The Tragedy of Art in Obscurity

How Lack of an Audience Stifles Creative Potential

Much of what we do is swept up like a gossamer in the wind, never to be heard from again. Whether our creations are grand or bland is irrelevant, for they remain tucked within obscurity like a pianist playing on mute keys, his mellifluous melody never gracing the ears of an audience. We like to believe that the cream will always rise to the top, but within the intricate, multi-layered confines of algorithmic platforms, confidence in this belief begins to waver.

Over the past three weeks, I’ve gained nearly 1,000 subscribers, primarily stemming from a post back in October titled “Facing My Own Mediocrity”, in which I outlined my distress at the hands of my own excessive diversification and the guilt I carry from unrealized potential. What I thought was a personal, cathartic essay turned out to be far less personal and more relatable than I imagined. My readership skyrocketed from its previous negligible state and a plethora of comments flooded in, sparking stimulating debate and gratifying feedback.

Reflecting on this kernel of success, I couldn’t help but think about how often great art remains unnoticed — lost in an overwhelming sea of content. Each of us tries to make a ripple in this sea, but whether the wave catches the right wind to crash upon the shore of an audience feels purely up to chance. This goes for any form of creative pursuit or business endeavor. How many future novelists have stopped short of greatness because of initial rejection emails? How many future David Lynchs gave up because their initial films were never understood? How many profound Substack posts are never read, and as a result, the writer is convinced they’re no good?

From Jewel to Tracy Chapman to Chance The Rapper, previously undiscovered talent has occasionally found a way to break through via chance encounters or virality; but despite these feel-good stories, they represent a drop in the bucket of unappreciated artists. Franz Kafka viewed himself as a failure throughout his life and famously instructed his close friend Max Brod to burn all his work. Fortunately, Max ignored his request, and Kafka’s ever-growing readership holds each of his absurdist stories close to their hearts. Portuguese poet and writer Fernando Pessoa experienced a similar fate, with most of his works achieving success only decades after his death. And let’s not forget the polemical and idolized German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, whose work was mocked and frequently ignored by his contemporaries. Vincent van Gogh, Emily Dickinson, and countless other posthumously admired artists were bankrupt, miserable, and unrecognized for their entire life.

It’s often argued that art does not require an audience. Although this may be factually true, it fails to alleviate the pain and anguish of being ignored. The presence of an audience—even a few measly supporters—can make all the difference for a creator. It instills belief that what you do matters. That what you create isn’t worthless. An audience provides tangible assurance that you have something to offer the world. Simply put, it tells you to keep going. Particularly, when you’re starting out, each comment can either heighten your spirit or flatten it with a sledgehammer. The early stages for a creator are so tenuous and that’s why so many of us are quick to retreat at the first sign of rejection.

One would naturally assume that with free creative platforms and widespread access to the internet, this problem of discovery would be at least partially improved — but it seems to have worsened. Meaningful, thoughtful content is vastly outnumbered by highly-stimulating, vacuous content. Entertainment rules the roost, and frankly always has, but it’s been exacerbated by the evolution of mediums, as highlighted by Ted Gioia. In an environment dominated by a deluge of slap-happy, amusing content, the chance for your tiny creative ripple to ever reach the shores becomes doubtful. I hate to be pessimistic, but I’d rather be honest than mislead you.

With that said, my advice to all creators is to keep chopping wood. Continue to sharpen your axe and take hacks at the stubborn tree. My recent small, but motivating, success is a testament to that principle. Express gratitude and leverage the audience that you have. Absorb their feedback and hone your craft. It’s better to make mistakes in anonymity than gain an audience before you’re ready and fall flat on your face. Whether it takes a few months, a few years, or a few generations for your art to be appreciated, stay persistent. As American novelist William H. Gass put it: “Serious writing must nowadays be written for the sake of the art. […] One must be satisfied with that.”