There’s nothing to paint anymore.
We’ve seen everything from the classical to the absurd.
There’s nothing to write anymore.
As many books are shredded as read.
There’s nothing to sing anymore.
The once avant-garde is now background music.
In a world where expression seems futile, it is hard to maintain creativity. But creativity is a primal impulse. Cave people painted on walls; everyone’s house has some image on display. Primitive scribes wrote records of their experiences; people still keep diaries. Early shamans sang; we still live with music. We cannot abandon creative expression in our daily lives, though it seems hard to come up with something new.
The only way to have fresh expression is to go deep within. In a sense, today’s extreme pluralism eliminates the obligation to do the same as others. At one time, artists, priests, writers, musicians, and craftsmen were obligated to their feudal lords. Today we are not constrained by hierarchical standards. We are free to commune directly with our inner callings.
By coincidence, this mirrors a more sophisticated understanding of the divine. We are no longer in a position of supplication with what is divine. Rather, divinity is a quality from within ourselves.