I found myself down a rabbit hole this week reading about The Year Without a Summer. In April 1815, the volcanic Mount Tambora in Indonesia experienced the most explosive eruption in recorded history. It ejected so much sulphur dioxide into the atmosphere that a persistent fog reddened and dimmed the sun well into the Spring and Summer of the following year, and as far away as the United States and Europe. It was a fog that was unaffected by wind or rain. Global temperatures dropped, crops were heavily impacted, and mass famine claimed the lives of up to 100,000 people.
It also forced Mary Shelley, Lord Byron and John William Polidori to stay indoors for much of their summer holiday in Switzerland, away from the incessant rain and red skies. There, they took a bunch of laudanum and Byron challenged the group to see who could come up with the scariest story. Shelley created Frankenstein, and between them Byron and Polidori conceived the modern concept of a Vampire. Two of literature’s most enduring creations were invented at the same time in an opium-fuelled lockdown. Wild.
My Metropolis x Bela Lugosi, from back in the day when I was printing my own t-shirts
Now we’re far from that, but it still felt pertinent to read this as the days have grown shorter, the air cooler, and the skies darker. The mornings especially have been dark. I don’t consider myself a “morning person” nor an “evening person”, but I do know that I’m not great at sleeping in. My body clock has its own plans and more often than not wakes me around 5:30 almost every day regardless of when I go to bed – and I’m not usually one to fight it. Last year at Splendour in the Grass, I spent two to three hours each morning killing time as I waited for the rest of the house to greet the day. But mornings are superior for many things – workouts, sunrise runs, long breakfasts, reading, thinking, sex. An early start can leave a day feeling fulfilled before work even begins.
But evenings have also been a lot busier of late, and as the end of daylight saving turns that 5:30 start into 4:30, it makes the next few weeks a challenge until my internal timekeeper adjusts my body clock. Jetlag rarely takes me, but winding back that clock one hour is like fangs in my neck.
I wouldn’t last too long as a vampire. The moment the sun came out I’d race out and explode like Mount Tambora.
Here’s what’s been in my ears this month. I’ve had that Spaceport song on loop.
Looks like this dickhead ate a big bag of Cheetos and wiped his hands all over the rocks
Nearly three years ago as I was eagerly anticipating my return to Australia amidst the worst of the pandemic, I reflected on my many incredible road trips around Canada and America and reached the conclusion that it was something I should do more of in my home country when I returned. I didn’t waste any time – following my release from hotel quarantine in Perth, I embarked on a road trip up the coast of Western Australia and my soul came alive. The sense of freedom, of independence, the comfort of home, was overwhelming. Especially after being trapped for so long and experiencing the immense stress of getting back at all.
I’ve seen a fair chunk of Australia, but three regions of this country were gaps in my experience which sat at the top of my list – Far North Queensland (still keen to go), the Kimberley (requires too much planning and time), and Tasmania. So, given the landscape of 2021 when international travel was still not an option, I made plans to do a ten-day road trip of Tasmania in February 2022. Unfortunately, Omicron happened, and since infection isolation was still a legal requirement then, I pulled the plug and postponed it a year (which itself is extra peculiar in retrospect given I still haven’t had covid).
So the trip began a few weeks ago with an element of “why am I doing this again?”, and I set off down the coast keen for a change of scenery at the very least. Perhaps the excitement would arrive once I got there? It did, but this time something was missing.
The Sights and The Hikes
Let’s start with the highlights. The scenery proved to be incredible. The National Parks in particular, and the walks I embarked on within them. The food was great, MONA was terrific. The local beer, wine, cider and whiskey which I sampled were amazing.
The beaches had the clearest waters and whitest, softest sand (and the water wasn’t even that cold). I had only two days of rain (one a driving day, and the other the day I did MONA – no great loss). The wildlife was exciting, although not as easily found as I’d hoped. I couldn’t get enough of all the wrens (the blue ones especially). I just wish they weren’t so shy.
The ferry was an experience in itself. I’m not sure I would do it again, but it was a nice novelty to drive my car on board, head upstairs to bed, then drive on out in another state and not have to kill time across Bass Strait, nor waste a day doing nothing.
So I arrived bright and early on a Saturday morning, and after a quick journey to Stanley (and its incredibly shallow beaches) I made my way to the first stop, Cradle Mountain.
Cradle Mountain
Cradle Mountain really was a sight to behold. The park had elements which took me back to Canada – big mountains, lakes, even the visitor centre felt a little more “Canadian”. It’s admirable how well they look after this place. All of the main paths are elevated above the ground to preserve flora and fauna, and it works. I got excited to spot my first Wombat, only to walk another five minutes and see about twenty of them. Wombats are the zero-fucks legends of the animal world. They’ll look up at you with a blank face which would make Mike Ehrmantraut look overjoyed by comparison, then continue about their day at the same pace.
Dove Lake & Cradle Mountain
I did not arrive with a plan to climb to the summit of Cradle Mountain but somehow found myself there on the first day. About halfway up the mountain is Marion’s Lookout. It’s probably the most popular walk after the lake circuit, and the view is impressive. But I got there pretty quickly and easily, and I was not satisfied. Plus, I was curious to see how everything looked from a spot over the next ridge – so I pressed on. Before I knew it, I was on my way up the mountain and there was no turning back.
My progress, illustrating the steep incline
I’ve climbed many a mountain in my time, but this was easily one of the more challenging ones. The final stretch is near-vertical with enormous boulders requiring actual climbing in some spots. I had to take my backpack off several times and throw it to the boulder above in order to spiderman my way through small gaps or take large jumps. I’m glad I have long legs, because I’m not sure how one would achieve this climb otherwise. I also imagine even the slightest amount of condensation would turn those rocks into slippery dips – so I was fortunate that the weather cooperated. But there was more than one moment where I was stuck looking for a pathway up the rockface and thought “my confidence in my ability will get me killed some day”.
But I got there with only a few scrapes on my legs, and the view was incredible – and I felt alive. The trip was off to a good start.
Barn Bluff in the distanceA near-vertical climb in the last section. You have to zoom to see the people.
Bruny Island
One thing which always struck me in North America was the intense scent of pine trees whenever I ventured into nature. I’d never noticed the same thing with eucalyptus here in Australia – but figured either I was immune to noticing it, or that pine was simply a stronger scent. Bruny Island changed that. The smell of eucalyptus enveloped the entire island with an intense aroma, noticeable from the moment I drove off the ferry. I asked around about this, but nobody seemed to hold any insight – so it remains a mystery (or I am insane, also possible).
The island itself was incredibly stunning. Everything just seemed to shine and sparkle. I was disappointed that I didn’t manage to spot any significant wildlife, despite waking before sunrise and venturing out into the scrub. An albino wallaby would have been a thrill, as would an echidna or platypus – but nothing came. While watching sunrise at the neck point between the north and south sections I met a couple of Belgian girls who claimed to have seen penguins at that spot the day earlier. I saw nothing. Perhaps I was cursed? I gave up and went for a swim in water which was so much warmer than the air that steam was rising in front of me, and there was not a single other person in sight. Bliss.
Hobart
Really the only thing worth mentioning about Hobart is MONA. Sure, the city has a lot more to offer, but it’s the kind of stuff which would be better enjoyed with some company (food and wine for instance).
But MONA was impressive. It has to be the most fascinating art gallery in this country, full of unique ideas, thought-provoking works and captivating spaces. The museum itself, and the way visitors move through, is all part of the experience. And once you’re done with the art, you can sit in the garden and listen to some live music while knocking back several Moo BrewAnotherberry Sours as I did.
Words can’t do it justice; it really has to be experienced.
Port Arthur
I pulled into Port Arthur around two in the afternoon, hungry as hell and in need of something to eat. The area isn’t exactly sprawling with options, and that time of day is already too late for most – but there was a pub which I thought might have something to eat so I parked my car and marched on it.
I walked in to see eight eyeballs pointed firmly in my direction. Three men were sat at the bar, facing away with their heads turned to the doorway which my silhouette now filled, and the young woman behind the bar stood expressionless. The men looked like garden gnomes who had spent a bit too long in the sun. Their leather skin was almost indistinguishable from their jackets, their beards like steel wool. They wore faces which were just as dirty as the work boots on their feet. In that moment I was wishing I hadn’t entered, but there was no turning back now. I must have looked like Peter Pan to this Pirate Crew – my green shorts, white tee and pristine thongs shining like a light globe.
I noticed Keno on the screen and broke the ice.
“G’day fellas, who’s winning on Keno?” I asked in a volume about 10 decibels louder than usual.
“Steve just cleaned up he’ll shout you a beer!” one of the men replied, which set off a conversation. I sat at the bar, ordered a burger, and washed it down with a beer I had not planned on drinking, but enjoyed in order to fit in. I had a brief chat with all of them, witnessing the casual sexism directed in the direction of the bartender – followed by her even more masterful return serves.
Shortly before I finished my burger, a man walked through the door and I became the newest member of the bar team, turning around as the light in the room darkened – the sunlight from the doorway being the brightest source of light, now filled by a man dressed in chinos and a crisp long-sleeved striped shirt and glasses. All that was missing was someone asking “Where’s Wally?”.
“Oh, um. Do you have food?” he asked. “Never mind” he added, as he left before anyone had the chance to respond, and I pretended that I had not been the exact same man just half an hour earlier.
Port Arthur was a lot more fascinating than I had anticipated. The area is dedicated to its convict history first and foremost. The tragic events of 1996 (which is also how they reference the event) are a footnote. The site of the Broad Arrow Cafe, now a garden, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The convict history, and the former prison buildings were all really well preserved and I wandered around with the attitude of “when in Rome” but quickly found myself fascinated. Growing up in Australia, convict history is so engrained that it can be easy to glaze over and switch off. But I exist in this country thanks to the presence of these prisoners, so it carries a little more weight. It’s hard to imagine such brutality occurring amidst so much beauty.
Freycinet and The Bay of Fires
The approach to Freycinet had me craning my neck as its mountains started to peek above the treeline and the bay in front of them sparkled and flashed between tree trunks like a zoetrope. I pulled in for a coffee at a berry farm to take it all in (along with some incredible blackberries, which we all know is king of the berries).
The sight of crystal-clear water lapping cleanly against rock with no moss or sand momentarily took me back to Lake Powell, one of the most alien places I’ve ever been (and part of one of my favourite trips ever). That place, however, was in the middle of the desert. Freycinet was dense with gum trees which I found myself immediately hiking through to access Wineglass Bay.
There’s a childlike excitement I still get on the journey to a beach with a long approach. Wineglass Bay is only accessible via a walk over Mount Mayson – or in my case, a thirty-minute run. At the top of the mountain, you’re treated to a great view of the beach with its sparkling turquoise water and blinding white sand. From there the excitement builds as the water gets closer and the perspiration builds. I jumped straight into the water as soon as I got there. The best swims are earned.
And it was so good I did it all again the following day, before heading out to Launceston via Derby. I squeezed in a stop to the floating sauna at Lake Derby on my last day and thoroughly enjoyed it. After a little bit of confusion finding the place (hard to get angry over when its seclusion part of the appeal), I spent an hour moving between the wood-fired (the smell!) sauna and swims in the lake. A perfect way to end things, although if I ever find myself back in Derby I’ll be hiring a mountain bike cause the tracks there look terrific.
Wineglass bay
The Gripes
There were a few issues with this journey – first, the trip was about three days longer than it needed to be. I suppose this is something that can only truly be determined in hindsight, but there were periods where I found myself bored and having to kill time. When travelling alone, I prefer to be go-go-go – to the point where I can sometimes stretch myself a little too thin. There were still days like that, but other days left me frustrated. I took the time to slow down, do some reading, drawing, writing or simply “existing” – but I became keener to head home with each passing day.
Which brings me to the second issue – on the third day on the road, I passed a truck. The truck threw some pebbles my way. One of the pebbles hit my windscreen. The windscreen cracked with a twenty-centimetre L-shape right next to the rear-view mirror. My initial reaction was cool and calm, straight from the gospel of Shit Happens, and I reflected on how good it was to not have to stress about such things. But as the days progressed the crack slowly grew, agitated by the poor condition of the roads. If the moon landing was staged, then they filmed it on a Tasmanian road. So many bumps and holes, and every bump had me checking the crack, its L-shape glaring back at me like a highschooler making the “loser” sign on their forehead. It affected my plans as I avoided rough dirt roads and four-wheel drive tracks.
And the shape of an L on her forehead
And my fellow road users did not help. Passing trucks naturally caused grief, but I’ve always loathed them. It was the dudes with their lives in tow who were the real enemy. Every second car which passed was a white Toyota Hilux. It was like the semi-trailer from Steven Spielberg’s Duel – a villain on the horizon at every turn. Every Hilux was driven by a man carting all of his worldly possessions like an Egyptian pharaoh hauling his pyramid along the road behind him. Khufu in his Hilux with his great pyramid. No wonder the roads are chopped to shit.
But the final thing was the biggest surprise of all – solo travel just wasn’t cutting it this time. Gone was the sense of freedom and independence which accompanied my incredible Utah and Florida trips. In the past, I’ve had moments where I had wished someone was with me, but it never bothered me, as it did here. I’ve long known that cities are more difficult when alone – when you want to try restaurants and bars, art galleries and “culture”; whereas nature can be enjoyed equally well. The hikes were most enjoyable for this reason, but even there I was missing something. Perhaps it’s just the familiarity of “Australia”, or perhaps this phase of life has run its course.
There was a moment when I checked into a tiny house in Freycinet National Park and found a free bottle of champagne along with a telescope set up on the back porch and thought “my life is wasted on me”.
(Didn’t stop me from downing half the bottle and doing some stargazing and astrophotography)
So often the decision comes down to travelling solo, or not at all. Solo travel will always trump travel with the wrong person, and in the absence of the right one, the equation typically falls on going it alone.
Some great memories were made, mountains were climbed, and incredible sights were seen, but I don’t need alone time. And with my “pandemic home journey PTSD” now a distant memory, I’m keen for the next one to be overseas.
(I’m also not keen to do that Geelong-to-Sydney drive home in one day again. Five coffees and a red bull, Christ)
Tears of pleasure, tears of pain They trickle down your face the same
Well, the year is essentially done. Silly season will be in full swing soon. Work will wrap, parties will be had, skin will brown, and life will be good. Getting through the next six weeks will be a real challenge but the prospect of five weeks off during summer is getting me through. I need to be in the ocean, not rendering ocean.
So here’s twelve punchy songs to end the year, ending with this year’s Christmas tune courtesy of Khruangbin (who I’ll be seeing next week). I’ll have my 2022 playlist up at the end of the year, but the monthly music will be back in February after an incredible, no Niña, no flood, no fire summer.
One more thing – enjoy your nightmares after watching this… Disturbingly amazing.
Ain’t no change in the weather Ain’t no change in me
Two years ago today I arrived back in Australia. In the dark of night, tired and relieved like never before I touched down in Perth on a plane with only 18 other passengers. I’m still supremely grateful to be back. The months which immediately preceded it were immensely stressful, and the months before that were incredibly bleak. Isolation in a hotel room for two weeks came as such a relief. And the weeks which followed, out on the open roads of Western Australia were so good it felt like a dream.
If this were a CG render someone would request that the highlight on the water be removed.
Spring has sprung, but Sydney is still too goddamn cold. I’m well and truly over it. Bring on the oven roasting temperatures so I can leap out of bed full of beans. I want to (metaphorically) leave the isolation hotel room again. Summer days aren’t just longer because of the Earth’s tilt. They’re longer cause you don’t spend four times as long doing everything. Shorts, shirt, thongs – BAM! You’re good to roll.
But while I wait, I’ll get sunshine in my ears with these tunes.
If you’re waiting for a hug you might want to pack a lunch
Robert FIelding
This month is all about Neighbours – the one next door you love bumping into for a chat, the one above that wakes you in the night screaming for help (all worked out well), and the desk neighbour in the office who lingers around seemingly unable to take a hint.
The last month has been a bit of a struggle finding new music to grab my attention, but there’s still plenty in here I am vibing with. P.E. remind me a lot of YACHT. The rest of the album is worth a spin. As is the album Excess from Automatic. Tobacco‘s take on Hungry Eyes has been a favourite for some time. It really brings out the creepier nature of the original’s lyrics.
July brings the return of international live music in its biggest way since 2020. The last gig I attended was The Strokes bringing in that fateful year during New Years Eve in Brooklyn. It’s only fitting that I see them again as one of my first concerts after all this mess.
That old election thing is finally over and suddenly the future seems brighter. Easily the most satisfying and pleasing result I have witnessed in my life. It felt like the power was finally shifting generations. The schadenfreude of watching grubby seat-warmers fall one by one. The fremdschämen of watching legacy media collectively lose their minds, unable to comprehend what was happening (obvious to anyone who had paid attention).
Anyway, here’s the music! A couple of old classics – opening with the rising sun and closing with it fading into winter. Kikagaku Moyo has been such a delightfully bizarre find. Their album Kumoyo Island is well worth a listen. Chem Bath is a bit of Unknown Mortal Orchestra-meets-MGMT, and I love it. Egyptian Cadilliac will stick in your head, as will the relentless drums in Welcome To Hell. Crank it up loud, Australia.
But we held on for the dream Through lonely times indeed We’re not the only ones Gazing towards the horizon The look in your eyes Says the best is to come
“There’s nothing we could have done to prevent these bad things happening to the economy! Only we can be trusted to prevent bad things like this happening to the economy!”
Australians generally disengage themselves from politics for the most part. Even myself – despite it being something I do pay attention to – I really don’t think it makes for good conversation (even with people who agree with me). So I happen to be fond of the levelling effect of this disengagement, and the default position being to despise all politicians. It can be frustrating at times when people are unaware, but it is far more preferable than the hyper-engagement of the US where society divides itself into teams not too dissimilar to blind religious devoition.
But it’s been very telling how on-the-nose this lot are by the amount of people openly talking about how much they loathe them.
So putting that aside, I’ve never been as keen to see the back of a government as now. Two more weeks and we will finally be rid of that lazy, slimy, smirking, cosplaying, carnival-barking prick.
The Government is in its death spiral now. Prime Minister and sentient turd Scott Morrison is circling the porcelain bowl as Australians prepare to flush his incompetent, corrupt and useless government from office. A cavalcade of incoherent alcoholics, grubby sex pests and religious nutjobs are now on the cusp of irrelevance.
Unfortunately we won’t be rid of the infantile Australian media which seems to be stacked with the same kind of upward-failures as the government – a bunch of children seemingly having won their jobs from a coupon at the bottom of a cereal box, regurgitating government bullshit without scrutiny, and acting like they’re still trying to win the debating competition in the snooty private school at which their lives peaked. I only hope that broader society is seeing through the self-indulgent narcissism of these journos and understands that their true motivations are far from pure. It appears to me that some simply ended up in their current job as a consolation prize for missing out on a spot on Married at First Sight.
Pro tip: If you already know the answer to a question prior to asking, then it’s not a question worth asking.
Anyway, music! There’s some crackers in this month. That new King Gizz album is the soundtrack to my regular lunch bike rides around Centennial Park this month (love that cover artwork too); Concrete Over Water is just incredible; loving that subtle slide guitar in Scared of Heights; I’ve thrown in a couple of classics dedicated to Scotty; and even though I’m largely long over Flume now, I couldn’t pass on the combination with birdsong and Albarn.
This weather is bullshit. It’s mid November, lockdown is over and I’m finally ready to start my year and squeeze what I can out of the remaining weeks. But it’s also way too fucking cold and rainy, so I guess we’ll just ride this one out and try again in 22.
Here’s my last playlist for the year, featuring some lazy early summer tunes – plenty of fresh finds, a couple of old classics to match the mood, and a Christmas tune to round it out.
Ear candy returns in February on the other side of silly season.
Some words that have travelled past my eyes lately…
This Time | Benjamin T Jones
A republic has been on the national to-do list for over 160 years. Questions about it 'being the right time' are predictable but deceptively partisan: when places in a historical context, they are exposed as a delaying tactic. The republican moment will not fall into the lap of a nation that has nothing better to do that day. It must be seized.
This was a really easy read covering a brief (and under-appreciated) history of republicanism in Australia, from the goldfields of Eureka to the push leading up to the centenary of Federation in 2001, and beyond. Many great Australians fought peacefully to achieve their goal of making this country fully independent, all the while being overlooked for English elites. Why is the Queen still on our coins? Why do we still name streets after these people? Why do we reserve the highest position on our flag for the flag of a country which invaded our own and slaughtered our first inhabitants?
Jones gives his thoughts on the symbols and structures which could replace and build on what we have now. I was particularly fond of his proposed title for a head of state – Beanna Elder – which draws from Australia’s oldest culture.
I was sadly not old enough to vote at the 1999 referendum. There really is no argument for keeping a foreign hereditary head of state (even though some creepy royal sycophants still try their best). Australia is a country which values egalitarianism, meritocracy and community (more apparent to me after spending time overseas). The crown has been out place in our unique culture for some time now and I look forward to having a chance to rectify it, hopefully within the next ten decade.
The Big Picture | Ben Fritz
Are they still movies, though, if more than 99 percent of the people who watch them don't do so in a movie theatre? Who cares. Take out the commercial breaks and "previously on"s, and Breaking Bad is a forty-five-hour movie that's better than anything most movie studios have made this century. And no matter how many billions they earn at the box office, no one can convince me that the third Avengers offering and the fourth Captain America film aren't super-expensive episodes in the most successful television series of our era.
The Big Picture: The Fight for the Future of Movies was a great read. Fritz tracks the trends and events within the film and television world over the last twenty years. He uses information found in leaked emails from the Sony hack of 2014 as the bones of his book, which is fitting for the time period covered. Twenty years ago, Sony ruled the box office and Disney was languishing. In a very short time they switched places. One of these players saw the future and made it happen. Like many other products, movies became brands. An actor no longer gets bums on seats. A franchise does. A character does.
Why doesn’t Hollywood offer anything original any more? Simple – people just don’t pay to see original movies at the theatre like the once did. In the meantime the quality of television has increased exponentially. In many ways the two have switched places.
The lines have blurred between what defines a movie and what defines a television episode. This will blur further in the years to come. An episode of a series was once determined by the half-hour slots offered by a broadcast station, a movie limited by a film reel (and bladder capacity). There really isn’t a need for this any more, as is already being witnessed in a show like The Mandalorian, where an episode is “as long as it needs to be”. It’s no longer television or movies, but “content”.
Film content is also being driven by the money of an increasingly international market. Comedy doesn’t cross-cultures, so it doesn’t happen. There’s no Chinese money in American humour. On the flip side, services like Prime and Apple are emerging where profit is not a concern, so creativity can flourish with little concern to whether it finds an audience. The primary goal is to give users content to keep them within the larger tech ecosystem.
This book was only published in 2018, yet already feels out of date, such is the speed at which the movie world is changing. The pandemic has only exacerbated this. Some movies are being released to stream the same day at their theatrical release, and even the ones that aren’t are having their theatrical window shortened. It’s changing so quickly that the landscape will be unrecognisable in another few years.
There are no gods, no nations, no money and no human rights, except in our collective imagination.
Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind
Incredible digital artworks such as this from Clement Morin now have a place in the art trading world
“This is ridiculous. Why would anybody pay so much for something they can just save to their hard drive?” I asked myself when I first heard that the Nyan Cat gif sold for over half a million dollars. Furthermore, this “ownership” did not entitle the buyer any kind of exclusive rights with which they could use the property. It was ownership in name and nothing else – backed up by the security of cryptocurrency to ensure a means of proof. They’ve been deemed Non-fungible tokens (NFTs or “Nifty’s”). In other words, they are exclusive and can not be replaced by a copy. The purchased item is deemed unique.
So what was the point, I wondered? Is this just rich people flexing? Or trolls having a laugh? It seemed absurd. Seems like a scam.
Then I thought some more.
Andy Warhol’s famous Campbell’s Soup Cans (themselves a copy of an existing image) hang proudly in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. They are valued in the millions. The original soup can labels are worthless. Furthermore, the artworks are easily reproducible, and MoMA wouldn’t pursue a cease and desist should you decide to try. Your reproduction would likely be considered almost as worthless as the original can of soup. The original works have value because we as a society agree, in our collective imagination, that they should.
Say a photographer sells a limited run of 100 prints for thousands of dollars a piece, and they display a high resolution image of the photo on their website. You could just as easily save it and print it yourself. But it’s not the same, is it? Nobody would deem it as having the same value, even if you managed to attain the same level of print quality, because it’s not “authentic”.
Really, how is digital ownership any different? Hell, a crypto-secured artwork makes more sense to me than cryptocurrencies on their own, which is essentially the same thing – but instead of art it’s imaginary currency – gambling with an enormous carbon footprint (to produce nothing).
And money itself is a fantasy concept. It only works because as a culture we’ve all agreed that it has value.
13 years of making digital art every single day paid off for Mike Winkelmann (Beeple)
Even the biggest cynic surely can’t go past this reaction video above of Mike Winkelmann (Beeple) as he watches a grid of thirteen years of digital artworks climb to $69 million. For over 5000 days this Bill Gates doppelganger has pumped out a new artwork, not for financial gain – but out of love, and as a personal challenge. It’s endearing to see it rewarded. His joy inspires me to get back into making my own (unpaid) digital art again.
Obviously, there’s going to be people who get burned as with any new technology. People will exploit it. Celebrities will endorse random trash much as they do as with crypto. Some will get caught up in the excitement and lose out, trolls will escalate the price of complete crap (no different to traditional art), but many artists will gain from this – and largely artists who have, as yet, not had a market.
The cynic in me wonders if the true artists will get buried by the scammers. At some point, society may again deem these to be worthless, thanks to oversaturation – and if it no longer lives in the collective imagination of society, we’re back to square one.
Could we find a better way than carbon-intensive blockchain to secure them though?
