Here's the story of how capitalism ruined me as an artist.
I grew up with a deep appreciation of all art. My parents steeped me in it! I played musical instruments, wrote poetry and prose, drew, painted, sculpted, and all with joy and reverence!
The world told me I could be anything when I grew up, so I decided to pursue a creative career. I ended up being a fairly successful graphic designer. I was good! Still am. And, while I was never rich, I made a better living than the rest of my art school friends. Thought that was something to be proud of, too. Success after art school is rare.
The thing is, the longer I did it, the more cynical I grew. I spent decades learning, not only just learning the subjective talents of an artist, but the objective qualities of good design. I learned how humans process visual data, how their eyes move, and how to use that to turn simple layouts into startling and striking designs. And every time I made something I was proud of, some dickhead MBA who didn't know his ass from Jackson Pollock would come and turn it into shit just to feel like I needed supervision!
I started sabotaging myself. I'd turn in crap designs so I could “fix” them and turn in my real designs later. I became cynical about everything. Worst of all, I stopped feeling anything good when I made art, even for myself. Painting was an exercise in self abuse. I'd get clay out and just stare at unformed lumps, begging them to just be anything. I had piles of sketchbooks with nothing but pages of bad drawings I'd scratched out. I'd give everything in me to a hateful job that was killing me and was left sucked dry after.
I found an opportunity to get out. I do mind numbing, low level database development work now. I also get paid more, since nobody thinks I'm “doing what I love.” I have more control over my work, too, since everybody thinks they're an artist but nobody thinks they have some inherent understanding of SQL or data warehousing.
I made it. I got the dream job. And it killed the love I had for it! I still struggle to create. It's like there's a creative bone somewhere that never fully set right. I don't think I'm getting that part of me back.
Don't let the bastards so much as touch what you love. Do what you love, but do it for you. Find whatever shit job you have to do to get through this hellscape, cause as much damage as you can, take everything you can from the top, and if you see an opportunity? Burn everything they have to the ground and salt the earth behind you.