The people in New York that call themselves artists seem much more concerned with making it a consistent objective in their daily public lives to affiliate with other artists and announce themselves as such, rather than actually making art, which is what an artist does. I just don't think that artists who are real artists call themselves artists. Or, to be frank, even hang out with other people in general.
Everyone here is so insufferable. Yesterday I went to a dinner party in a loft where they served me salmon that a girl who called herself a photographer had baked in an oven, and as unspoken due payment, forced me to listen to an annoying white gay guy who unironically used the words "weaponized monogamy" and "post-lesbian" when talking about his open relationship for two hours (that no one inquired him about) and a girl sitting next to me who wants to quit her copywriting job because she wants to "read more" and wants to "write" on "Substack" about "objects" and "art" because "objects are so interesting." I almost hung myself with the lacy linen napkins from the beautiful cedar oak banister that was looming over the 12 foot long dining table. It's so hard finding people who think in line with you. I need to leave. I think I want to move to Philadelphia
Comments
Post a Comment