By Darrell J Banks
CR 2024,2025
All Rights Reserved Worldwide
Recently I was told of an artist who flew from one country to another. Got caught up and jailed. The things we feel compelled to do, It’s hard to describe what compels one to continue ones art. A purview of indeed.com writer jobs, offers twenty dollars per hour to train A.I. Artificial Intelligence designed to collect digital photos and words and convert them to another person’s, purpose. Most artists don’t make a living at their true love: writing, art, etc. They have day jobs that allow them to drum on the weekend, composed songs for other’s or be in a backup singer in someone else’s band.
Was it always this way?
Has A.I. just added to the equation?
Recently I have been re reading The Big Screen by David Thomson. In that book he always asks that question. Hollywood, even with the making of Icons unearthed has been the same money-making backstabbing machine that requires a smile and congeniality to ensure a money-making project. Distribution, presales, bank financing, line producers. Staying under budget has always destabilized art.
But it is the artists, racked by the forces of A.I. market forces, perceived marketable genres is faced with a choice. To say fuck that this is what I have sculpted or wrote accept it or not. After all, how was Stars Wars or even Guardians of the Galaxy conceived from prior materials to create a blockbuster. If someone, some artist didn’t say FUCK IT.
When the world rejects your present day hard, efforts to write a lyric a novel or screenplay. Like that character in Risky Business at age 18 or 65 you have to say fuck that, despite the bombardment of irrelevant award shows, the golden globes or even this year’s Oscar nominations
Ciao.
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