Sunshine and Olly

by Jonathan Blaustein

I’ve never been a fan of nihilism.

(Other than when it was parodied in The Big Lebowski.)

As a life-long positive energy guy, believing in nothing, no meaning, no value, just a cold void…

…Not my thing.

But 2024, (really the last four years,) has started to sap me of my hope.

The say stress kills, and often creativity is the first thing to go.

Lately, beyond cooking and writing this blog, my creative production has been non-existent.

I haven’t made anything remotely artistic since last summer, when I shot the Mike Bone concert here in Taos.

Which is concerning.

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I remember the last time I felt this way.

Pickled in stress.

I was the interim Chair of the Fine Arts Department at UNM-Taos, back in 2015-16.

Honestly, I fell backwards into the job, because there was no one else on campus who was qualified, so I gave it a go.

As interim, I was a success, as I recruited, hired, and promoted the woman who went on to take my job.

(Once I realized I didn’t want it.)

Part of why I quit was that I felt that level of constant misery was sapping my will to be an artist.

Not long after I left the job, I had the idea for “Party City is the Devil,” which was my last major conceptual photo series.

It became my first solo exhibition at the Harwood Museum of Art, here in Taos in the fall of 2019, and was featured twice on the TV News.

School groups came by.

The show had buzz.

Then the pandemic came along, and disrupted all my momentum.

These days, as a 50 year old, straight white Jewish man, we all know opportunities are few and far between.

But it’s not something that’s openly discussed.

Rather, it’s constantly implied that it’s our turn to be on the outside, looking in, as people like me had it good for so long.

Except that’s not really true.

It’s always been hard to be an artist.

Only now, it’s gone from being hard to being nearly impossible.

And the life stress that’s come with losing my income, and my career, has begun to take a toll on my soul.

Not gonna lie, life has been extremely hard lately.

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The worst part has been knowing how much good I did for my photography community in all the years I had a big audience and platform.

The NY Giants (mostly disgraced) former General Manager, Dave Gettleman, recently said that when you leave the field, it feels like you died.

No one calls, or sends emails.

The world pressures you, quietly, into thinking you don’t matter anymore.

The Giants great QB, Phil Simms, was recently let go by the CBS NFL broadcast team, at 68, because he was too old.

He was open in admitting he didn’t want to go, and wouldn’t likely get another job in TV.

That’s what it’s felt like for me lately.

It doesn’t matter anymore what my talent level is, or my work ethic.

It doesn’t matter how many people I helped or supported along the way.

Instead, there has been this silent, but unmissable message: it’s not my time anymore.

The millennials who run things like to work with their own.

I get it.

But without being an artist, I’ve having some serious questions about my identity.

(Mid-life crisis much?)

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Why am I writing this?

Because day by day, I find out this is happening to a lot of creative people.

The lack of resources, and opportunities.

The sad feeling that it doesn’t matter anymore.

That I have to just accept it, and move on with my life.

Become a Realtor.

Get a regular job.

Give up.

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But I don’t want to give up.

I want help, support, and kindness.

I want to receive what I have offered others for so many years.

Life, however, is not fair.

So that’s where I’ll end it today.

I’m no fan of despair, and my family and I are considering making some radical changes, to find more happiness.

Because I know we deserve it.

That’s the trickiest part of contemporary mental health culture.

We’re all talking about how we deserve to be treated, or what we want to manifest, but so many people die cold and alone these days.

Trump, and the pandemic, broke something fundamental.

And if we don’t get it back, things will only get worse.

So while this is not a cry for help, it is my attempt to give voice to the things people have begun to tell me in private.

Musical chairs is the most stressful children’s game out there, and that’s what the creative industries have become.

Each looking out for him/her/themselves, because there is no longer enough to go around.

People know if they lose their job, they’ll have to leave a declining industry.

Nasty business.

Thankfully, I haven’t embraced nihilism just yet.

But if things don’t get any easier, if I don’t catch a break, the world will soon have one more bored, disinterested, checked out, middle-aged white guy.

C’est la vie.