I am “The Incredible Genius of Something Perfect.” I picture myself in a studio decorated with dazzling reproductions of my singular niche, ushering in the next wave of people who throw their money at me for just a glimpse into my Genius World.

But the reality is that not everyone can be The Genius, and therefore not everyone should be treated like they need to be one to feel successful. We’re not fucking Labubus, repackaging ourselves to be the latest and most consumable trend. We are artists who—as one of my professors likes to say—are different from “civilians.” We create. We can turn a piece of nothing into something. And what we create should not be strictly subjected to the whims of the economy that viciously dictates so much of our world. If we succumb to that, we are no longer creators, but simple reproducers. Reproducers of “Fluff.”

You know what fluff is, Marshmallow

When appealing to style becomes the goal, more and more artists simply try to sell the illusion of it. People who call themselves “artists” start letting trends dictate the direction of what they produce. They capitalize on aesthetics that are already profitable, and if you’re doing that, you’re not really making art anymore. You’re making Fluff. That is, work designed to please and imitate an existing marketable aesthetic. Suddenly, people who know that some rich prick will pay ridiculous amounts of money for what is recognizable over what is inspiring or new or difficult are going to do just that—and both the foolish rich and classless civilians eat that shit up! They’re quick to attach layers of pseudo-depth and pretentious interpretations to Fluff, feeding an entire ecosystem of copycat creators who recycle the same formulas of success again and again.

I’ve also realized that my own utilitarian nature shapes how I see art. I don’t buy art—not only because I can’t afford to, but because I believe that truly good art shouldn’t be cheap, and I wouldn’t want to own something that is a pale imitation of the real thing. At the same time, I tend to measure everything I want in terms of its function: Does this serve a purpose? Of course, I know that this misses the point of art entirely—that art exists for beauty, for style—not for purpose. But extreme attachment to style has unintentionally undermined what we think of art and has led to a horrible state of the culture…

Pretentiousness!

One of the most pretentious extensions of artistic culture is the tattoo industry. The tattoo industry has—in my opinion—the highest percentage of upcycling artists than any other field in art. Take Neotribalism. This style has recently regained a great deal of popularity among youth for its rugged bad boy cool girl look that drapes the body in flattering ways.

Forever in an adolescent state of branding

But what about the art of it? Who in this oversaturated industry is successful creating original designs and not just reinforcing recycled notions of cool? Very few. Most pick a trending style to designate their brand. Whether that means cute little Sanrio color tattoos to attract the bandwagoning “OG” Sanrio glazers or a little Neotribalism shoulder to chest tat for the teen boys in wifebeaters. All of it is Fluff, mass produced designs regurgitating trendy aesthetics—a bunch of tattoo “artists” who might as well be working at Forever 21. The joke is that Forever 21 fell the fuck off for being the place to get shitty bootleg clothes stolen from legitimate designers.

Those tattoo folk do not deserve the title of tattoo “artist.” Perhaps a new title needs to be coined to distinguish the difference.

Is this anything close to art? Or even cool?

So how does all this actually influence aspiring artists—the ones still unsure if they’re supposed to chase the dream, the money, the identity, or the illusion of all three? I think that they feel the conformity of branding the most. Because when you’re just beginning, everyone tells you to “find your style,” as if style is something you can pick up off the shelf at Blick and buy with your paltry student discount. As if you’re supposed to brand yourself before you even know what the hell you’re making or who the hell you are. The emerging artist is taught not to experiment, not to fail, not to wander, but to declare themselves: “Declare a niche.” “Declare a specialization.” “Declare a brand.” “Declare a genius.” “Declare something that proves you deserve to be seen.”—Because apparently the work itself stopped being enough a long time ago.

Are we really going to keep letting people encourage this fuck shit?

The economy of Fluff succeeds so loudly that it drowns out our instinct to create. And instinct—messy, unprofitable, sometimes directionless instinct—is the one thing that artists should be allowed to follow. But if you don’t declare a style as yours, someone else will. Someone faster. Someone more marketable. Someone who learned to imitate trends quicker than you learned your technical foundations.

That's about it

And you know what? I can’t even blame those people. Capitalism has degraded art culture into a race where the winners are not the most skilled or talented, but the most brandable. So, the aspiring artist learns early that authenticity is a liability and that the safest and most validating path is often some form of mimicry.

This is how we end up with a generation of artists who are exhausted before they’ve even made anything passionately and authentically real. We tell young people that art is expression, but everything around them suggests that it’s actually performance. How many amazingly new and wildly different creative minds have we lost to market branding, to artists policing their own creativity, to students hitting the delete button on anything that doesn’t match their style, even if there’s life or genius or just something genuine there. If both the public and artists want to legitimize an upcycled aesthetic over the beautiful and spontaneous inconsistency of authentic creation, then what does it even mean to be an “artist” anymore?

©The CCA Arts Review and Cara Juan