Invisible Sunbeam
Dear Rex the Recognized,
I guess you might say … I’m a failed artist.
No guessing at all, if I’m being honest. I am a failed artist.
It’s quite disappointing.
Because my heart is true. I come from an honest place. I respect my craft. I don’t take shortcuts.
Yet it doesn’t seem to matter, unfortunately.
Why can’t I just produce my art, sell it, and make a million dollars? Like some people do?
Hell, I don’t even need that much.
But I’m worthy of at least being noticed. That’d be enough. Just some recognition. If not out-and-out stardom.
Believe me, I’m not new to this. My dues are paid. I’ve done my 10,000 hours and then some.
Truthfully, though, no one cares. No one will ever care.
This thing that burns the brightest in me?
Means absolutely nothing to the world at large.
NOTHING.
It must feel great to be you, Rex. The leader of a top-flight circus. You get to live your dreams every night. You get paid for it. People applaud you.
Those are all things I’ve never known.
Do you have any words of wisdom for a fellow artist to lift their sad spirits?
Signed,
Zebra Evermore Runs Onward
Dear ZERO,
Serving as the master of ceremonies for the renowned Zaboni Brothers Traveling Circus?
The greatest thrill of my professional life.
Truly, nothing can compare.
I’ve circled the globe, performed for kings and queens, been seen by thousands upon thousands of cheering fans.
However: my internal compass once pointed in a far different direction.
Believe it or not?
I viewed myself as a song and dance man!
Destined to light up the world of Broadway. A triple-threat all set for musical glory.
Alas, my singing was akin to the croak of a choking frog. My dancing? Several, several notches below my singing.
And thus, life forced me to pivot, to go find my place. To find satisfaction wherever I could.
In the end, I got lucky.
I also worked hard, very hard. Of that have no doubt.
But yes, I got lucky.
The circus ultimately fit me like a pair of fine-stitched, finely woven gloves.
Perhaps you, someday, will get so lucky.
Finding the proper home and haven for your artistic expression.
Then again?
You might not.
You just might not.
The facts: most people do not receive reward or favor for their creative endeavors.
Working “normal” jobs while harboring dreams of greater acclaim.
Creating their art without payout beyond inner satisfaction.
The question I must now ask you.
Would you be happier if you didn’t create?
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I’d hardly believe so! Because deep down, you really have no choice, do you?
The muse calls — and you answer.
Regardless of fame or futility or failure.
That’s pretty amazing, if you think about it. There is a surging thunderbolt just lurking within you.
Something rare, something untamed within your soul.
A voice that demands to be heard.
Continue on, failed artist!
Continue on this journey until your muse is fully envisioned.
Continue on until your muse is most completely, and with most certainty, faithfully fulfilled.
REX
Counterpoint commentary by …
Crushed Velvet (assistant to Nigel Knives)
I can tell that you care about your art. It means a great deal to you.
Oh yes.
You have a talent that is quite sincere. I believe it’s real, that it’s unique and important.
Perhaps not many can appreciate it. But that does not mean it is not authentic.
Those with rare gifts often struggle to find appropriate eyes to behold.
In my opinion, there are two ways to look at this.
And you — you choose to see the glass as half-empty. Forgetting how lucky you are to even have talent.
Think of the alternative!
Think of someone with no talent at all.
You could be me.
As I am always quick to clarify, I am not the original Crushed Velvet.
I’m not even second or third.
Not counting day-players and the like, but for steady appearances? I am officially the fifth Crushed Velvet, and I got this job for two reasons:
- I don’t flinch as knives are thrown at me.
- I fit into the tight costume.
That is the complete and summary total of my talents.
Yet here I am, seeking the limelight. Possessing no discernible or recognizable star qualities.
Oh, I used to think I did, back once. When I was younger.
I felt like I had some ineffable quality that was destined for greatness.
Some undefinable trait that was truly, singularly special.
Then I went into the real world.
And now I serve as a human target in a knife show.
But hey, it’s cool.
Right? So far, so good.
Nigel Knives is a pro, he’s never hit any of his assistants.
Well, except for Crushed Velvet Number Two. She sustained a pretty decent scar up her left femur. But hey, at least it wasn’t a full puncture wound. Eight stitches, max.
Of course, that’s not really the point, is it? (No pun intended. Ha!)
The way I look at it? I never once, ever, expected to be in this position.
That tells me … that surprises do exist. Or so it does seem. And who knows? There could be more.
Maybe some unknown, unexpected horizon is waiting for me down the track.
What do I really have to lose?
For now, I’ll keep standing strong in the face of a daily barrage of knives.
That attitude has propelled me at least this far.
Thanks for reading! New columns published irregularly (but never haphazardly). For advice on your situation, write to questions@ringmasterrex.com.
