Melanie Perez

Professor Meaker

ENGL 21001-S T/Th 5:00pm-6:15pm

February 6, 2025

The Artist Community

Out of the various communities I belong to both in terms of cultures and fandoms, one that I recently embraced is that of an artist. For years, I always hesitated to call myself one because of how unsure I was about coming off as either pretentious or simply not qualified as one. It was until I helped interview prospective teens for Dia: Beacon’s art program where I was asked if I considered myself one and couldn’t give a straight answer. Standing in a contemporary art museum surrounded by creative peers, I still questioned my connection to both my artistic practice and the larger artist community. 

During this time, my creative priorities shifted from traditional drawing and painting to experimenting with sound and video. Since being exposed to so many more artists, my references expanded beyond those of social media artists to those exhibited in museums and galleries. Though I admired both, I always wondered if these two groups ever recognized each other as equals. Online platforms like Instagram and YouTube introduced me to fanart, merchandising, and entertaining but sometimes controversial discourse over what was considered “real art”. I eventually began sharing my work online and enjoyed the small communities I became a part of, but since discovering conceptual art at Dia: Beacon, I became fascinated with process over outcome. My output in physical art steadily decreased as my high school schedule also intensified, eventually abandoning my art account altogether. Revisiting it years later, I felt disconnected from the urge to share everything I made. This transition shaped how I viewed the artist community, seeing it as divided between highbrow and lowbrow, fine art and DeviantArt.

Fan-artists and those with cartoonish styles are often dismissed despite their technical skill, while conceptual artists are sometimes perceived as self-indulgent or lacking talent. Social media artists frequently respect fine artists, but I question if the reverse is true. This makes it difficult to define the community as one single group, as it aligns more with being a collection of several overlapping groups. Outside perceptions of what “art” is has improved with the sharing of viral art pieces of all mediums around the world, but there still seems to be a refusal to group these renowned artists in galleries with internet famous artists. There are several archetypes of artists such as the snobby rich kids that buy each other’s work that are just copies of established works, weird middle schoolers drawing their favorite character ships, to the moms who paint for themselves. To me there is beauty in accepting all of these as true because it represents the diversity within this overarching identity. While others may not agree with me, it’s interesting to note the common problems that unite them and the questions around “access” this raises. 

It seems all artists struggle with the unspoken pressure to maintain a steady output, whether to gain visibility online or secure gallery opportunities. The fear of failure unites us but the imbalances in available resources based on how these different art forms remain. I faced these questions when I returned to Dia: Beacon as part of a fellowship. Working on a sound project, I found myself torn between two artistic worlds: conceptual fine art embraced by museums and the underground sound artists I admired, both of which probably had opposing opinions of one another. Being affiliated with a museum felt validating, but I felt uneasy about the expectations that came with it. Did I feel legitimate only because of institutional backing and the obligation to do a panel? At the same time, I valued anonymity, wanting my work to speak for itself, as was common in underground circles but I questioned if either group would claim me as their own. Despite these concerns, I was grateful for the rare opportunity at my age and background. The experience made me question how much of an artist’s identity is self-defined versus externally granted.

The definition of artist community seems to depend on how people define “art” or an “artist”.  I struggle to even come to a definite answer as to what is considered art, sometimes just considering my own taste being art out of spite. To me, an artist is someone who creates and develops a process, whether it results in tangible work or simply a way of thinking. Authenticity is also a key component to this, when in this time it’s popular to be ironic and detached in one’s work. My brother, for instance, is the only person I consult creatively, yet he hesitates to call himself an artist because he lacks a traditional portfolio showing how there is an unspoken rule to possessing the title. As I’ve grown older, I have become more protective of the term “artist”, as I feel that its definition has become muddled with this idea of creating a persona first rather than letting it develop through genuine passion for whatever craft.

Keeping the definition open-ended this way should make the community inclusive, but in practice there are hierarchies to be acknowledged. When I see it, what first comes to mind is general agreements about what supplies are best. The term feels rather commercial and I personally don’t use it myself because of its lack of specificity. Very rarely do I feel that when it is used that it is truly addressing everyone who creates. Despite this,  I still find camaraderie in knowing others experience the world similarly, even if their artistic interpretations differ. I’ve seen the term “creatives” come up more often and the sharing of helpful tips to anyone with a creative process. Perhaps community is less about uniformity and more about shared passion. As a collective we can acknowledge that, regardless of medium or background, artists are united by their need to create. In my mind, I like to think that fine artists are friends with those selling fan art at an anime convention.