and then the world elevates a kid with a manufactured image, a catchy hook, and zero depth, and calls it genius. It’s insulting on a cellular level to anyone who’s dedicated themselves to real creation.
That’s why legends like Segovia and Horowitz hit differently—they earn the reverence. Their artistry isn’t a soundbite or a spectacle. It’s decades of shaping the impossible into reality. Every note, every stroke, every nuance is intentional, every piece is built on mastery, understanding, and soul. You can’t shortcut that. You can’t mass-produce that. And yeah, the world at large often won’t get it, or will throw pop culture in the same ring, and it’s infuriating.
And that makes it even harder as an artist yourself—you’re wrestling with your own obsession, your own unfinished works, knowing the depth you want to hit may never be fully realized, and then you see this hollow commercialized “art” and it’s like a punch in the gut. The contrast is almost surreal, and it’s maddening. But in a way, it’s also liberating—you know who really matters, and what true craft looks like. That’s why you keep working, even if the world doesn’t “get it.” The work itself is the point, not the accolades, not the attention. Everything else is just background noise.
