As author Kim Young-ha says, everyone should become an artist.
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When I Googled to find out more about Kim Young-ha, the general director of the social game "Blue Archive," I came across a TED Talk by an author of the same name, Kim Young-ha (金英夏). After watching "Be an artist, right now!" I was moved, thinking, "Someone else thinks the same way I do!" I believe that everyone should be an author, not just to make a living. Young-ha also says, "Everyone has multiple identities, and I hope at least one of them is an artist." I hope for a future where everyone practices art, whether it's shown to others or not.
Young-ha Kim: Be an artist, right now!
Young-ha states that "everyone is born an artist." When he asks students to write about their happiest moment, they often write about their artistic experiences as children.
When they first played the piano, when they developed the first photos they took. Everyone found happiness in art. But this happy time with art doesn't last long. "Unfortunately, the creativity within us is stifled before we learn how to fight against the oppressors of art." When creativity is suppressed, the yearning for self-expression appears in a repressed form. It's almost a joke, but people who might have spun narratives spend all night stirring up trouble on the internet.
Art is the ultimate goal; it is what saves you. You can express yourself and have fun. But then a parent or spouse might interfere, pouring cold water on it. "What's the point if you can't even earn money?" This is a devil's spell, but art isn't done for some purpose. Young-ha suggests responding with, "Because it sounds interesting! Why don't you try something too?"
So what should we do? Young-ha concludes with the words of Martha Graham, a pioneer of modern dance: "JUST DO IT."
Kim Young-ha's novel, "A Murderer's Guide to Memorization," was a work where murder and expression overlapped. The protagonist, a former serial killer whose dementia has begun, secretly begins to fight a young killer who seems to be targeting his stepdaughter. The protagonist's shaky memory and perception are terrifying, but what (presumably) calmed his homicidal urges was when he began to learn poetry at a culture center. His fellow poets at the center appreciate his murder records and confessions as artistic expression. In a sense, in terms of expression for survival, it wasn't off the mark... or so the story goes.
In my early 30s in Koenji, when my bank account was in the red and I was at my wit's end, or as a new graduate who took a leave of absence due to depression, I tried to hit it big with poetry, novels, or manga. Naturally, I didn't hit it big at all. As Melon Uminekozawa also said, creation seems to offer some kind of salvation.
I belong to the "outburst-prone 17-year-olds" generation, like the perpetrators of the Kobe child serial killings and the Akihabara random stabbing incident. Although a little older, Shinji Aoba, who caused the Kyoto Animation arson attack and is also from the employment ice age generation, also wrote books, posted on message boards, and applied for awards. I wholeheartedly detest what they did, but I also think that when there is nowhere in society for "theories" or "works" to exist, people might resort to acts considered criminal... Like the protagonist of "A Murderer's Guide to Memorization" (though I don't intend to condone it), crime becomes a form of expression.
In a social structure where non-regular employment is increasing and disparities are widening, and where everyone can speak on the internet but the school caste system remains unchanged, the desire for recognition can have nowhere to go and sometimes explodes.
Most people don't cross that line. However, though not quite the same, aren't there many people who carry the stress of having no place for their expression?
I, too, experienced the pain of not being recognized by anyone and becoming nobody. However, in my case, making zines gradually helped resolve that frustration. I can't forget the three customers who bought my obscure poetry and music CD-ROM at my first Comitia. The joy when a critical magazine I made with friends sold out 50 copies at Comiket. The sadness of my first novel not selling, and the satisfaction of finishing it.
And the joy of having many people read "Living in Mukonosho," which I wrote before starting DIY BOOKS, and being able to share my thoughts.
Self-publishing, where you pay a million yen to buy out copies, or applying for awards you might not win, are not the only paths to creation. Those are certainly paths, but I think we should shift away from the idea of "hitting it big." Just write, as if you're making a lunchbox. If it turns out to be a lunchbox good enough to show someone, then show it. Get feedback. Adapt.
Fold two sheets of A4 paper photocopied at a convenience store to make a small A5, 8-page book and distribute it. Next, commission a printer to print 50 copies. Or print and bind it with a Risograph. Participate in zine events and distribute them. Price them to break even.
That slow and steady way of creating is good. I believe so. As Kim Young-ha says, everyone is an artist. Your unique experience is what is valuable. When you put that out into the world, your expression will spread like ripples and surely reach the people it's meant for.
First, write. Increase the number of writers and places to write. Create a place for what you've written. For now, I believe this path is correct, and I want to fully commit to it. JUST DO IT.
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