Former philosophy student, now professional vegan, living in Brooklyn.
My generation is all about the snark, and the thesis of this rant, really, is “fuck the snark.” Snark is easy. It’s cowardly. Taking creative risks, letting your art take you somewhere unexpected, being earnest about what you create—that is a fuck of a lot harder.
I don’t think everyone should walk around like zombies without any opinions in their heads other than “GLAAAGH BRAINS.” Quite the opposite! But I do think that trendy keffiyeh-wearing jerks who go to shows and are like, “Yeah, I don’t know, it was okay, nothing special,” should get the fuck over their hip fatigue, for one thing, and analyze their motivations, for another. I am really fucking tired of the audience that goes in thinking, “I’ve seen it all, so go ahead and try to impress me.” It’s lazy! If those people sat down to create something that wasn’t ironic, what would happen? I have a feeling they would find themselves plagued by chronic uncertainty as a result of their own pretentious high standards.
I don’t want art that is careful. I don’t want art that watches its back. I want art that’s imperfect, that’s messy, that’s strange and flawed. Because that’s the kind of art that thrills and confounds us. The kind that takes risks. The kind that has no idea where it’s going to end up.