Is Making Art Under Capitalism Futile? (In Short, No, but Here is a Socio-Economic Explanation of Why it Feels That Way.)
a zine essay
Hi guys, how are u? I can only hope well, but in this economy? Who is to say…
I’m very excited to share that I’ve decided to go “tangible-goods-guy” and I’ve printed my first physical zine on risograph paper. The zine is called: “Is Making Art Under Capitalism Futile? (In Short, No, but Here is a Socio-Economic Explanation of Why it Feels That Way.)” Long name, but you gotta capture a vibe.
This is a super passion project for me and dare I say my child I gave birth to. I worked on this essay and the illustrations accompanying it over the course of Fall/Winter 2020. I’m really proud of myself because it felt really hard to complete this and nobody asked me to do it, but I just reallyyyyyy wanted to so I did it.
Although a lot of the research and ideas that make up this zine started prior to 2020, when I got super depressed in 2019 pursuing a career in the arts in a pre-pandemic crumbling America, entering my 30th year, wondering if I’d ever make my immigrant parents proud. You know what I’m talking ‘bout, gang!
Essentially, during that spiraling depression, I got obsessed with reading about capitalism because I thought if I could explain why I felt so trapped and hopeless, perhaps that would be soothing and I’d find a way to feel hopeful. I don’t think that’s exactly how it worked, but I did find accepting the crushing defeat of capitalism itself to be relaxing. Because at the end of the day, if it’s not your fault your failing by a system’s standards, then that can really take the pressure of a kid’s shoulders. Especially if you’re a kid with a massive chip on your shoulder due to spending a lifetime of not fitting into society and that has manifested in weird ways such as pursuing alternative style comedy as a career.
I’m very proud of this here zine because I put a lot of my heart and soul into it and I dreamt of making this for a long time. I’m truly just proud I even did it, but I’m also proud because I think it’s pretty cool and also wild that I can hold it in my hands. (Brag).
If you’re interested in purchasing a copy for you or a friend who is perhaps also spiraling about capitalism and could benefit from feeling “#seen” here is the link to my etsy shop:
In this iteration of my newsletter, I’m sharing the first section of the zine, the Prologue, below. For an overview, the sections of the zine are as follows:
1. Prologue
2. 2020 (lol)
3. The Futility of What Our Souls Long For in Capitalism
4. Alienation (based on Marxist theory)
5. The Concept of Luck in our Economy
6. Depression
7. The Meaning of Life
Thank you for reading!!!! I really appreciate you being here and supporting my foray into essay-illustration world. I’m really passionate about it and as we know, art is hard and mostly feels like shit, so having your interest/support is really nice and makes it feel worth it. I guess that is the meaning of life? Maybe we figured it out.
xoxo love you,
Fareeha
Prologue
Making art in a modern capitalist system is painful as all hell. Every second of it is fighting off the notion of futility. I find making otherworldly drawings and telling fun jokes to be a fulfilling way to spend my time and escape the meaninglessness imbued onto existence within the system, but the economy barely rewards such an endeavor with money (unless you get famous, which, like, seems to ruin your life). Yet we need money to survive. Ah, so here we are, dear readers: the center of our predicament. The paradox of wanting to pursue art while existing within capitalism.
Making art is hard. There is the entrapment of heavy procrastination initiated by self-doubt. (Refer to the book The War of Art for more, but you know, it’s in the title.) There is my dad telling me in 1997 that if I wanted to be an artist when I grow up, I’d end up homeless. There is the reality that he was correct and now he helps me with money to live in the city to pursue art. There is the relentless ever-present hold of late-stage-American-capitalism, in which we are so reliant on the free market that the only way to stay alive is to either spend the majority of your life in labor or to get born into generational wealth, the latter of which is out of our control. The other option is homelessness, like my dad said. There are no other options. Most of my artist friends are broke and struggling. “The starving artist” is less of a cute stereotype and more of an economic reality created by systemic inequality, unnecessary yet true. At least in Canada you get guaranteed healthcare and a livable minimum wage, but I’m writing from the crumbling American empire so just know that going into this.
Now, this may seem bleak, dear reader. That’s because it is.
Please note: I’m speaking to the audience right now like the reader is an alien from another planet who is consuming a random assortment of human-created materials in an attempt to study us. Once, I heard a story on the beach in Costa Rica where a guy claimed to have had an encounter with an alien. He said that the alien came down and tried to feel his emotions. Aliens are, apparently, most fascinated by our ability to experience emotions because they don’t have that capacity to feel themselves, he said. Our complex layered web of emotions is a gift, a metaphor for the larger political and structural misgivings made by the elite—our emotions, though labeled as “gay” by the patriarchal society we live in (gay in a bad way, by the way) provide useful feedback we often are taught to ignore. Stay tuned for more low theory-high theory references like this mixed together because this is the vibe.
I’ll admit that an alien would be my ideal audience for this zine essay. If you’re not an alien, I don’t mean to discourage you from reading. I’m only saying this because I want to break things down bit by bit: really look at all the fucked up little pieces that make up our collective fucked up reality. And you might already know stuff that I’m spelling out, so I just don’t want you to feel that I’m condescending to you or wasting my money printing copies of this to sell online or your money for buying it. I guess the whole question on if art is even a worthy pursuit is the root of this essay and we can decide, together, at the end of this little zine here if this effort was futile or worthwhile.
I want to do like all my favorite books do: weave historical accuracy and a plethora of references with personal narration to create an accurate portrayal of life in America for a certain subsect of people. I’ve never read a book speaking to my very, highly specific subsection of identity. Specifically: queer, Pakistani-American, woman of color, immigrant, comedian, artist, stoner, anxious-depressive, INFP, Aries sun/Aquarius rising/Cancer moon, rich-internal-life-to-escape-reality intersection. So I’m writing this from my perspective just to have it in writing for the aliens (even if art proves to be futile). But also I’m writing this for, like, any person who can relate to me and is tryna read this joint today.
Anyways, I got into a fight this summer with my brother where he told me that sometimes I lecture too much about what I learned about capitalism on the internet that week and he said it was didactic or something like that, and maybe it was, but I think we also have a lot of unresolved issues from our childhood and also that was month three of living quarantined together at my parents’ house, so I don’t think it’s entirely fair to take his words at face value. (Author’s Note: I love the guy, though, no worries. I’m sure we’ll work it out.) But, that’s why I prefaced how I’m going to approach this. I don’t mean to be didactic. I’m just speaking to the aliens, if you can feel me on that. This was all the preface.
Other photos of the zine here for fun :)
(All photos by Bridget Badore)
xoxo