Ch=mpathy 🧪

Imagine walking into a café and ordering a cup of coffee. Instead of a hot, brewed drink, the barista hands you a handful of roasted beans and a cup of water. Confused, you ask where the coffee is. They respond, "This is coffee—just in its purest, most elemental form." You explain that you simply wanted a drink, not an experience, but they insist that the real issue is your 'narrow definition' of what coffee could be. When you point out that all you wanted was a nice hot beverage, they scoff and call you unimaginative. This is how it feels to me when I am expected to perform mental gymnastics to accept uninspired or lazy art as profound or avant-garde. If something requires an explanation to justify its brilliance, rather than evoking a reaction on its own, then maybe it is just a handful of beans—not a cup of coffee...

The Near-Death of My Career As An Artist I still remember the day my NFT project, Lebras, was supposed to change everything for me. It was March 11th, 2022, and I was sitting in front of my computer, hands shaking, heart racing. Five minutes to launch, and I was convinced this was it – the project that would finally ‘put me on the map’. The pre-sale list was full. There seemed to be good engagement on my announcement tweets (yes tweets!). Everything seemed like a green light. But as the clock ticked down, that excitement turned to despair. The mints didn't come like I had expected them to. At the time the relative silence had felt deafening. I had poured my heart and soul into Lebras, and its ‘failure’ felt like a personal rejection. I questioned everything: my art, my worth, my place in the NFT space. For months, I couldn't bring myself to create. I deleted projects, uninstalled software, and wondered if I had been delusional to think I could make it as a full-time artist at all. But then, something unexpected happened. I casually scrolled through my feed and stumbled upon a logo design challenge on the Tezos platform, TEIA. Reluctantly, I grabbed the nearest sketchbook and started doodling an isometric cube, filled with letters that I called 'TEIA-sseract'. That casual experiment evolved into Tesseract, a project that would eventually mint out quickly and unexpectedly boost Lebras' sales. Looking back, I realized that my attachment to the outcome had suffocated my creativity. I had been so focused on 'success' by the criteria of the space, that I forgot why I started creating in the first place – for the joy of it. Tesseract taught me that true freedom lies in detachment. When we create for the sake of creation, not for external validation, we tap into a deeper sense of purpose, that paradoxically seems to increase the likelyhood of favorable outcomes. I know that letting go of attachment can sound like a cliché, a tired phrase that's easy to dismiss. But the truth is, it's the only method I've found that consistently works. It is counterintuitive, but the more we want something, the more we need to let go. It's a paradox that can be hard to wrap our heads around, but it is the only way to truly create sustainably without suffocating under the weight of our own expectations. But here's the funny thing: creativity is not something we can turn away from or switch off easily. It is a part of us, a driving force that pushes us to create, even when (or especially when!) we think we've given up. It is a reminder that our passion and dedication are what truly matter. As artists in the NFT space, we face unique pressures. We are driven by a desire for success, but the metrics we use to measure it – mint numbers, revenue, floor prices – they can be cold and unforgiving. It is easy to get caught up in the narratives and expectations of others. But we must resist. We must be kind to ourselves, acknowledging that our worth is not tied to our art's commercial success. We must also work honestly and to the best of our ability at any given time. It is the only way to truly create something meaningful and authentic. When we pour our hearts and souls into our work, we open ourselves up to the possibility of failure, but also to the possibility of something truly remarkable. Especially in a space like this, we must create with a lightness that comes from detachment. We can focus on the process, not the outcome. We can reward ourselves for taking risks and trying new things. And when the market is unpredictable, and our work seems invisible, we can hold on to the one thing that is always within our control – the act of creation itself. If there is anything I have learnt over the past few years, it is that longevity in Web3 (as I see it) for most of us, will be the accumulation of small wins, the bravery to try, and the resilience to keep going. I often see great artists trickling out of the space, especially when the road ahead seems uncertain. It is understandable. However I wish for them to keep creating, and trust that the process will carry them through. As I learned from my own journey, sometimes you have to go forward to cast light on what you've done before. And sometimes, that alone is enough. 🔴⚪️⚫️