Against the "Artist"
Preface: I do not intend to argue against the existence of Artists, nor against any activities that would constitute the practice of one. I am against the definition of "Artist" and its use as an identity.
All people are are constituents of their humanity. Those who are motivated by fear subsequently rush toward the shelter of identity. In particular is the one who's existence is rather aggrevating: The Artist.
Of which people are eager to crown themselves with such a fascinating title? Those who believe themselves to be creatives, those who believe themselves to value life over sustenance, experience over wealth, and introspection to anything external. Such a title brings with it a wealth of adorning jewellery, the kind that shines when placed upon the soul. These are linguistic trifles. Such jewels are double-edged; they cut against the skin of any person that grasps it within their hands, slide it across their shoulders, or scrapes it upon their necks. This very act of adorning shatters these values into crystals that lay pitifully across the floor. These individuals, who now cry out to be "Artists", are nothing more than schizophrenics. They are the madmen on the street, sullied, who sing songs of the luxurious dresses they do not possess.
To be an individual is a haunting prospect. We are presented with an infinite capability of self-development, an infinite possibility of "being". These possibilities, terrifying in their scale, can only be held so long as one accepts themselves as a "being", that is, so long as they accept these infinite possibilities are available to us. We commonly associate the artist as such a being, as one who opens to themselves the infinite possibilities of being, and we make this error of association by observing that they break with some societal convention. This could not be more further from the truth.
To crown oneself an "Artist", to consider one's self as possessing these "freeing" gems of value, is in fact the very opposite. To call one's self an "Artist" is precisely to limit one's possibilities of existing.
The "Artist" is a specialized figure, and as John Zerzan has argued (with varying degrees of success), the first "specialist". To claim one's self as an artist is to renounce the infinite freedoms that come with being simply "human". A person kills their capabilities by cordoning off their person-hood in order to limit themselves as an artist. They adorn themselves with values of freedom that they do not possess. They brutalise their existence with all the associations and limits on what society believes an artist ought to be, and following Wittgenstein, a very definition of "artist" is in fact, antithetical to the goals of the supposed "artist". In our societies the people who proclaim themselves to be "artists" are precisely those who cower in fear of their own humanity. It is little surprise that the very systems artists produce turn keys into shackles, rendering freeing ideas stifling and inert. The artists are those who, in Plato's example of the cave, makes love to the shadows. An artist revels in rejecting the truth, of limiting reality and themselves in order to live a limited and pitiful life.
There are many such labels that we humans use to limit our existence and our capabilities in life, yet that of the artist presents a curious case wherein one limits their existence and proclaims they are free. Such a folly is, really, characteristic of the arts. It is for this reason and more that I refuse to categorize myself as an artist. It is a regressive and barbaric label. If I must destroy every brush and canvas to assert my humanity I would happily do so, as being human has value, and being an artist does not.