What if play, for the working artist, is its own site of resistance?
Music for me is the ultimate play. I think that’s why it’s so hard for me to accept on its own when I make it. The more I learn about myself and the world, the harder I have to work to pull myself back down to a state of whimsy. I seldom live here; I think it’s because I’m afraid I’ll stay. And who would I be if not the sum of my armor, including but not limited to organization and hard work? There is no end-game here. It is for its own sake.
What would happen if play became the priority in a society that insists on work for wages and spiritual deaths for “a living?”
What if play became our way out of that?
...what if play is our way out...