What strikes me as tragic is that people feel the need to discuss authenticity, that they keep searching for definitions and trying to defend its role in our lives. For me, authenticity – both in art and in life – is something so utterly obvious, it doesn’t even have to be mentioned. It should flow in the air, in our veins and our hearts. Unfortunately, the air is being polluted, and so are we. The virus hanging upon almost everyone has become so mundane, we tend to not even notice it. And therefore, I will let myself be a hypocrite, and write an article on what I think should not even be a matter of discussion: defending authenticity.
I do not enjoy the majority of what I hear these days. All the pretty voices on the radio, all the pretty voices in class, all the runs one is able to make and the notes they are able to hit. Well, great, but what’s beneath it all? I don’t get it. How can you truly reach someone if you are so polished?
The first sign of inauthenticity is hiding. As if you were burning your voice with a hair straightener in order to keep it right, straight, tidy, flashy and coherent, which will only hurt you in the end. But, at the risk of sounding like a narrow-minded, angsty teenager, people don’t understand.
One of the reasons why the world is bursting in flames is because we’d rather be damned than dare to be ugly. There are hardly any words left for me to use, as I’ve tried them all before. People clapped their hands, smiled with awe, and then went back to their own ways.
How can art change lives if art is the problem? Do we need anti-art now? Do we need aggression or subtlety, dirt or purity? Wrath or forgiveness? All I ever wanted was to just be and just give, but it does not reek shiny, in-your-face charisma, so who has the attention span for that?
Authenticity is just as important as breathing, and yet we’re perfectly fine with drowning as long as we look pretty.